《The Boy from M.A.C.U.S.A.》


 1. An Innocent Abroad

    A slate-gray English sky hung heavy overhead as the SS Mauretania, pride of the Cunard-White Star Line. glided her stately way up the River Mersey and out of the Irish Sea. Her sleek black hull cut a frothy wake through the brown waters of the estuary, towards Liverpool, England. A steel forest of rust-colored cranes jutted up from the docks, swinging netted loads onto the decks of waiting cargo ships. Columns of inky smoke poured from the stacks of factories further inland.


    Closer to the shore, people gathered along the quay, their figures blurred by drifting steam and smoke. Women in headscarves, children in woolen sweaters too big for them, a few men in caps and coats with their hands shoved deep into their pockets. They stood, some waving, most just watching, their faces marked by weariness and English reserve as they waited for the liner to make fast. To the young man standing alone at Mauritania''s bow, Liverpool looked like a city held between past and future, ruin and renewal.


    Jack Semmes eagerly leaned over the ship''s railing, his wand safely tucked away in a specially-designed inner pocket of his checked sports coat. He pulled his flat cap down low over his parted black hair to keep the sea breeze from taking it out to sea. He was a wiry fifteen year-old, tall for his age, with a ruddy, sunburned complexion from more time spent outdoors than in. His lively hazel eyes inquisitively darted about the view spread out below his feet, from people to buildings, with the insatiable American interest in all things No-Maj. In that moment, an onlooker could have mistaken him for a young Tyrone Power,3 all dash and roguish casualness that belied his current nervous energy.


    Inside, his guts were churning in time with the thrum of the ship machinery shaking the deck below his feet, driving the massive props beating the murky water. Thick black smoke belched from Mauritania''s twin smokestacks over the heads of passengers crowding the deck, pointing at the approaching Liverpool dock and waving at waiting acquaintances. Jack¡¯s nose caught the mingled scent of brine and coal smoke, cut with the tang of unwashed bodies and garbage. Smells like New Jersey, he thought ruefully.


    Two years after the end of the greatest war ever to shake the foundations of the world, the city still bore the wounds. Gaping holes marred the rows of brick warehouses lining the waterfront. Burnt-out shells of buildings dotted the city blocks, many still lying in rubble. Scaffolding and tarpaulins enveloped structures in various states of reconstruction. Jack wondered idly how much of the damage had been caused by German bombs and how much had been caused by desperate street fights between Grindlewald¡¯s radicals and the opposing forces of conservatism and tradition. The wizarding war had been particularly hot in Britain.


    ¡°Long way from home,¡± he said to himself as he fingered the letter in his pocket ¨C heavy parchment bearing the Hogwarts seal and containing an unprecedented approval of his transfer request from Ilvermorny to Hogwarts for his sixth year (3rd year of high school, by American reckoning, but the Brits just had to do things their own way). His father at  MACUSA4 had moved heaven and earth to make it happen instead of leaving him in Ilvermorny while his parents moved from New York to London for his father¡¯s new job, a liaison position in the U.K Ministry of Magic¡¯s Department of Foreign Affairs. The combination of a new Minister for Magical Education and a well-timed suggestion of ¡°cementing the special relationship¡± worked wonders.


    The whole thing felt surreal. Just three months ago, he''d been ready to start a normal junior year at Ilvermorny, and his highest priority was improving his  Quopro fastball. Now here he was, thousands of miles from the maple forests of the Taconic Mountains, watching seagulls wheel over a dirty industrial city that looked uncomfortably like Newark. His gaze lingered on the towering cathedral spire, blackened by fire. It was a good feeling though, something new, straight out of an adventure book. It was the thrill of seeing foreign lands and of stepping into unknown territory.


    He realized that he was fidgeting as the crew made fast the lines and started to run out the gangplank. He reached into the pocket of his coat opposite his wand and pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes cigarettes and matches. He lit the match with a practiced motion honed by two weeks of strict abstention from all magic. Inhaling the smoke and standing aloof from the other passengers made him feel older and wiser than the scared teenager lying just underneath his carefully maintained surface.


    The tension in the British passengers had been palpable all the way during the week-long trip across the Atlantic, especially to a young man raised in the relative safety of the United States during the war years. These No-Maj had lived through six years of bombs, raids, and rationing, and far from being relieved they now watched the newsreels with growing unease as former allies drew new battlelines across Europe and old empires disintegrated. Jack had read enough to know that the wizarding world wasn''t immune to these divisions either. Grindelwald might have been defeated, but his decades-long reign of terror had left deep scars.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    "This is a crucial time, Jack.¡± His father''s words popped into his mind, ¡°The magical and No-Maj worlds are both rebuilding. What we do now will shape the next century." Easy for him to say, Jack thought to himself, Thomas Semmes would be spending his days in the comfortable subterranean offices of the Ministry of Magic, coordinating MACUSA''s support for postwar reconstruction in the U.K. and Europe. He wouldn''t have to navigate a whole new school, trying to make new friends in the midst of unknown traditions, established cliques, and unintelligible accents.


    He glanced behind his shoulder towards Birkenhead, where a century before a No-Maj who shared his surname had set forth to face his own destiny. He took a deep breath and shrugged the tension out of his shoulders. Whatever challenges lay ahead, he was still a Thunderbird of Ilvermorny, adventurous and daring. Terror of the Horned Serpent nerds and the  Pukwudgie softies.1 He grinned fiercely around his cigarette.


    The sorting at Hogwarts would place him somewhere entirely new - he''d read all about the houses in Hogwarts: A History during the past week crossing the Atlantic - but who he was wouldn''t change¡­it couldn¡¯t. He was a Semmes, and Semmes are stubborn, or so his mother kept telling his father. He sent the glowing end of the cigarette pirouetting into the Mersey with a practiced flick.


    The liner''s horn bellowed as the gangplank ran out, startling a flock of seabirds into flight. The passengers began to file out toward the large fishing warehouse that still served as a customs hall since the Luftwaffe had creatively redecorated the official one a few years back.2


    Jack strained to pick out the disguised magical officials mixed with their No-Maj counterparts waiting to process the new arrivals, but couldn¡¯t pick any out from this distance. Somewhere in that crowd should be a Ministry representative ready to escort him to London, and from there, King¡¯s Cross. And after that... he started to reach for another cigarette but stopped himself, forcing himself to ration them. Might not have a chance to buy more before London. After that though, a castle in Scotland¡­and whatever adventures awaited Jack Semmes there.


    He hoisted his charmed featherlight trunk onto his shoulder, picked up the guitar case that carried his broom and joined the stream of travelers eager to head ashore.


    The sky decided to start raining.


    Welcome to England, Jack thought with a flicker of annoyance.


    <hr><hr>


    I am placing these footnotes to elucidate some of the esoteric references that Mr. Semmes put down in his rather embellished writings.


    1. Ilvermorny Academy, the wizarding school of North America, is situated atop Mount Greylock in Massachusetts, blending seamlessly into the dense forests and rugged peaks. Founded in the 17th century, Ilvermorny is known for its disciplined and egalitarian approach to magical education. During the mid 19th century, the school gained a reputation for its military-style uniforms - sharp grey tunics and high-collared cloaks - and a disciplined regimen that reflects the pragmatic American ethos and brings together a disparate student body from all states and territories into a unified whole.


    Thunderbird: One of the four houses at Ilvermorny Academy, the American wizarding school. Each reflects a part of the body. Thunderbirds are said to represent the soul and favor adventurers. Naturally, this attracts a fair number of reckless show-offs. There is no clear equivalent for Thunderbird at Hogwarts, making them, in my opinion, the most interesting of the four houses. Most notable graduate: Benjamin Franklin.


    Horned Serpent: The brain. Ilvermorny¡¯s version of Ravenclaw, favoring intellectuals and bookworms. Commonly (and accurately) accused of being know-it-alls. Most notable graduate: T.S. Eliot.


    Pukwudgie: The heart of Ilvermorny, for healers and caregivers. Very nice, very kind, very... earnest. Good chaps though. Quite like Hufflepuff (my alma-mater house). Most notable graduate: Clara Barton.


    Wampus: The brawn. The house for warriors. Think Gryffindor, but without Godric, Dumbledore, or Potter. Most notable graduate: Jean-Baptiste Charbonneau (1805¨C1866), son of Lewis and Clark expedition member Toussaint Charbonneau and Sacagawea. A legendary wizarding voyageur who ventured further into the uncharted American West than any of his contemporaries, magical or otherwise. Known for his mastery of animal transfiguration and dueling skills. Died arm-wrestling a troll.


    2. The Liverpool Customs House was actually a pretty impressive building for Muggles. Built in 1837, it was bombed to bits by the German Muggles during their Blitz in 1940, then demolished after their war was over. The replacement building, like everything the Muggles put up nowadays, is completely hideous.


    3. Tyrone Power (1914¨C1958) was a celebrated Muggle film actor of the 1930s and 1940s, known for his smoldering good looks and swashbuckling roles in films like The Mark of Zorro (1939) and The Black Swan (1941). Whether or not our hero''s self-comparison holds up is a matter of personal taste¡ªand lighting.


    4. The Magical Congress of the United States of America (MaCUSA, pronounced by Americans as Ma-Cusa and everyone else with a brain as Mac-USA) serves as the governing body for American witches and wizards throughout the 20th century and beyond. Its reputation in the 1940s was...complicated. During this era, MACUSA was helmed by President Kingfisher Longchamps, a polarizing figure (but more on him later).


    - Percy Runner


    London, 2024

 2. The Pickup

    The improvised customs hall was a cavernous space of echoing footsteps and murmured conversations, still smelling faintly of fish. Jack shifted his magically lightened trunk to his other shoulder, pretending that it weighed several more pounds than it really did. The Featherlight enchantment made it feel empty, though he''d packed a combined small library and wardrobe. His broom rattled gently inside its guitar case, and bumped against his hip as he shuffled forward in the queue, earning him curious glances from fellow passengers.


    "Next!" barked a customs officer, his weathered face set in practiced suspicion. ¡°Eh, you¡¯re a tall one,¡± He took his passport and gave Jack a long look, taking in his height and bearing, standing several inches over the average British passenger in line. "Another Yank, you look like a West Pointer.7 Thought you lot were all headed home now that the scrap is over."


    ¡°Just here to see the sights, sir,¡± Jack responded politely, it was easier to let the assumption that he was a No-Maj officer stand. What else was he going to do? Tell him that he was actually a wizard transfer student from western Massachusetts off to Scotland? The officer gave him another searching look, stamped his papers with mechanical efficiency and waved him through.


    The next stop was the currency exchange booth, where Jack traded his few remaining dollars for a handful of pounds sterling, the tired clerk barely looking up as he counted out notes adorned with a stern-looking king rather than presidents. He had a small coin purse of assorted British magical currency1(Sickles mostly with a handful of Knuts) locked away securely in his trunk, but that was for after he got to London.


    He emerged from the customs hall onto the street and back into the damp Liverpool morning, next to two newsboys trying to out-shout each other to sell their respective papers, loudly proclaiming numbers of No-Maj dead in India (millions)2, tomorrow¡¯s temperature (15, whatever that meant), and the score of the recent Liverpool football match against Aston Villa (1-3): ¡°Read all about it!¡±


    Ignoring them, Jack scanned the crowd. He felt slightly self-conscious about his brightly-colored coat and jaunty flat hat amidst the sea of drab demob outfits and work clothes.


    Fortunately it didn''t take long to spot his Ministry contact, an energetic looking man with a pencil mustache in his late-20s, standing across the street on the sidewalk facing the exit of the customs hall, clad in a single-breasted brown ration suit and black homburg hat. He was holding a sign over his head that read "J.T. Semmes" in a neat cursive script.


    Jack looked left, and stepped out on the street directly into the path of an oncoming black omnibus, which nearly knocked him down. The driver and passengers considerately informed him of his mistake with a torrent of Liverpudlian expletives and menacing gestures as Jack frantically made an undignified scramble across the street. The Ministry man took in the sight with a wry smile, and started approaching before Jack had even made it to the sidewalk.


    ¡°First time over here?¡± the man said.


    Jack broke into a relieved smile, sticking out his hand. "Jack Semmes, pleasure to meet you sir."


    The Ministry man shook his hand firmly, guiding him off the sidewalk and underneath a shop awning. "Roland Carmichael, Junior Undersecretary for Educational Affairs, His Majesty¡¯s Ministry. Pleasure''s mine," he replied crisply, making the sign disappear somehow while Jack wasn¡¯t looking. "Nasty business, sailing. Would have rather arranged a Portkey, but there are shortages, and also immigration regulations these days...3 I trust you had a pleasant crossing regardless?¡± Jack nodded, and the man continued. ¡°Shall we get out of this drizzle and find somewhere for a spot of breakfast before we catch your train? You must be famished.¡±


    Jack agreed gratefully, feeling his spirits lift a little. Maybe this wouldn''t be so bad after all. ¡°Yes please, Mr. Carmichael, they served some breakfast on the ship but I couldn¡¯t eat much of it.¡±


    Mr. Carmichael chuckled. ¡°Well, now that you¡¯re back on terra firma let''s see if we can find you something a touch more appetizing, shall we? There¡¯s a little place of ours just down the street that does a top notch fry up." He clapped Jack on the shoulder, steering him through the crowd down the street, away from the dockyards and towards what appeared to be a shopping district. "And after that, a quick Floo trip to London," Mr. Carmichael said cheerfully. "Little slower but safer than apparating with luggage, especially cross-country. The war left some nasty spatial anomalies that we¡¯re still trying to clean up¡­"5


    As they walked, Jack stared at the reconstruction that seemed to be going on all around him. Mr. Carmichael kept up a steady stream of chatter, pointing out important buildings and sharing some stories that pattered off of Jack¡¯s ears like water off waxed paper. The fog and drizzle clung to everything, muffling distant noises and causing Jack¡¯s shoes to slip on the cobbles more than once.


    At one point, Mr. Carmichael paused mid-sentence, his eyes flicking to their shared reflection in a shop window. For a split second, Jack glimpsed a man in a dark coat and hat behind them before the crowd swallowed him. His escort''s right hand went into his coat pocket, but he continued walking without missing a beat, picking up his story right where he''d left off. His hand on Jack¡¯s shoulder applied more force, causing Jack to pick up his pace into a New York walk as they wove through a makeshift path around debris where the street had once run straight.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Jack felt a prickle of unease. Was someone following them? He glanced around surreptitiously but saw nothing out of the ordinary in the throng of people. Roland seemed to have shrugged it off, so Jack did his best to do the same, focusing on the promise of a good breakfast and the excitement of the journey ahead. But doubt lingered, and a prickling feeling in the soles of his feet warned him that things were not alright.


    "Everything ok, Mr. Carmichael?" Jack asked.


    "Quite, quite," Mr. Carmichael said lightly, then suddenly nudged Jack off the main street. "Though we need to take a small detour before breakfast, terribly sorry."


    They turned down a narrow side street where scaffolding created a skeletal maze of shadows and light. Past a quiet bombed-out church whose empty rose window gaped like the mouth of a grave. Jack heard the ringing of hobnailed footsteps on cobblestones behind them, and fought the rising urge to turn around.


    Mr. Carmichael read his mind. "Don''t look back," he said pleasantly, like he was mentioning that the sun was about to come out. "We¡¯ve picked up some unwanted attention. Keep walking normally."


    Jack''s hand itched for his wand, but they were surrounded by No-Majs going about their morning business. Even if international magical law allowed underage wizards to cast spells in self-defense, they couldn''t risk the exposure. But what if the men following them cast first?


    The footsteps grew closer. Jack and Mr. Carmichael emerged onto a broader street abutting the river where dock workers unloaded large crates off of the SS Barrett, from Halifax. Jack¡¯s escort steered him through the longshoremen, then said something lost in the ambient noise.


    The cargo nets above them slipped their davits. Falling crates started to rain from the sky, crashing thunderously to the ground. Men fled in all directions, shouting in alarm, some unlucky ones pitching headfirst into the Mersey.


    "In here," Mr. Carmichael skipped ahead around a corner and motioned Jack into a gutted department store. The grand display windows were gone, leaving theatrical frames around empty space. Small pieces of broken glass, missed by the sweepers, crunched underfoot. They crouched behind the scorched retail counter, about ten yards from the entrance, as two men in poorly-fitting dark No-Maj clothing strode deliberately past, trying too hard to look inconspicuous.


    "Who are those guys?" Jack whispered.


    ¡°Former associates of Mr. Grindelwald8, I suspect." Mr. Carmichael¡¯s blas¨¦ manner was reassuring, in spite of the circumstances. "Unknown parties have been canvassing disembarkation points for American wizards for the past few months. Your father''s appointment has caused a bit of a stir."


    Mr. Carmichael¡¯s dry formality softened the punch until Jack had reprocessed what he had said. Wait¡­Grindelwald?! Franklin¡¯s kite,what had he gotten himself into?!5


    "Keen," Jack muttered, his palms starting to sweat. "First day over here and I''m already in a spy movie."6


    "A what-what?" Mr. Carmichael looked at Jack quizzically. Jack stared back, did British wizards not watch those? "Never mind,¡± he spoke over Jack just as the boy was opening his mouth, ¡°When I say run, head out the back door. There''s a hidden entrance to the Floo network, a backup location...careful now, we should still have¡­oh Merlin, they¡¯re coming back, must be using a Tracking Charm."


    Their pursuers had indeed doubled back, moving with purpose. They paused for a moment on the street outside their hiding place, then the leader pointed directly at the counter they were hiding behind. As one they walked into the department store, wands drawn.


    <hr><hr>


    1. American Wizards use a currency called Dragots, which are silver (until 1897 in gold) round coins. Unlike our nice sensible system of 17 Sickles to the Galleon, one Dragot has ten Sprinks.


    2. The Partition of Muggle India was ongoing at the time of Mr. Semmes'' arrival to England, as the Muggle British Raj collapsed into the new states of India and East/West Pakistan.


    3. I was able to find from my archival research that the entire Ministry of Magic was officially in possession of only seven Portkeys in the summer of 1947. All of these were being used for classified purposes.


    4. Mr. Carmichael''s concerns were not ill-founded. Three wizards disappeared in apparition accidents from September 1945 to April 1946 before the Ministry placed a blanket ban on intercity apparition. The last of the anomalies were not declared clear until the early 1960s.


    5. Franklin''s Kite: This American minced oath, commonly used among Ilvermorny alumni, refers to Benjamin Franklin, the so-called Wizarding Founding Father of the United States. Franklin¡¯s dubious legacy as a ''Muggle lover'' remains a contentious topic in wizarding circles on both sides of the Atlantic. While undeniably a genius, he brazenly applied magical principles to Muggle inventions such as the lightning rod, bifocals, and the Franklin stove. These "gifts" to the non-magical world earned him accolades among Muggles but fostered resentment among wizards who saw him as recklessly blurring the Statute of Secrecy. Franklin¡¯s, shall we say, PENCHANT for Muggle women further cemented his reputation as a scandalous figure, leaving behind an impressive number of illegitimate half-blood descendants - so much so that American Wizarding historian Barnabas Bancroft quipped that "half the wizards on the East Coast and in Paris have Franklin¡¯s blood in their veins." Alternatives to this colorful phrase include Franklin''s stove, Franklin''s fire, and Franklin''s hat.


    6. Films like The Ministry of Fear (1944) and Notorious (1946) are staples of Muggle cinema from this period.


    7. West Point, officially known as the United States Military Academy, is a prestigious Muggle institution located along the Hudson River in New York, 80 miles south of Ilvermorny. Established in 1802, it serves as the training ground for America¡¯s military leadership, much like a Muggle version of the Auror Training Academy¡ªthough admittedly, with fewer spell duels and more emphasis on physical drills. During the 1940s, West Point gained particular renown for producing officers who played critical roles in the Second Muggle Big War. The academy¡¯s strategic importance and strict discipline have long made it a point of inappropriate fascination for American wizards.


    8. Gellert Grindelwald, infamous for his conquest over much of Europe in the 1930 and 40s, was a charismatic and dangerous wizard who sought to impose his ideology of "The Greater Good" through terror and subjugation. While his movement never gained significant footholds in Britain, his men launched frequent and highly destructive raids all the way up to Hogsmeade by 1944. His defeat in 1945 by Albus Dumbledore remains one of the most pivotal moments in wizarding history.


    - Percy Runner


    Diagon Alley, 2024

 3. Shaking a Tail

    ¡°When I say run,¡± Mr. Carmichael said, drawing his wand. ¡°Head out the back door.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Carmichael,¡± Jack whispered , pressing against the counter, ¡°There is no back door!¡±


    ¡°Not at the moment, no. Deep breath please,¡± Mr. Carmichael pulled his pocket square out and tied it around his mouth and nose, then whirled his wand around as if summoning a vortex, ¡°Fumifera,¡± he whispered.


    Thick clouds of choking white smoke suddenly filled the store.


    Jack heard their pursuers shout something in a language that was not English, then heard his escort bark ¡°Confringo!¡±


    A flash of red light shot out and vanished into the smoke behind them. With a massive explosion, wooden splinters and flying glass rebounded towards them, flashing and sparking off Carmichael¡¯s quickly cast Shield Charm.


    "Run!"


    They dashed from behind the counter, sprinting towards the back wall, Jack''s trunk and case bouncing awkwardly behind him. He burst out of the shattered back wall of the department store through the cloud of billowing smoke into a crowd of startled pedestrians. Curses flew all around him, staining the air with streaks of yellow and red and exploding on nearby buildings.


    He spotted Mr. Carmichael a few yards away and raced to catch up. He clumsily wove through the crowd, narrowly missing bowling over an elderly lady, and leapt over a pile of bricks set up to help rebuild a demolished wall.


    "Sorry! Sorry!¡± he gasped instinctively as he ran through two men unloading a truck full of groceries, sending cabbages rolling everywhere.


    A car backfired nearby. Something red-hot whizzed past his ear, leaving a scorch mark on the wall ahead and spraying his face with flecks of brick dust.


    "This left!" Carmichael yelled out, flicking his wand to make the contents of an unlucky newspaperman¡¯s cart explode into the air behind them. "Then right!"


    They careened down an alley barely wide enough for Jack''s trunk, past overflowing trash cans and underneath laden washing lines strung between buildings like signal flags on a ship¡¯s rigging. ¡°Glacius!¡± Carmichael shouted. Behind them, one pursuer slipped on icy cobblestones, crashing into a stack of pallets.


    The remaining man was gaining, another stunning spell smashed against Roland¡¯s Protego. Jack could hear his footsteps right behind him. He kicked into his highest gear, breath sobbing in his chest, heart pounding.


    Carmichael slowed suddenly and spun, nearly tripping Jack as his wand thrust out between Jack¡¯s arm and side. A rainwater barrel nearby exploded, drenching their pursuer, ¡°Adhesivo!¡± barked Carmichael, and the water solidified into a sticky taffy-like substance, coating the man completely. Jack looked with horrified amazement as their pursuer slowly thrashed against the weight of the transparent tar.


    "Here!" Carmichael pulled Jack out of his frozen shock and half-dragged him down the rest of the alley, then a quick right, coming to a halt beside a boarded-up pub, its windows still wrapped with wartime blackout tape. He tapped the doorknob with his wand.


    It clicked.


    "In!"


    They tumbled through into a dusty room full of stacked chairs and tables. Jack heard frustrated voices outside as Carmichael sealed the door with a brisk ¡°Colloportus!¡±


    "Not much time," he said, pulling the pocket square from his face and straightening his hat. "They¡¯ll be through soon. Floo Powder over there. You know how to use it?"


    "Yes sir," Jack panted, leaning against his trunk, his heart racing. He heard a spell rebound against the outside window, followed by an explosion of foreign profanities. "Are we going to be ok?"


    "Oh yes, splendid, splendid," the unflappable Carmichael replied, adjusting his tie. "Usually it''s much more exciting than this. Ever try chasing down a runaway Niffler1 in downtown Bristol? That¡¯s why we¡¯re much stricter with animal control at immigration now-¡±


    BOOM!


    Another blasting curse from outside. The door rattled slightly.


    Still catching his breath, Jack watched Carmichael take out his pocket watch as he led Jack to a small, dingy fireplace in the back of the pub. ¡°21 minutes past nine,¡± he said, tutting in annoyance, ¡°Should still get you to King¡¯s Cross by 9:30, despite the delay.¡± Carmichael poured out a generous handful of glittering Floo powder into Jack¡¯s hand and took his trunk for him. "Inconsiderate buggers."


    The doorknob shook aggressively. The men outside were testing the lock.


    "Hold on tight to your case and keep your elbows tucked in," Carmichael advised, cool as a cucumber. "We¡¯ll be passing through several cities along the way. I''ll go first - watch what I do and follow right after. We want you to go straight and not diagonally."


    Jack nodded, heart hammering and stomach roiling as he watched Mr. Carmichael toss a handful of powder into the flames, turning them emerald green. The Ministry man squeezed into the overly-small fireplace, shouted "London, King¡¯s Cross, Platform 9 ?!" and vanished in a whoosh of iridescent color.


    Jack hesitated.


    A thunderous curse from outside shook the whole pub.


    Taking a hasty breath, Jack stepped in the fireplace. His head and shoulders disappeared up the chimney. He repeated what Carmichael has said, squeezing his eyes tight as he began to spin rapidly.


    The floor fell out from underneath him.


    He opened his eyes to time to catch dizzying glimpses of other fireplaces whizzing by with signs in block-lettering above them:


    Manchester, Sheffield, Derby, Leicester, Northampton, Oxford...oh sweet Franklin don¡¯t let me throw up¡­


    ¡­he stumbled out of another fireplace onto a train platform, fighting off the urge to vomit.


    Roland caught his elbow before he could fall, steadying him and sitting him down onto his trunk. "Alright there, Jack? Sorry, that was a long ride, we break that trip up into segments usually. Had to catch your train though," he held out his watch for Jack to see. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Jack blinked until the four watch faces resolved into one... it was 9:27 am.


    ¡°Tip top, departure isn¡¯t for another 33 minutes!¡± Carmichael said cheerfully.


    Jack could only nod, swallowing bile as the platform spun crazily around him. Eventually his internal equilibrium settled, and he beheld the incredible sight of the scarlet Hogwarts Express, gleaming like an enormous red python amidst the steam and hubbub of students and families. Owls hooted in cages, cats wound between legs, and laughter and chatter filled the air, nearly drowning out the conductor''s whistle announcing the start of boarding.


    "Right then," said Mr. Carmichael, helping Jack bring his luggage out onto the platform. "This is where I leave you. Your trunk and case will be taken care of, so just hop on and find a seat. You''re in good hands from here."


    He offered his hand and Jack shook it firmly, mustering a smile despite the butterflies in his stomach. "Thanks for everything, sir. And for saving me. I appreciate it."


    ¡°Just doing my job, Mr. Semmes. Best of luck at school. I¡¯m off to the Ministry. Need to report this little incident, I¡¯m sure the parchmentwork will keep me busy for the next two weeks." With a cheery wave, Mr. Carmichael turned on the spot and disapparated with a crack, leaving Jack alone on the platform, adrift in a sea of black robes and pointed hats, and not a friendly face in sight.


    Jack sighed, opened his trunk, withdrew a bulky paper-wrapped package, relocked his trunk, and headed for the nearest bathroom, burping quietly to stave off his nausea.


    The men''s toilet on Platform 9 3?4 was a cramped, late-Victorian contrivance of dark wood, pull-chain tanks, and tarnished brass.


    Jack locked himself in the largest stall, hands still shaking slightly as he pulled off his sports coat and unwrapped his Ilvermorny school uniform.2 The jacket was a sharply cut affair of midnight blue wool with cranberry piping and cuffs, with a high collar and a row of eight brass buttons engraved with the Ilvermorny crest running down the middle, Jack¡¯s Thunderbird house pin went prominently over his heart. Black wool trousers with a dark red stripe, a black leather belt, and highly polished black leather shoes completed the look.


    The uniform was designed for snowy New England winters, and if not charmed properly would have been both heavy and murderously hot in anything else. Fortunately, the enchantments were woven into the very stuff that the clothes were made of, and the wool flowed around Jack as lightly as if it were made of spider silk. The collar was still annoying though, no magic could fix that.


    Voices echoed off the tiled walls as other students entered the bathroom.


    "There¡¯s some new boy walking about the platform in mufti."


    ¡°Probably just the help.¡±


    "No, transfer student, I heard. First one since forever, or at least before the war."


    "Eh?  Beauxbatons6 probably. What kind of robes do they wear?"


    ¡°Nah, doesn¡¯t look like a frog, ¡®e¡¯s too tall. And too bluff and browned to be Durmstrang7. From the Raj,  probably.¡±3


    Jack focused on doing up his buttons. His fingers felt clumsy, too aware of the whispers outside.


    When he emerged, two boys a bit younger than him in black robes with green trim openly stared at him in the mirror while washing their hands. Jack¡¯s initial plan of greeting them heartily shriveled up in his chest. After his adventure this morning, he felt outnumbered and unsure of his footing, new and unpleasant feelings for him.


    He was accustomed to being quick on his feet and the dynamo of his friend circle, not the odd man out. This felt like being back in 6th grade at Ilvermorny again4, but worse, because he had no classmates with him.


    "Excuse me," he muttered, quickly washing up and squeezing past them.


    The platform was worse. Clusters of students paused their conversations to watch him pass, some pointing openly, others whispering behind their hands. He caught a remark about him looking like a train conductor.5 A group of younger students actually got up off a bench they had claimed and scrambled out of his way.


    The whispers followed him like shadows. The surrounding world was alien and unfriendly, and he sought refuge in the comforting familiarity of tobacco. Getting back to his trunk, he packed away his No-Maj street clothes, then closed the lid, sat down upon it, and stared at the platform pavement as he reached for a cigarette. He didn¡¯t feel quite like getting on the train yet.


    The whispered remarks hushed a bit around him, but he didn¡¯t pay any attention to their significance until two legs stopped directly in front of him and faced him.


    <hr><hr>


    1. That 1946 incident was such an unmitigated disaster that it¡¯s still talked about at the Ministry, and not fondly, I might add. For four harrowing hours, the little bugger went from shop window to shop window, pocketing everything shiny from rings to pocket watches, and even some poor Muggle¡¯s dentures. It took three Obliviators to clean up the chaos - not to mention all the Muggle shopkeepers who swore up and down that they¡¯d seen a ''mutant mole'' wreaking havoc. Then, of course, some overenthusiastic Muggles got wind of it. They turned the fiasco into the opening of that bloody Muggle film Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, conveniently shifting it to New York City in the early 1900s. Supposedly for ''drama.'' No one wants to see Bristol in the rain, I suppose.


    Then again, I don''t want to see Bristol in any weather.


    2. One must address the ghastly pretensions of pre-1982 Ilvermorny. Their students paraded about like some dreadful combination of Prussian cadets and those American "G.I. Joe" dolls that modern Muggle children are so fond of. While their current attire is marginally more tolerable, it now reeks of that American obsession with appearing "casual." Heaven forbid they should embrace proper wizarding robes. Then again, what can one expect from a nation that thinks baseball on broomsticks is an acceptable sporting endeavour?


    3. The exodus of British magical families from the former colonies remains a delicate subject, but the dissolution of the Raj was a disaster for expatriate wizarding families. Most fled to more civilized climates such as Britain, South Africa or Canada, though a few chose to embrace "local" magical traditions and remain.


    4. "Sixth grade" is equivalent to our first-year. Mr. Semmes presumably attended Muggle primary school in New York City for what he would have called his "1th through 5th grades". That young Mr. Semmes attended a Muggle institution in New York City (of all places) before proper magical instruction began is, sadly, typical of MACUSA''s increasingly lax attitudes toward Muggle society.


    5. While one often struggles to find humor in such dry material as school uniforms, the outfits of pre-reform Ilvermorny students did indeed make them appear rather like an assembly of midnight blue-clad porters.


    6. Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, nestled in the Pyrenean foothills of southern France, is renowned for its breathtaking architecture and emphasis on charmwork and alchemy. The institution, steeped in French wizarding tradition, prides itself on elegance and discipline, producing witches and wizards known for their refinement and scholarly prowess. Along with Hogwarts and Durmstrang, the only magical secondary education schools in Europe.


    7. Durmstrang Institute, a remote and formidable school of magic located in the northernmost reaches of Europe¡ªlikely within the shadowy forests or icy fjords of Scandinavia¡ªhas long been shrouded in mystery. Known for its austere teaching methods and emphasis on martial magic, the school has often been associated with a more... pragmatic approach to the Dark Arts, though its defenders would call this a matter of "broad magical education."


    - Percy Runner


    London, 2024


    Editor''s Note: These observations should be considered within their historical context. Modern diplomatic relations with MACUSA necessitate a more measured perspective on our differences in educational philosophy. Mr. Runner''s views do not reflect current Ministry policy regarding international magical cooperation.


    Horatius Cornhower, Peregrina Publishing Press

 4. The Prefect on the Platform

    Two pristinely shined black dragon-leather shoes appeared in front of Jack. Hand-tooled in Paris if he wasn''t mistaken, worn by a set of slender legs wrapped in a knee-length skirt with dark nylon stockings¡­wait, how did she get those? Weren¡¯t those still rationed?1


    He looked up - cigarette forgotten - past blue-trimmed school robes into a face that wouldn''t have been out of place on a classical statue, right down to the disdainful expression. She looked to be about his age. Her features were refined and aristocratic, with high, elegant cheekbones, a graceful jawline, a pert, slightly upturned nose, and white-gold hair plaited into an intricate crown braid that probably required house-elf assistance to achieve.


    Her uniform was clearly bespoke, her skirt pleats knife-sharp, and her silver-and-blue necktie perfectly knotted. There was a shiny little badge pinned atop her right breast, opposite her house crest (azure, a raven displayed sable). But it was her piercing, expressive eyes that caught his attention and held it in a vise ¨C a startling shade of violet that held an intensity well beyond her years, and managed to be both beautiful and utterly intimidating as she glared down at him.


    She reminded him of Vivian Leigh, complete with the attitude of Scarlett O¡¯Hara.2


    "This is a platform for Hogwarts students," she announced to him imperiously in Received Pronunciation that could have sliced diamond. "Nobody else is allowed to ride this train except for staff or faculty, and I don''t think you''re either.¡± She put her hands on her slim hips. ¡°Please leave or I shall summon the guard."


    The sheer absurdity of her presumption after spending the morning fleeing from dark wizards hit Jack like a practical joke. His surprise morphed into a stifled giggle, then into a laugh that only intensified when he saw her expression shift from haughty disapproval to indignation.


    "I fail to see what''s so amusing," she snapped, her pale cheeks flushing pink.


    "I''m sorry," Jack managed between chuckles, not even caring anymore that everyone around was watching him. "It''s just... I am a student. From the States. Ilvermorny."


    "An American? Impossible." The violet eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I''ve not heard of any such transfer. Show me your letter of admittance."


    Jack started to stand up and reach for his trunk latches, then paused. Something in her commanding tone sparked his native rebelliousness, only slightly refined over by five years of regimen in the Taconics. Who even was she to talk to him like this? They weren¡¯t at Ilvermorny. He wasn''t going to jump just because this dame said so. Everyone was watching, after all. He needed to make a statement about who he was, who Americans were. He straightened up, meeting her gaze head on. "Sure. How about you tell me who you are first?"


    She drew herself up to her full height - which was considerable, though still well short of his own - and took a breath like she was about to deliver a proclamation from the steps of a palace: "Cassandra Hightower, sixth year Ravenclaw Prefect."


    The name was delivered with such expectation of recognition and obeisance that Jack had to fight back another laugh. This girl must think she¡¯s royalty or something. What a country! He stood up, unleashed his most charming smile, and extended his hand. "Jack Semmes. Pleased to meet you."


    She pointedly ignored his hand, crossing her arms underneath her breasts and drawing herself up like the photos of the Admiralty Guards in Jack¡¯s No-Maj Guide to Great Britain.3 "Your letter, Mr. Semmes," she prompted icily. "I won''t ask again."


    A sizable crowd of students was starting to gather around them, drawn by the spectacle of the standoff. Jack rapidly calculated that this wasn''t a battle he was likely to win, at least not without causing an even bigger scene. And who knew what this spunky doll could actually do to him. She might even be someone actually important, considering how she acted. How powerful were prefects here? Were they like student officers?


    Turning to his trunk, he pointed his wand (12 ? inches, sugar maple, thunderbird feather core, slightly springy) to pop the latches and lift out the folded parchment of his admittance letter. Rather than hand it over, an impish impulse took him. He flicked his wand, sending the letter zooming into her chest. She fumbled it, glaring at him as she unfolded the parchment and began to deliberately read.


    "Is everyone in this country so friendly?" Jack asked blithely, taking up his cigarette again. "Or is it just you?"


    He deftly lit the tip with a tap of his wand and took a long drag, willing himself to personify coolness.


    Cassandra ignored him, her eyes scanning the letter with purposeful slowness. Jack patiently smoked, his eyes making a circuit between her and the crowd, whose expressions ranged from horrified to amused. Finally, she looked up, refolding the parchment with crisp motions.


    "Well, Mr. Semmes," she said coolly, using her own wand to send it flying back into his trunk. "It appears you are who you say you are.¡±


    Another flick, and the lid slammed down way harder than it needed to be. ¡°Congratulations and welcome to Hogwarts. Do try to adhere to the dress code in future."


    With that, she turned on her heel, marching off towards the front of the train. The crowd around them evaporated like fog in morning sunshine, several of them giving Jack curious looks that he ignored. He was too busy watching her, and noting how her robe swished above her stockinged ankles as she walked.


    Franklin¡¯s stove, he thought, blowing smoke upward with an exaggerated exhale, why are the prettiest girls always either taken or terrors? He''d known dames like that back at Ilvermorny - old magical families from the Northeast, Essex County or the Philadelphia Main Line, with overprotective fathers, more gold than Gringotts, and ¡®their way or the highway¡¯.


    Still, he mused, flicking his ash on the ground, none of them had quite managed that particular combination of untouchable beauty and devastating intimidation. Must be the accent.


    "ALL ABOARD!" The conductor''s magically amplified voice echoed through the platform. "Hogwarts Express, departing in five minutes! All aboard!"


    Jack left his luggage on the platform as bidden, heading towards the open door of the worn, wood-paneled carriage in front of him along with a flood of his future classmates. The Hogwarts Express was no Yankee Doodlebug4, that¡¯s for sure, he noted as he squeezed into the passageway and into the first empty compartment he saw. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    The car smelled of coal smoke and wood polish. The interior showed the strain of the recent war years, the brass fittings were losing their lacquer despite careful cleaning, the leather seats were cracked and patched in places, and his window bore a spiderweb crack in the lower left that magic hadn''t quite managed to repair. He slid the door closed with a rattle and a bump, then positioned himself in the forward-facing corner, taking up as much space as possible to discourage anyone from coming to sit with him. No one did, although he got some annoying stares from younger students through the glass window in the compartment door.


    Jack stubbed out his cigarette in a handy ashtray (he couldn¡¯t figure out how to get the window to open), undid his collar, pulled his cap over his eyes and waited for the train to depart. Once the whistle blew and the train started to move, Jack was up and heading forward for the club car, readjusting his uniform along the way, leaving his cap to mark his seat.


    The rhythmic clacking of the wheels on the tracks filled the air, punctuated by the muffled chatter and laughter of his fellow students in the compartments he passed. In between cars, he approached a trio of boys around his age wearing black school robes with red trim smoking and chatting in the open air. The boy in front, a broad-shouldered youth a few inches shorter than Jack with sandy hair and a friendly, open expression, tapped his friends to indicate they should make room.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Jack said appreciatively as they squeezed around each other, the train¡¯s wheels clattering loudly over the tracks below.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± the boy replied, pointing to the car behind them, ¡°Pullman is just there, assuming that¡¯s where you¡¯re heading?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± Jack replied, pushing open the door to the club car. Plush seats upholstered in deep burgundy velvet lined the sides of the car, drenched in sunshine. Through the large windows, the lush, rolling hills of Hertfordshire passed by in a blur of brown and green. The club car was alive with students in all four house colors, some nibbling on pastries and sipping hot beverages, others gazing out the large windows at the passing countryside. The tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked bread wafted through the air, causing Jack''s stomach to rumble in anticipation. His scanty breakfast on the ship felt like a lifetime ago. Weaving his way through the crowd, he approached the counter, where a kindly-looking witch had just finished serving a disparate pair of redheads, sisters by the look of it.


    "What can I get for you, dear?" she asked, her voice gentle and welcoming.


    Jack examined the menu while fishing in his wallet for a few Knuts. ¡°Coffee please, milk and sugar, and three of those club sandwiches please.¡±


    The witch nodded with a smile, quickly assembling his order and handing over his change. Balancing the paper-wrapped sandwiches and the steaming mug of coffee, Jack scanned the car for an available seat. There weren¡¯t any on this side of the bar, and no one seemed to be in any hurry to make room for the strange boy in the strange uniform either. Not wanting to make the long walk back to his compartment with his coffee, Jack squeezed by the line for the bar towards the other end of the club car.


    His eyes settled on a solitary figure sitting near the back on a two-person bench, a thin young man in green-trimmed robes with carefully-parted blonde hair and wire-rimmed round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. The boy''s expression was one of cool detachment, his gaze fixed firmly out the window. Perfect, thought Jack. The brooding type, excellent companionship for guys like me. With a lopsided grin, he approached his unsuspecting quarry, clearing his throat loudly. "Uh, hey there. Mind if I join you?"


    The boy''s piercing blue eyes flicked towards Jack, and for a moment, the American felt as if he were being numbered, weighed, and found wanting.


    "I suppose," the boy replied in a clipped tone, gesturing vaguely to the empty seat beside him. Jack settled in, holding his coffee between his knees. He quickly unwrapped one of the sandwiches and took a large bite of chicken, lettuce and tomato, his hunger temporarily overriding his desire for human connection.


    As he chewed, he stole a glance at his taciturn seatmate, whose gaze remained fixed resolutely out the window, his brow furrowed in what appeared to be deep contemplation.


    Or perhaps constipation.


    "So, uh, you got a name?" Jack asked, his words muffled by a mouthful of bread, lettuce and meat.


    The boy closed his eyes in momentary annoyance, then he turned his head to fix Jack with another categorizing stare, briefer this time.


    "Cyprian Venge," he replied, looking back out the window.


    ¡°Cool!¡± Jack nodded, swallowing heavily. "I¡¯m Jack. Nice to meet ya, Cyprian. Would shake hands you know but-" he gestured with the sandwich in one hand and the coffee in the other. There was a pause as Jack took another huge bite and finished the first sandwich, washing it down with half of his coffee. His spirits were returning in fine order. ¡°Nice scenery huh?¡± he asked his seatmate cheerfully, unwrapping sandwich number two and devouring it in four bites.


    ¡°It¡¯s even nicer when it¡¯s quiet,¡± his taciturn companion replied without turning his head, the passing landscape flashing across his glasses like a no-Maj movie projector.


    Undeterred, Jack settled back in his seat to eat his last sandwich, ¡°So you¡¯re in, uh Slytherin right? The green looks good with the black, snazzy.¡±


    Cyprian closed his eyes momentarily, as if he was hoping to wake from a nightmare where a loudmouthed foreigner had just sat down next to him. ¡°Thank you,¡± he replied.


    ¡°I read in Hogwarts: A History that you guys live down under the lake, with a big window looking underwater. Does it get drafty? You guys have dehumidifier charms or something?¡± Jack asked around another mouthful.


    ¡°We manage,¡± Cyprian replied.


    ¡°Ain¡¯t that just what we can do,¡± Jack finished his food, then drained his coffee. This Venge kid was no fun. Jack was getting bored and a bit sleepy. He hadn''t slept well over the past few days aboard the liner anyway. ¡°See ya ¡®round, buddy!¡± he said as he popped up like a jackalope.5 Jack returned his empty mug to the tray floating around the car in mid-air before squeezing through the club car and heading back to his compartment.


    Once there, he made himself comfortable on the bench seat, placed his hat over his eyes, and slipped into a dreamless sleep after a few minutes, lulled by the gentle rocking of the carriage. When he finally stirred, the sun was low in the west, painting the crags of the Scottish Highlands in regal shades of purple and gold through his window.


    His compartment was still empty save, either his unusual appearance was keeping people away, or British magical students were more courteous about disturbing sleeping strangers than their American counterparts.


    Through the window, mountains marched past under a darkening sky before suddenly vanishing into a howl of air as the train plunged into a tunnel. Somewhere ahead lay Hogwarts, and whatever reception they had planned for the first transfer student they¡¯ve had in decades. Jack rubbed his eyes. Whatever it was, hopefully it involved a hot shower and a warm bed. And that they kept the new student hazing to a minimum.6 He wouldn¡¯t mind seeing that Cassandra girl again though, preferably after she had an attitude adjustment. She was probably just stressed out from the first day of school.


    <hr><hr>


    1. While Muggle Britain suffered under nylon rationing through the post-war years, no self-respecting wizard would ever be caught dead in synthetic fibres. Leave it to an American to mistake proper wizarding silk for some ghastly petroleum-based substitute. Next they''ll be suggesting we wear polyester robes!


    2. Modern readers may need reminding that comparing witches to Muggle film actresses was considered quite daring in the 1940s. The reference to Scarlett O''Hara here is particularly loaded, given her character''s reputation for willfulness</a> in the 1939 film Gone With the Wind. We must suppose that a young man like Mr. Semmes considered such comparisons romantic rather than scandalous.


    3. The peculiar American obsession with photographing our Muggle Admiralty Guards remains utterly baffling. The poor chaps can barely complete their rounds for all the clicking and flashing.


    4. The infamous Yankee Doodlebug Express. It opened in 1938 and ran from Miami, Florida to Bangor, Maine with a spur out to Ilvermorny in Mount Greylock, Massachusetts. A garish attempt to replicate the Hogwarts Express'' charm, complete with singing conductors and "magical snowfall" in the dining car. Went belly-up in ''93 after American wizards discovered something called "air miles." Good riddance to that particular bit of colonial whimsy.


    5. The jackalope: supposedly a local species of horned rabbit native to the American West. Complete nonsense, of course - clearly a badly executed Transfiguration experiment that got out of hand. The Americans insist on claiming it as a native magical beast.


    6. The hazing at Ilvermorny was notorious, particularly in the mid-20th century. Accounts from the time make it clear that it was very unpleasant to be a first-year student - or a "tack," as they are called to this day.


    - Percy Runner,


    Diagon Alley, 2024

 5. An American in Scotland

    The Hogwarts Express burst from the tunnel, and turned around a gentle curve laying open a view of a breathtaking glacial valley. The magnificent castle of Hogwarts sat on a stone rise in the middle, looking like an artfully crafted model from this distance. The last rays of the sun cast a golden light over the ancient stone walls and towering spires, giving the weathered structure a warm glow, as if it were carved from sandstone.


    Thick pine forests blanketed the surrounding hills, their verdant canopies giving way to rocky outcroppings and towering cliffs that plunged down to a massive glimmering lake. The surface of the water shimmered like an oil slick, reflecting the rays of the sun back in pinks, purples, and orange.


    Hogsmeade Station emerged from the gathering twilight like something from a fairy tale. Gas lamps cast warm pools of light across the platform, and beyond them the village proper sprawled up the nearby hillside, its windows twinkling in the gathering darkness. With a great hiss of steam, the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, its scarlet engine coming to a stop. Jack stepped out of his compartment and followed his future classmates out of the car. The station platform was bustling with activity, as students disembarked and began making their way towards the carriages that would transport them up to the castle. Further down the valley, one could see the lights of individual farms and smaller hamlets in the distance like will o¡¯ wisps rising up to the impossibly high surrounding cliffs. The air was decidedly colder than it was in London, crisp with the promise of autumn. Jack took a deep breath, it reminded him of Mount Greylock, but with spicy notes of heather and pine from the surrounding highlands rather than the warm, sweet smell of fallen oak and maple leaves.


    But it was the castle that caught and held Jack''s attention. From this distance, Hogwarts loomed from its rocky prominence like it was carved from a single piece of living granite, its countless towers and turrets silhouetted against the purple twilight sky. The valley spread out below it like a landscape painting, and the great lake reflected the myriad lights from the castle windows. After five years in Ilvermorny''s precisely arranged Beaux-Arts halls, Jack had to admit - it was seriously impressive.


    The Hogsmeade platform was bustling with activity as students disembarked and began making their way towards the horseless carriages that would transport them up to the castle. "First years! First years over here! This way for the first years!" A short wizard in an enormous tartan cloak and kilt was corralling a herd of wide-eyed eleven-year-olds toward a flotilla of small boats bobbing at the lake''s edge on the other side of the station. Jack headed the opposite direction, following the crowd toward the road, where a line of waiting horseless carriages awaited. Jack wondered idly if they used No-Maj engines. He was just about to reach one when Cassandra Hightower practically apparated in front of him.


    ¡°Hi!¡± Jack said, pleasantly surprised to see her. She looked even more beautiful in the evening light. ¡°Want to ride up together?¡±


    "What?¡± she said, taken aback, ¡°No! First years go that way," she pointed behind him.


    ¡°Yeah, I know,¡± Jack replied, ¡°The guy in the dress back there said so.¡±1


    She shook her head, "That includes transfer students. You''ll be riding across with them."


    ¡°Gimme a break,¡± Jack scoffed. "I''m not a first year," he moved to step around her. "I''m joining the sixth year class. I''ll ride up in the carriages with everyone else, thanks."


    Cassandra moved to block him again, sticking out a slender arm in his path, violet eyes flashing in the lamplight. "It''s tradition for all new students to cross the lake," she insisted as Jack bumped up against her. "That means you, Mr. Semmes."


    "Says who?" Jack took a step back and crossed his arms, it was hard not to smile at her determination. ¡°You?¡±


    "The rules!"A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    "Which rules?"


    "The.. the..." she momentarily lost her bearing, "The Hogwarts rules!¡± she stamped her foot. ¡°For Hogwarts students!"


    "I''ve never heard of that rule," interrupted a cheerful voice. The sandy-haired boy from the club car poked his head out of the open window of the nearest carriage. "We haven''t had any transfer students here since... oh, must have been 1923? Graf Siegfried Maria Hildebrand Maximilian Albrecht von Schlotterkopf Knickerbein from Durmstrang, wasn''t it?¡± His hazel eyes twinkled mischievously. ¡°Did he take a boat ride?"


    Cassandra huffed, turning her glare on the newcomer. "This isn''t your concern, Ravenhurst," she snapped. "I''m handling it."


    Ravenhurst raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Doesn''t look like there''s anything to handle," he observed. "Unless you''re planning on physically tossing our new Yank into one of those boats."


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind that,¡± Jack grinned. Cassandra went bright red, and for a moment Jack wondered if British witches slapped like American ones or just went straight for their wands.


    "Henry Ravenhurst," the boy from the carriage said to Jack, leaning out of the window and not giving her a chance to respond. His broad accent spoke of wild moors and country manors. "Sixth year Gryffindor, just like you¡¯ll be, hopefully. Don''t mind our Miss Hightower here, she takes her prefect duties rather seriously. Especially when foreigners are involved - you know, you might be a spy, one never knows nowadays. Did she check you for Polyjuice before you arrived?¡±


    Jack burst out laughing. Cassandra folded her arms and looked murderously at both of them.


    ¡°That is enough, Ravenhurst.¡± she said. ¡°I will report you to Professor MacLeod for interfering with official prefect duties, to say nothing of your incorrigible-¡±


    "Well then you¡¯d better get a move on then," Henry announced lightheartedly, opening the door of the carriage for Jack. "Unless you would prefer to explain to Headmaster Hollowbrook why we¡¯re delaying the welcome feast over some fictitious rule?"


    A small crowd had gathered to watch the entertainment. Cassandra looked around, seemed to realize she was losing whatever authority she had, and drew herself up with wounded dignity. Then, with a final venomous look at Jack, she spun on her heel and stormed off. "This isn''t over, Semmes," she declared balefully over her shoulder.


    Jack let out a low whistle as she headed for the front of the carriage line, for once at a loss for words.


    "Don''t mind Hightower," Henry repeated, helping Jack into the carriage, "Known her for ages. She takes her duties very seriously. Bit of a stickler."


    "You don''t say," Jack chuckled, settling into the springy seat, "Thanks for the save. I''m Jack. Jack Semmes.¡± He stuck his hand out.


    "Pleasure¡¯s all mine, Jack," the other boy shook Jack''s hand firmly as the carriage began to trundle up the winding path towards the looming castle. The sun had set beyond the western hillslopes, and a full harvest moon blazed low in the darkening sky. "No need for thanks, happy to help. Us non-prefects have to stick together."


    Jack smiled, already warming to Henry''s easy manner. As they rode, his companion kept up a steady stream of friendly chatter, introducing himself further (he was from the West Riding, which as Jack found out, was not a racetrack but part of Yorkshire), pointing out landmarks and sharing bits of Hogwarts lore. Jack drank it all in eagerly, craning his neck for glimpses of the castle as they rounded the twisting curves and passed through the outer curtain wall, under the North Gate, and onto the school grounds.


    "How are you finding our sceptered isle?"2 Henry continued as their carriage rattled up the road, ¡°Pleasant journey to London, I hope?"


    ¡°Everything was great until I got off the boat¡­¡± Jack provided an abridged and slightly embellished version of the chase and narrow escape that he had in Liverpool before taking the Floo Network to King¡¯s Cross, adding some heroics that he certainly would have flawlessly executed had he been caught alone and without a Ministry escort.


    ¡°Merlin¡­¡± Henry¡¯s carefree face turned extremely serious, ¡°The Ministry official said they were Grindlewald¡¯s men? That¡¯s not good, did he say why they were after you?¡±


    Jack shook his head, about to explain further about his father¡¯s new position in the British Ministry when the carriages stopped at the foot of the sweeping front steps and they had to disembark.


    <hr><hr>


    1. A tiresome (and juvenile) example of American magical ignorance regarding the traditional Scottish kilt.


    2. A reference to Richard II''s famous "sceptered isle" speech by William Shakespeare (1564-1616), widely considered the greatest wizard-playwright in history. Though his magical status was kept secret during his lifetime to protect both his art and the Statute of Secrecy, his profound understanding of both magical and Muggle nature produced works that continue to resonate across both worlds.


    - Percy Runner


    London, 2024

 6. Action and Reaction

    The returning students and Jack climbed the steps and passed underneath the Bell Tower, its huge pendulum swinging above them, then down a hallway, and emerged into a large, quadrangular courtyard (¡°The Transfiguration Courtyard,¡± Henry supplied), the night sky twinkling overhead. A cloister ran along the perimeter, its columns twined with flowering vines that perfumed the air. In the center of the courtyard stood a sundial, its gnomon casting a long, useless shadow in the moonlight. Down the cloisters to the left, and they entered into the central hall, a vast, vaulted chamber with staircases on three sides and dominated by an enormous fountain. The centerpiece was a towering statue of a bearded wizard, water spouting from the tip of his wand, while carved magical creatures of all descriptions cavorted in the surrounding pool.


    "Here¡¯s the central hall, the fulcrum that Hogwarts spins around, that''s the Fountain of Magical Brethren," Henry explained in a low voice as they approached. "Represents the unity of the wizarding world, they say. They also say the sculptor just wanted to carve a bunch of naked mermaids. Old joke." Jack snorted with repressed laughter.


    As they passed through the hall and down the stairs to the right, Henry kept up a quiet running commentary, pointing out the library, the greenhouses, the stairs down to the dungeons, and different routes to classrooms. ¡°I¡¯ll give you a proper tour when you get sorted into Gryffindor, consider this the general visitor¡¯s guide,¡± he added helpfully.


    ¡°If, not when, right?¡± Jack grinned. ¡°What if the hat thinks otherwise?¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t, I can tell. You¡¯re already a Gryffindor through and through,¡± Henry stated confidently. ¡°Nobody else would have been daft enough to pick a fight with Hightower on their first day.¡±


    An enormous portrait of a dignified wizard with a carefully groomed black beard and mustache looked dubiously down at them as they walked underneath his watchful gaze, ¡°Place has gone to the hounds,¡± the portrait boomed with a self-satisfied air. ¡°Each year they drop the standards further and further! First it was fifth-years, what could be next, accepting seventh-year transfer students? Not even enforcing basic uniformity anymore either, why back when I was Headmaster¡­¡± Then they were out into the night air again, across a towering viaduct, then another series of stairs up to the Viaduct Courtyard surrounded by massive towers, until at last, they ascended to a set of massive double doors leading into the Entrance Hall, their oak panels intricately carved with scenes of magical feasts and celebrations. Some upperclassmen ahead of them pushed the doors open to reveal the reception hall beyond. As they entered, a severe voice rang out, cutting through the chatter of the returning students.


    "Mr. James Semmes! A word, if you please!"


    Jack knew that tone of voice. It spelled trouble. He turned to see a tall, stern-faced witch in dark blue robes bearing down on him from the stairs, her graying hair arranged in artful curls. Cassandra Hightower hovered at her elbow, looking like a raccoon eying an open trash can.


    "Deputy Headmistress Winterborn," Henry whispered in Jack''s ear. "Head of Ravenclaw. What did you do to get on her bad side already?"


    Jack didn''t have a chance to answer. Professor Winterborn had already reached them, her sharp gaze raking over Jack critically. She was shorter than him, but her erect posture and terrifying presence added a foot to her height. Henry discreetly scooted away from Jack.


    "Mr. Semmes," she said, as the other students formed a large semicircle behind him like a patchwork cyclorama.1 "I understand you chose to disregard our traditions and arrive with the upper years, despite Miss Hightower''s explicit instructions."


    Jack opened his mouth to defend himself, but Winterborn held up a hand to silence him.


    "I don''t want to hear excuses," she said caustically. "Hogwarts has a way of doing things, Mr. Semmes. A way that has served us well for centuries. It is not for you to question or disregard those traditions simply because you are a new boy here."


    Jack quailed under her reproach, his confidence evaporating, each word driving him further into the floor like a hammer.


    "You will find that Hogwarts rewards those who respect our ways and abide by our rules, and sternly disciplines those who do not. Especially when those rules are conveyed by your fellow students. I suggest you take this lesson to heart."If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    With that, she pointed to the double doors beyond leading to the Great Hall proper, "You will wait there in the corner until the first-years arrive for the Sorting. Perhaps a bit of time to reflect on the importance of meekness and obedience will do you good. Miss Hightower, if you would be so kind as to escort Mr. Semmes? The rest of you, to your tables." She made a sweeping gesture, then departed through the door they had just entered, presumably to fetch the first-years from the boathouse dock.


    Jack balled his fists tightly as he followed Cassandra up the stairs. Around them, students whispered and pointed, craning for a look at the idiot American transfer student. He could practically feel the triumphant satisfaction radiating off Cassandra¡¯s face as she deposited him in the corner, his ears burning and his ego deflated.


    "You just couldn''t follow simple instructions, could you?" Hightower said, lecturing him like a naughty child as his future classmates trooped past. "Had to make a scene, show everyone how special you are."


    Jack clenched his jaw, "My mistake," he ground out through gritted teeth. "I didn''t realize I was signing up for a No-Maj chain gang by coming here."2


    Cassandra made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "Enjoy your time with the first-years, Semmes," she said, eyes glittering like amethyst. "Maybe you could learn something from them. Like humility."


    With that parting shot, she spun on her heel and walked into the great hall, head held high. Jack watched her, fury burning in his gut as the rest of the students passed, murmuring and snickering. Jack set his jaw and fixed his gaze straight ahead, determined not to give them the satisfaction of seeing him squirm. He could feel the weight of their stares as the last of them passed, their judgment and gleeful schadenfreude. It was like being back in No-Maj elementary school, the weird kid that nobody wanted to sit with at lunch.


    He leaned against the cold stone wall, alone in the corner of the reception hall, waiting. Four giant bronze hourglasses dominated the far side of the foyer, each bearing one of the crests of the four houses. The tops of the hourglasses were filled with respectively colored gemstones: garnet for Gryffindor, tourmaline for Slytherin, topaz for Hufflepuff, and lapis lazuli for Ravenclaw. Their presumed purpose eluded him, probably some kind of inter-house competition.


    Several agonizing minutes ticked by. The great hall through the doors behind him filled with laughter and conversation as he continued to stew and indulge in a private fantasy of pushing Hightower into the stupid lake that she was so insistent on him crossing. At last, the first-years arrived up the winding stairs from the boathouse and headed towards him, led by Professor Winterborn, huddling together in nervous, damp knots. They eyed Jack curiously, taking in his height and striking Ilvermorny uniform.


    ¡°Are you a guard?¡± asked a brave little boy, looking up at him with eyes as wide as saucers.


    Jack glared back at him. Great. Even the little kids thought he was a freak.


    ¡°Are we all here?¡± Professor Winterborn said, her gaze taking over her charges, ending with a pointed look at Jack. ¡°Very well, welcome to Hogwarts.¡± She opened the door dramatically, leading the gaggle of first-years (and one mortified sixth-year) into the Great Hall.


    Even in Jack¡¯s humiliated state of mind, the gothic splendor of the Great Hall was still amazing. It was smaller than he had expected, but no less impressive for it. Hundreds of candles floating beneath an enchanted ceiling that perfectly mirrored the star-studded Scottish sky outside, the four long tables lined with - by Jack¡¯s quick estimate - about three hundred students in black robes. At the staff table on the dais, a distinguished collection of witches and wizards watched the students file in. Jack noted that the house tables seemed to have more room on the benches than the 60 or so first-years could fill, as if a portion of the student body was missing.


    At the front of the hall, a shabby, patched wizard''s hat sat on a stool. As Jack watched, a rip near the brim opened and the hat began to sing, extolling the virtues of the four Hogwarts houses. He listened with half an ear, too busy scanning the room to take in the words.


    His gaze landed on the Gryffindor table, where Henry Ravenhurst sat surrounded by a knot of friendly-looking students. Henry caught his eye and shot him a sympathetic look, mouthing "Sorry, old sport."


    Jack''s answering smile was more of a grimace.


    The Sorting dragged on for eternity, the hat shouting out house names as one tiny freshman after another scurried to their new tables amid cheers and applause. The precocious boy (Hitchens, Palamedes) who thought that Jack looked like a guard ended up in Gryffindor. Jack shifted from foot to foot, acutely aware of how ridiculous he must look, looming over the diminutive first-years in his blue jacket.


    Finally, after "Zillmer, Hortensia" was declared a Hufflepuff, Professor Winterborn fixed Jack with a stern look.


    "Semmes, James Thomas," she called, her voice ringing through the hall. "Transfer student, Ilvermorny, sixth year."


    <hr><hr>


    1. A cyclorama was a curved backdrop used in Muggle theaters, typically a semicircle of painted canvas or fabric. The term would have been familiar to contemporary magical students through the growing popularity of the Wizarding Wireless Theatre productions of the 1930s and 40s, which frequently advertised their "enchanted cyclorama effects" in the Daily Prophet.


    2. Chain gangs were groups of luckless Muggle prisoners forced to perform manual labor while chained together, a practice particularly common in America during this period. The term entered British magical vernacular through American wireless programs and publications of the 1940s, becoming teenage slang for any form of perceived excessive punishment or work detail.


    - Percy Runner


    London, 2024

 7. Sorted

    A susurration of fresh whispers rippled through the room as Jack marched forward down the interminable walk to the front of the hall, his face flushed as he tried vainly not to listen to what was being said about him from every quarter.


    ¡°...did he really say that to Hightower?¡± ¡°Cocky chancer¡­¡± ¡°Who does he think he is?¡± ¡°...we shouldn¡¯t take transfers.¡± ¡°Hope he doesn¡¯t end up with us¡­¡± ¡°Typical big-headed Yank.¡± ¡°...should just go home¡­¡±


    He could feel every eye on him as he sat gingerly on the stool and faced the stares of the assembly. He stared fixedly down the central aisle at the double doors. Then the hat was unceremoniously dropped over his head by Professor Winterborn, surrounding him with musty, merciful darkness.


    "Hmmm," murmured a startling voice from the interior of the hat. Was he hearing it in his head? Or through his ears? "You¡¯re already almost fully grown here, Mr. Semmes. Ilvermonry hasn¡¯t given me much to work with. Old oak is hard to shape, to mold and adapt. But in the right environment¡­hmm, yes, perhaps with a combination of heat and pressure... You¡¯ve got plenty of courage, oh yes, I can see the adventures that bravery has taken you, some ambition, good amount of wit, and loyalty too, loyal as a badger. You''d do well in Hufflepuff, but with that streak of curiosity...where to place you?¡±


    "Gryffindor," he thought desperately, thinking of two years having to deal with the likes of Cassandra and Cyprian. "For Franklin¡¯s sake. Put me in Gryffindor. Please."


    Whether the hat heard his silent plea or had already made up its mind, Jack didn''t know. But after a moment, the rip at the brim opened wide and shouted: "GRYFFINDOR!"


    Jack sagged with relief, yanking the hat off and stumbling towards the cheering Gryffindor table, Henry leading the applause and directing his housemates to join in with more enthusiasm. As he walked, Professor Winterborn performed an intricate motion with her wand behind him. His Ilvermorny uniform jacket transfigured to long, black Hogwarts robes, complete with red trim. He felt a pang of loss as the Thunderbird pin popped off his uniform (he caught it just in time) and was replaced by the bold lion rampant of Gryffindor over his heart, but the ensuing roar of approval from his new house washed it away like an ocean wave.


    As Jack took his seat, he vaguely noticed the varying reactions from other houses - polite applause from Hufflepuff, catcalls and snickers from Ravenclaw, and studied indifference from Slytherin.


    "Budge up, you lot," Henry said briskly, elbowing aside a couple of gawking second years to make room for Jack to sit. "Well done, Semmes! I already told the lads that it was my fault that you didn¡¯t ride with the first-years. Rotten of me to put you in the lurch like that on your first day, forgive me?¡± He stuck his hand out.


    Jack shook it feeling slightly numb, ¡±Nothing to forgive, I got myself in trouble.¡±


    ¡°No no, honestly,¡± Henry added earnestly, ¡°I made up all that nonsense about the Jerry transfer student too, didn¡¯t think she¡¯d run off and tattle to Winterborn about it.¡±


    Jack shook his head, Cassandra Hightower was to blame for this, not the only boy here that¡¯s shown him any kind of friendship. "It''s fine," he said shortly. "Not your fault Hightower''s stuck up. I can handle her.¡±


    "Good luck if you can, old sport, because none of us can," Henry said, clapping him on the back. "But you''ve got us now. Gryffindors stick together."


    Jack managed a smile at that, looking at the warm expressions sitting around him, the red and gold banners hanging from the rafters. He was already forgetting about his rude welcome in Liverpool and the humiliating time-out in the reception hall. Maybe this new school wouldn''t be so bad after all.


    At the front of the hall, the headmaster (Augustus Hollowbrook, Henry whispered to Jack, he had been one of the chief resistance leaders against Grindelwald during the opening phases of the war) stood up, his carefully groomed silver beard glinting in the candlelight. "Welcome, welcome, to another year at Hogwarts," he said, leaning heavily upon the back of his chair, his voice magically amplified. "I regret to inform you that the Triwizard Cup will not be happening next year, as Durmstrang is not able to participate.¡±1


    There was a muted reaction from the student body. Henry leaned over in response to Jack¡¯s quizzical expression, ¡°Inter-school competition between us, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. I expected as much, we haven¡¯t had it for 30 years, what¡¯s another five at this rate?¡±


    ¡±Instead,¡± Hollowbrook continued, ¡°Let us focus on the new year ahead. A year of renewal, of rebuilding, after the darkness that has touched us all. Let us come together now, united in our determination to create a brighter future, free from the shadows of the past..."


    He continued for a few more minutes while Jack admired the great hall and imagined what dinner would be like. Then the speech was over and the feast appeared on the plates in front of them, and he was reaching for a steaming platter of roast beef. It was everything Jack could have dreamed of: meats roasted, baked, and boiled; savory pies, potatoes in every style imaginable, and enormous towers of decadent desserts.


    The indefatigable Henry helped make introductions with the other sixth years around him, including the other two Gryffindors that Jack had passed with Henry on the train. These were Oliver Brackenby, a stocky, quiet, dark haired Cumbrian with a bent nose, and Theodoric ¡®Teddy¡¯ Marshwiggle, a lanky, cheerful fellow whose father apparently raised knuckers in the Lincolnshire Fenlands. All three were avid members of the house Quidditch team: Oliver the keeper, Teddy a beater, and Henry a chaser.


    ¡°Welcome aboard Yank, don''t mind the Ravenclaws.¡± said Teddy, ¡°They''re still riding high from the war and Quidditch from last year. Swept the finals, plus half their house joined the Special Magical Operations unit - you know, the ones who broke Grindelwald''s codes and such. Now they all fancy themselves junior Dumbledores."2


    "Isn¡¯t Dumbledore a Gryffindor though?" Jack asked, feeling a sudden surge of second-hand pride from being associated with the greatest wizard alive, even if he was a Brit.


    Oliver chuckled. "If you''re looking for logical consistency in house pride, you''re in for disappointment."


    Jack nodded, determination welling up in his chest as his new friends continued to rag on what was apparently their chief rival.


    He was already starting to feel the Gryffindor house spirit. Jack Semmes would show those stuck-up Ravenclaws. He''d show all of them. Cassandra, Winterborn, the whole gang.


    During dinner Henry and company provided Jack with a helpful introduction to the faculty on the dais. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Headmaster Augustus Hollowbrook sat in the central chair, his silver hair and beard neatly trimmed. He had the weathered look and lines of a man who''d seen much of war. His gray eyes were mournful, and set deeply into his face below dark eyebrows. He doesn¡¯t teach courses or engage with us much, Henry confided, he mainly sits in his office and writes.


    To his right sat Professor Helena Winterborn, Deputy Headmistress, Head of Ravenclaw, and Transfiguration teacher, who Jack had already been roughly introduced to.


    To his left was Professor Malcolm MacLeod, the burly Head of Gryffindor and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, sporting a magnificent red beard and deep facial scars from his time fighting Grindelwald''s radicals in the great war.


    Next to him, the rail-thin Professor of Herbology and Head of Hufflepuff Iris Blackthorn, chatted animatedly with Professor Arcturus Vale, the Potions master and Head of Slytherin with a shock of white hair.


    The other faculty filled out the table: Professor Edwin Brightwell (Charms), Professor Aurora Starling (Astronomy), and more that Jack would meet in the coming days.


    Soon Jack¡¯s new housemates were peppering him with questions about America and Ilvermorny, which he did his best to answer while also stuffing himself.


    "You don''t have a castle, do you?" a sixth-year girl with dark brown hair and an unknown musical accent chimed in, "I read that Ilvermorny is just a house?"


    Jack bristled slightly. "It''s not just a house. It''s a mansion. A big one, with outbuildings, built right into the side of Mount Greylock. No-Maj can''t see it, it looks like just another rocky ridge. Sometimes hikers try to climb to the top, but there are displacement charms that transport them further down the massif so they don¡¯t get near us.¡±


    ¡°Which of your states is it in?¡±


    ¡°Massachusetts.¡± Jack replied, spearing a beef steak with his fork, ¡°We have a little No-Maj town at the base of the mountain called Adams that we¡¯re allowed to visit when we¡¯re in 9th grade, we just can¡¯t bring wands.¡±


    ¡°Your teachers let you traipse around a Muggle town?¡± Henry found that very droll, ¡°And you lot want to?¡±


    "Of course, but why would you want to?" first-year Palamedes Hitchens piped up, genuinely puzzled. "What''s there to do without magic?"


    "Lots of things!¡± Jack exclaimed, ¡°There''s this place called the Sugar Shack that makes the best maple candies you''ve ever tasted, No-Maj or not. And a soda fountain where you can get hamburgers and chocolate malts."


    "Dangerous business," a boy down the table said gloomily. "Mixing with Muggles like that..."


    ¡°We haven¡¯t had any issues,¡± Jack replied defensively, ¡°The townies think that we¡¯re from a local boarding school. Most of them are just happy for the business we bring in, and we always behave ourselves. Ilvermorny has a one-strike policy, like Quopro. One slipup around the No-Maj and you¡¯ve lost walking privileges for the rest of your time there. The biggest problem we had in my memory was that a local boy wanted to take a girl in my class out on a date and wouldn¡¯t take no for an answer. One of the teachers had to perform a gentle memory modification after he tried to follow us back on campus.¡±


    His classmates¡¯ faces held a mixture of amused and scandalized expressions. Imagine, a Muggle boy talking to a witch!


    "It seems like it would be lonely though, being up in the mountains surrounded by Muggles," a fifth-year girl observed.


    "Well, it can be," Jack admitted. "Especially in the wintertime when the snows hit. We¡¯re usually stuck on campus from January to March, we call it the ¡®Greylock-down¡¯. Not much to do besides stay inside and study.¡± And get hazed by bored upperclassmen, he didn¡¯t mention. ¡°That¡¯s when most of the freshmen who don¡¯t have their hearts set on Ilvermorny quit.¡±


    ¡°Sounds like the middle of nowhere,¡± Teddy grinned.


    Jack shrugged, ¡°I mean, it¡¯s not New York, but it¡¯s not in the middle of nowhere either. It¡¯s an hour''s broom flight to Boston and twenty minutes to Albany. It¡¯s not like it''s in Oklahoma or something.¡±


    ¡°Are you from New York City?¡± a second-year boy asked just as Jack had taken a large bite of a Yorkshire pudding. ¡°I heard that¡¯s the biggest city in America, with the tall cloudscratchers!¡±


    ¡°Mph,¡± Jack chewed and swallowed quickly, ¡°Yep I am.¡± Not precisely true. His family was from Hoboken, but he didn¡¯t think his housemates would care about the No-Maj state of New Jersey anyway. Heck, American wizards didn¡¯t even care about New Jersey. Besides, it was close enough.


    ¡°And they¡¯re called ¡®skyscrapers¡¯, not cloudscratchers. The No-Maj¡­the Muggles build them everywhere. You should see them put them up without magic in just a few months, it¡¯s like watching ants crawl all over an apple. They go up hundreds of yards into the air. Then the rich No-Maj live at the top.¡±


    ¡°H-how do they climb all those stairs?¡± the boy continued, wide-eyed.


    ¡°They climb in a big steel box called a L-E-vator, then a boy who lives in it pulls a switch and the box goes up into the sky,¡± Jack explained, proud of his knowledge. His dad had taken him and his mom up to the top of the RCA building when he was twelve years old. He still remembered the panorama of Manhattan spread out under them like a giant model city, dominated by the monumental Empire State Building.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know American Muggles risked their lives so casually to avoid climbing stairs,¡± Oliver observed drily.


    ¡°It¡¯s quite safe,¡± Jack insisted, ¡°It¡¯s less dangerous than crossing the street.¡± He thought of his narrow escape in Liverpool at the hands of an omnibus. Franklin, what an embarrassing end to his adventure that would have been. Why can¡¯t they drive on the right like normal No-Maj?


    ¡°Is New York bigger than London?¡± the girl with the musical accent asked while delicately buttering a potato.


    Jack had no clue, ¡°Probably, I¡¯ve never been to London though, just the train platform.¡±


    ¡°Well, how many Muggles live there?¡±


    ¡°Millions, poor No-Maj, ritzy No-Maj, politicians, musicians, movie stars oh¡­speaking of which,¡± Jack gestured out the door of the Great Hall in the general direction of Hogsmeade, ¡°Do you fellas have a movie theater here?¡±


    Confused stares, ¡°There¡¯s a stage in the Hogsmeade town hall that they put on mystery plays3 during holidays,¡± a curly-haired sixth-year girl named Mina Mulholland said helpfully in a lilting accent of her own, ¡°Is that what you mean?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Jack said, gesturing around him, ¡°Like a big room to watch No-Maj movies, you know, moving pictures!¡±


    ¡°Like¡­a portrait? We have heaps of those already, they never shut up.¡± Teddy said, pointing to the myriad animated canvases around the Great Hall. ¡°Why would we want to watch Muggle portraits?¡±


    Jack took a drink of water and prepared to launch into a passionate defense of American No-Maj cinema, but his enthusiasm was quenched by the confusion and skepticism on the faces of his housemates. He didn¡¯t want them to think he was nuts. ¡°It¡¯s¡­.well we watch a lot of them at Ilvermorny. You know, it¡¯s isolated out there, not much else to do¡­¡± His housemates nudged each other and chuckled. Some of the girls made sympathetic sounds. There was a brief pause in the conversation as the main courses faded, and more desserts took their place.


    <hr><hr>


    1. The Tri-Wizard Cup was on a hiatus from 1920 to 1978, due to the Great Wizarding War and the following Wizarding Cold War. The Tournament''s suspension likely saved countless lives, as both Grindelwald and later _ attempted to infiltrate every major magical school competition during this period. When it finally resumed in ''78 after the Thaw, security measures were unprecedented -though as we saw in 1994, even those weren''t enough.


    2. Albus Dumbledore, arguably the greatest wizard of all time. Modern historians still debate Dumbledore''s deliberate absence from British magical politics during this crucial period.


    3. Mystery plays, once a staple of wizarding holiday traditions, were elaborate theatrical performances depicting magical lore, historical events, or moral tales with a touch of enchantment. Typically staged during celebrations like Christmas or Midsummer, these productions blended storytelling with spellwork¡ªlevitating actors, enchanted backdrops, and talking props were common. While originating as a form of magical entertainment for witches and wizards, they often borrowed themes from Muggle religious dramas of the medieval period, though with decidedly more pyrotechnics and shorter sermons. By the 1960s, the tradition had dwindled, replaced by modern forms of diversion like enchanted radio broadcasts and wizarding cinema.


    - Percy Runner,


    Diagon Alley, 2024

 8. Diplomacy by Dessert

    "Speaking of Muggles," a tall, skinny sixth-year boy with parted red hair said, leaning around Henry to fix Jack with a penetrating stare. "What''s with Americans and their obsession with them? MACUSA is practically part of the Muggle government."


    ¡°Come off it Grymes, everyone knows the Yanks are mad about Muggles,¡± Henry shook his head laughing, trying to deflect the question. ¡°It¡¯s their personal little obsession, like us with Quidditch.¡±


    ¡°Aye, being here is probably better for your state of mind, Semmes,¡± Oliver added, bringing a water jug over to fill up his glass with a sweep of his wand. ¡°It¡¯ll help to ground you back in reality.¡±


    Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Grymes¡¯ gimlet eyes bored into him. He knew there was some truth to the rumor, his father had worked for MACUSA''s No-Maj Bureau before being transferred over here, and he''d heard him speak about joint magical-No-Maj operations during the war. But he also knew that information was definitely classified, and not something to be shared with a bunch of British teenagers, classmates or not.


    "What you said about us and the No-Maj government¡­that''s not true," he said firmly, meeting Grymes¡¯ gaze. "MACUSA has always maintained a strict policy of separation from No-Maj politics. Even the rest of the wizarding world. Heck, we didn''t even join in the fight against Grindelwald until he attacked us!"1


    "But didn''t you help the Muggles in their big war?" the braided girl asked, her eyes wide. "Against the Germans and the Japanese? I mean, you just said you basically live with them at Ilvermorny-"


    ¡°The Americans have been trending towards greater integration with Muggle government for years,¡± Grymes interrupted, speaking with great authority on the subject. ¡°They have a full-fledged Muggle-business office to coordinate policy efforts, not like our Ministry that only talks with Muggles when it''s time to delete inconvenient memories.¡±


    Jack flinched. Not entirely true¡­his dad made it sound like the No-Maj Bureau mainly handled airspace deconfliction between MACUSA flying cars and U.S. Army Air Corps aircraft. But what Grymes was saying had the ring of truth, and he could see kids around the table nodding in agreement. He had to say something. He knew his father had been involved in some capacity with No-Maj. But again, the details were vague, and he knew better than to run his mouth on things that were better left secret.


    "No, we don¡¯t," he said, shaking his head as Henry passed him a tray of various fruit tarts, "The Muggle war was Muggle business, not ours. MACUSA minded its own store and stayed out of the war. Just like your Ministry and your Prime Minister with the German War."2


    Henry started to say something, but then he stopped himself.


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯ve been reading,¡± Grymes looked skeptical. ¡°You''re helping them now. With their A-tom-micks. And Rock-its.¡±


    Jack nearly choked on his water. How did this kid know about that? Those were top-secret projects, the kind of thing his father had only ever mentioned in hushed tones behind closed doors. If his dad found out he was blabbing about it to foreign wizards...


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," he retorted, too quickly. "The U.S. government doesn''t believe in magic. If they ever catch wind of rumors about wizards in America they think we''re just a bunch of creepy cultists living in the hills, weird but harmless. They just won the Big War, why would they want our help?"


    ¡°Maybe because they¡¯ve had it all along,¡± Grymes continued to stare, looking unconvinced. ¡°Maybe the Big War isn¡¯t over yet.¡±


    Thankfully, Henry chose that moment to jump in.


    "Leave off, Eustace," he said good-naturedly. "Can''t you see the poor bloke''s exhausted? He''s had a long day, and the last thing he needs is an interrogation about Muggle politics."


    Eustace Grymes unwillingly subsided, turning his attention to his dessert. Jack shot Henry a grateful look, and the other boy winked at him. ¡°Don¡¯t hold it against him,¡± Henry whispered, ¡°He¡¯s had a hard go of it, Grymes. Brilliant though.¡±


    After that, the conversation turned away from Ilvermorny to more mundane topics: Quidditch rankings, professor ratings, difficulty of upcoming classes, the latest prank products from some place called Zonko¡¯s. Jack let himself relax slightly. But he couldn''t completely shake the uneasy feeling that Eustace''s questions had stirred up.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. He was here to finish up his magical education and graduate, not get caught up in international intrigue. Whatever MACUSA was or wasn''t doing with the No-Majs, it had nothing to do with him. Just like those dark wizards in Liverpool. All of that nonsense and grown-up business was far away now, outside the enchanted walls of Hogwarts.


    Once the feast had finished and began to magically clear away, Henry, Oliver and Teddy led Jack at a brisk pace out of the Great Hall main doors and to the left, through the Reception Hall. Ancient suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls, their helmets turning slightly to track the boys¡¯ passage. ¡°Kitchens are down that way,¡± Henry pointed out a brightly-lit spiral staircase that led underneath the Great Hall. Warm golden light and the smell of baking bread wafted up. ¡°Along with the bakery, the brewery, and the Hufflepuff Common Room. No need to really go down there unless you¡¯re a Huffle or a house elf, or Teddy.¡±


    "The house-elves like me,¡± Teddy replied casually, in response to Jack¡¯s questioning look.


    ¡°He¡¯s dating a Hufflepuff,¡± Oliver added, receiving a light Kicking Hex for his trouble.


    From the Reception Hall, they ascended the Grand Staircase, a dizzying five-story spiral of moving staircases that seemed to operate on their own inscrutable logic. Portraits of unknown graduates lined the walls in legions all the way up, stern-faced wizards in ruffs and doublets, witches in medieval dress, even a group of dour druids who appeared to be playing chess with actual miniature warriors with stone weapons. One of the pieces received a lethal wound, spouting blood gorily all over the front of the canvas to Jack¡¯s horror.


    "Watch the banister," Oliver warned as their current staircase began to swing away from their intended destination. "It stays still as the stairs move. It¡¯ll yank you right off into oblivion."


    Jack¡¯s feet tingled as he surveyed the drop that suddenly yawned beneath them, sixty feet straight down to the stone basement below.


    ¡°Is there any rhyme or reason to their movement?¡± Jack asked as they waited patiently for the stairs to return to their original position. ¡°Do they take Sundays off?¡±


    ¡°Oh no, Sundays are their worst,¡± Teddy remarked. ¡°They get bored because of low foot traffic and come up with new patterns.¡±


    ¡°This is taking too long,¡± Henry stepped off the stairs and led them down a corridor one floor down from where they had planned to alight. ¡°We¡¯ll just bypass Fac Tower and get to the Quad that way.¡±


    The corridor led to a set of open double doors leading into a warmly-lit residential tower, and a staircase to the right. Henry took them right, up two more flights of stairs, and out a thick wooden door.


    They emerged into the Quad Courtyard, a relatively small cloistered space surrounded on all sides by massive walls and towers that stretched up into the darkness like the ramparts of a donjon. Jack tried to orient himself, following Henry''s pointing finger.


    "Right, we¡¯ll start with the north and work our way around.¡± Henry said, ¡°Ravenclaw Tower is right there, second tallest in the castle.¡± Jack strained his eyes, he couldn¡¯t even see the top of the turret in the night sky. ¡°That''s where their common room is, way up there. Just to the tower¡¯s left, you can see the Bridge Gate."


    A narrow postern gate in the wall led to a delicate wrought iron suspension bridge spanning the gorge to connect with a severe citadel of granite and marble.


    "That way to the Academic Wing," Teddy supplied. "Most of our classes are there. Transfig, Astronomy, Charms, History, Defense, Mug Stud..."


    ¡°Convenient to be a Gryffindor, we have the shortest walk to our classrooms,¡± Oliver noted with satisfaction. ¡°Slytherin has to race all the way from the dungeons every morning, they¡¯re only close to Potions and Arithmancy.¡±


    "Grand Staircase behind us of course,¡± Henry¡¯s hand swept around to the east. Now that they were outside, Jack could see that they had just exited the massive round tower that dominated the castle next to the Great Hall. ¡°You can get down this way or the way we just came through. Top of the Grand Staircase is the Headmaster¡¯s Office, no good reason to ever go there. Faculty Tower to the south," he continued, pointing to the rectangular residential building they had just exited. "Married teachers live in Hogsmeade, so that''s where the unmarried teachers live. Prefects get their own quarters up there too."


    ¡°Prefects get their own rooms?¡± Jack''s eyes lingered on the mixture of lit and unlit windows.


    "Supposed to help them stay more impartial. Don''t even think about it," Henry warned, catching Jack¡¯s look. "Those stairs are more heavily warded than Gringotts. No one gets in there uninvited short of an invisibility cloak, which last I checked are all with the Ministry. Hightower would probably pitch you headfirst off the top of the parapet if you tried."


    Jack grinned, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t dream of it.¡±


    "Course not. And in case you do, the Hospital Wing''s right there next door in the southwest tower. Underneath it,¡± Henry gestured to a wide gate in the south wall, ¡°The Clock Tower, its courtyard, and the South Gate. That way to Feldcroft and the seaside. And finally..."


    They turned to the western tower, shorter than Ravenclaw''s soaring spire but more solid, more grounded. Red and gold banners flew from its battlements, the gilding magically illuminated and shining in the dark sky like streaks of starfire.


    "Gryffindor Tower," Henry concluded.


    <hr><hr>


    1. Mr. Semmes'' characterization of MACUSA''s wartime involvement is not that inaccurate. MACUSA maintained its isolationism until the Percival Graves/Grindelwald attack in 1927. Even then, President Warren faced significant opposition from conservatives before committing American magical forces to Europe by the mid-1930s.


    Interestingly, declassified documents from 1995 have revealed that a ''T. Semmes'' was part of an unofficial American presence operating in Europe as early as 1928, well before official MACUSA deployment to Europe. This division, the Sorcerous Services Office (SSO), worked closely with British Aurors in occupied France, though its existence was officially denied until the Muggle Clinton administration.


    2. The full extent of wartime cooperation between the Churchill Muggle Government and the Ministry is still a matter of strict secrecy.

 9. Dulce Domum

    They crossed the Quad and climbed the spiral staircase, passing narrow arrow-slit windows that offered dizzying glimpses of the grounds below.


    "Here we are, home sweet home," Henry announced as they reached a portrait of a fat woman in a pink dress down a short corridor at the top of the steps. "Password is ¡®krugeri¡¯,¡± the portrait swung open. ¡°MacLeod has the passwords running through all the different types of lion this year. Sorry for rushing you after dinner, old sport, but wanted to get you here before all the children arrive and make a racket.¡±


    He held out his arm to let Jack enter first, into the delightfully warm and wood smoke-scented interior of the Gryffindor common room. He walked through a short rounded hallway, passing a notice board on the wall. The board was currently empty except for an announcement about class scheduling on Saturday tomorrow morning, something called ¡®Club Night¡¯ scheduled for next Tuesday afternoon, and a cute hand-written sign welcoming the new first-years to the house that shot out little red and yellow sparks as they passed it.


    ¡°Mulholland¡¯s work,¡± Henry commented drily on the note. ¡°She¡¯s the mothering type.¡±


    ¡°Irish,¡± Teddy snickered, shutting the portrait door behind them so as to not spoil the surprise for the first-years.


    Jack only half-listened to their continued banter as he stepped into the pool of firelight illuminating the plush scarlet-covered couches and armchairs, his feet sinking into a two-inch thick velvet red carpet. The firelight spilled out of an enormous stone fireplace in the far wall of the circular room, complemented by small enchanted lanterns flickering brightly over various study nooks. Up above him, massive wooden rafters towered three stories above his head, framing delicate arched stained glass windows, cloth-of-gold tapestries, and enchanted portraits inhabited by famous Gryffindors adorning the stone walls. Ahead led twin spiral staircases leading up to the boys¡¯ and girls¡¯ dormitories. But the real magic was in the corner near the fireplace. A genuine and heavily modified Marconiphone radio, its wooden casing polished to a mirror shine.


    ¡°What does our colonial ¨¦migr¨¦ think of our humble abode?¡± Henry asked, pride evident in his voice as Jack continued to stare.


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­.ritz.¡± Jack managed, spinning around slowly and gawking like an Ohioan tourist on Sixth Avenue.1 It sure beat the Thunderbird day room, that was for sure.


    ¡°Enjoy the moment,¡± Henry said, ¡°It won¡¯t be this quiet here until Christmas.¡±


    As if on cue, the portrait door clicked open and a solemn double line of eleven-year olds processed in, led by a very tall seventh-year prefect with a lurid scar running from his cheek to his neck. The prefect, (¡°Algeron Fairburne,¡± Henry pointed out to Jack sotto-voce, ¡°our Quidditch captain, good lad, bit strait-laced¡±), attempted to begin a serious lecture on the importance of house honor, getting along, and never disgracing the Gryffindor name.


    He had barely gotten past the names of the four founders when the third and fourth-years came bounding inside and pandemonium ensued. The poor first-years, still wide-eyed and in awe of their new surroundings, were jostled aside by the older students rushing to claim their favorite perches on the furniture.


    The common room filled with Jack¡¯s housemates like water in a running bathtub, competing voices echoing off the stone walls as they recounted summer adventures and plans for the school year. Snacks and bottles of ginger beer and lemonade stolen from the Great Hall appeared like magic. A band of rowdy fifth-year boys occupied the corner by the radio, ejecting a second-year who moved too slowly, dragging over chairs and huddling around it, twiddling the knobs to tune in to the Quidditch match between the Chudley Cannons and the Kenmare Kestrels.2


    ¡°Too hot in here!¡± came a shout, and the windows were thrown open to the cool night air, revealing a stunning view of the Hogwarts grounds, with the Quidditch pitch visible in the distance and the Forbidden Forest stretching out to the horizon. Fairburne and his fellow prefects desperately attempted to restore some kind of order, but their cries of "First-years, over here!", ¡°Don¡¯t spill that on the furniture!¡±, and "Merlin¡¯s sake watch out for the bloody fire!" just added to the bedlam. Henry tapped Jack on the shoulder and gestured toward the stairs to the boys dormitory. Jack followed, and soon was on the second-story balcony overlooking the scene, feeling like a No-Maj general watching his men sack a conquered city.


    ¡°Who the devil are you?¡± a commanding voice barked at him from the wall. Jack looked up to see a portrait of a clean shaven wizard standing on a forest trail in an immaculate red military uniform and powdered periwig. He scowled fiercely at Jack and shook his riding crop, ¡°Who let you in here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright there, Georgie,¡± Henry answered diplomatically, ¡°This is Jack, new sixth-year from Ilvermorny.¡±


    ¡°Ilvermorny!¡± Georgie¡¯s eyes lit up with delight. ¡°You¡¯ve taken a prisoner! Brilliant work, Major Ravenhurst! We¡¯ll have those rebels whipped in no time!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Henry said, giving Jack a wink, ¡°Picked up this one fresh off the boat, we¡¯re working a prisoner exchange as we speak.¡±


    ¡°Wonderful news,¡± Georgie walked right up to the edge of the canvas, positively beaming as he inspected the two boys, ¡°I must inform my Muggle counterpart Sir Burgoyne. Once I¡¯ve cornered that accused fox Morgan and his ragged wizard irregulars near Lake George we can march south together towards Albany and split the rebel forces in twain!¡±3


    ¡°Wait, is he talking about the Revolution? That war¡¯s been ov-¡± Jack started, but Henry was already leading him towards the boys dorm room marked with a brass ¡®6th¡¯.


    ¡°Yes your Lordship, we¡¯ve got them on the run, but I have to take him to his cell now, ta!¡± Henry shouted over his shoulder as he pushed Jack ahead.


    ¡°Torture him for information, Major Ravenhurst!¡± roared Georgie behind them. ¡°Don¡¯t spare the curses!¡±


    Henry tapped his wand on their dorm room door, unlocking it with a click, and led Jack inside. The mayhem outside was immediately muffled as he closed the door behind them. It was a lovely cozy space with five four-poster beds draped in rich scarlet hangings arranged in an even circle around the walls. ¡°House elves did their work well,¡± Henry noted approvingly, pointing to an embossed plate that bore Jack¡¯s surname on the foot of one of the beds. His trunk and broomcase were both neatly placed on the floor nearby. Jack collapsed onto the bed with a groan of delight. ¡°Where are the showers?¡± he asked as Henry sat on his own bed nearby and started putting on his slippers.


    ¡°Showers?¡± Henry asked incredulously, ¡°This tower was built in the 13th century, old sport.¡±4


    Jack sat up, fearing the worst, ¡°Baloney¡­you trying to tell me you Brits don¡¯t have plumbing?¡±


    ¡°Of course we do,¡± Henry replied with the patient tone of someone explaining something obvious to a small child. "Added during the 1800s, actually. At great expense too, if you listen to Phineas Black''s portrait in the central hall carp on about it."


    "That the sourpuss who was griping about ''uniformity'' as we walked past?"


    "The very same.  Least popular headmaster in Hogwarts history, according to most.5 Thought indoor plumbing would make students soft." Henry''s voice took on a stuffy, pompous tone. "''In my day, we used chamber pots and were grateful for them!'' He''ll go on for hours if you let him."


    "But no showers?" Jack pressed, suddenly thinking longingly of the modern facilities at Ilvermorny.


    "We''ve got proper conveniences in the dorm hallway," Henry assured him. "So no more chamber pots. Just no showers. We have them at the Quidditch pitch locker rooms though. Bit of a trek out the North Gate, but worth it if you''re desperate for more than a washing charm."


    "A washing charm," Jack repeated flatly.


    "Standard hygiene, old boy," Henry took out his wand and demonstrated with a flick. "Scourgify for your clothes, Tergeo for your skin... though be careful with that one, bit harsh if you''re not used to it. Took all the hair off my legs the first time I tried it. Couldn¡¯t wear short pants for two weeks."


    Jack jumped to his feet, "I cannot believe this. You''re telling me the most prestigious magical school in Europe, home to centuries of magical innovation, doesn''t have showers?"


    "We''ve got these lovely copper scrubbing tubs on the first floor of the Hospital Wing," Henry added. "Very traditional. And the prefects get their own bathroom with a tub the size of a swimming pool. Though good luck getting permission to use it, they guard that privilege like a dragon on its hoard."6


    "Unbelievable," Jack muttered. "No wonder you all lost your minds over indoor plumbing in the 1800s. You''re still catching up."


    "I can count the number of notable Ilvermorny graduates on MacLeod¡¯s missing hand," Henry retorted good-naturedly. "Think of it as part of your cultural immersion. Nothing builds character like learning sixteen different cleaning charms because you''re too lazy to walk to the Quidditch pitch before breakfast."


    "Cultural immersion," Jack repeated. "Right. Any other modern conveniences I should know are missing? Indoor heating? Electric light? Air conditioning? Toothpaste? Toilet paper?!"


    "Oh no, we''ve got most of those," Henry assured him. "Well, magical versions anyway. The lights are enchanted, and the heating¡­¡± He paused, ¡°What¡¯s air conditioning?¡±


    ¡°It makes it cold inside when it¡¯s hot outside,¡± Jack said, wondering if there was still time for him to sneak out to Hogsmeade and try and get back aboard the Hogwarts Express before it returned to London.


    ¡°Oh no, there¡¯s no need for that, this is northern Scotland, Semmes. It barely gets above 18 here in the summertime. Of course, there¡¯s always the lake, bit chilly this time of year but the giant squid should be sleeping by this time of night-¡±


    "I am not taking a bath in a lake!"


    Jack¡¯s face was so obviously crestfallen that Henry couldn¡¯t hold back anymore, and burst out laughing,


    "Course not," his friend confessed. "Because we have perfectly good baths with shower attachments in the dorm washrooms. Since 1932, in fact. Separate bathrooms for boys and girls at the end of the hallway, bathrobes and towels in the cubbies there. You should already have one with your name on it.¡±


    ¡°You¡­¡± Jack shook his head, relief overwhelming any annoyance at Henry''s teasing. The castle might be medieval, but praise Franklin at least the plumbing system was modern.


    Following Henry''s suggestion, he dug through his trunk for his spare Ilvermorny robes, the thunderbird insignia already feeling like a reminder of a different life, and hung them at the foot of the bed for the house-elves to modify to Hogwarts robes. Then Jack headed out into the hall, the noise and merriment of the common room already starting to wind down as the prefects packed away the first years to their dorms. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The dormitory boys washroom was a marvel of gleaming copper pipes and white tile, with separate shower stalls, several individual round copper bathtubs, and a large communal bath that could fit a Quodpot team. Magical water heaters hummed softly like sleeping dragons, putting out steam in puffs. He was the only one there.


    Jack found his assigned cubby already stocked with thick crimson towels embroidered with the Gryffindor lion. A luxuriously thick bathrobe in matching colors hung on one of the cubby¡¯s two hooks.


    The cascading water was blissful, washing away the grime of travel and the lingering tension of the sorting disaster. Jack let his mind drift, trying not to think about tomorrow''s classes or about having to prove himself all over again in a new school.


    As he got out of the shower, his new housemates were starting to filter in as well. The washroom filled with the sounds of young men masking their mutual insecurities through loud commentary and exaggerated bravado. Jack politely avoided eye contact as they joshed each other. Back home, he''d known everyone in his class and house since 6th grade, their preferences, their family histories, their eccentricities. Here, he felt like an understudy in a play where everyone else knew their lines. Unfortunately, he found immediately himself the subject of conversation when Teddy and Henry burst in like a two-man hurricane.


    "-absolutely mad, going toe-to-toe with Hightower like that," Teddy was saying as he yanked off his tie, then noticed Jack drying himself. "Ahoy there Semmes! Boys, let¡¯s hear it for the new blood! Not even his first day and he¡¯s already got detention!"


    A chorus of appreciative cheers and whistles filled the washroom.


    "I didn''t get detention!" Jack protested, startled into engaging. "Winterborn just stuck me in the corner until the Sorting started. At least, I think I didn¡¯t get detention, how do you know if you do?"


    "Oh you¡¯ll know," Oliver¡¯s voice echoed out from a billowing steam cloud. ¡°And you¡¯ll doubly know if you miss it.¡±


    ¡°How was the summer holiday Ravenhurst?¡± another boy asked, ¡°Looks like you got new duds.¡±


    ¡°The winter wheat and barley came in well,¡± Henry replied, pitching his jacket into his cubby with the casual accuracy of a Quidditch Chaser. "That and my da couldn¡¯t ignore my growth spurt forever. Shot up two inches since Easter, turned all my trousers into knickerbockers. Only so much that lengthening charms can do."


    ¡°Oh that¡¯s it then, thought that you¡¯d been doing a bit of Dubliner part-timing, clerking for Mulholland Esquire,¡± Teddy said lightly, dodging into a free stall. Loud whoops and wolf-whistles at Henry¡¯s expense.


    "Shut it, Marshwiggle," Henry retorted, flushed from the hot air and embarrassment. "Some of us farmers actually work hard for our pocket money."


    ¡°Are you calling mucking out knucker dens easy?!¡± Teddy laughed, ¡°How about you finally visit us for the summer like you keep promising and I¡¯ll show you.¡±


    "What''s a knucker?" Jack asked.


    "Water dragon," Teddy explained. "Family breeds ''em for potions ingredients. Nasty tempered things, but profitable if you don''t mind the occasional drowning attempt."7


    A short, extremely skinny boy with sharp features popped his head around Jack''s cubby and grabbed a towel. ¡°Semmes, right?¡± he said in a cockney London accent that was so strong that Jack thought it was an affectation. ¡°Todd Brock, third year. You play Quidditch at Ilvermorny?¡±


    ¡°No, Quodpot and Quopro,¡± Jack corrected, relaxing as the conversation shifted to familiar territory.


    "Quodpot we''ve ''eard of," Todd said, toweling his hair. "Bloody exploding Quaffles right?¡±


    "That''s the best part," Jack said, wrapping his towel around his waist. "You''ve got a ball, about yea big,¡± he described a sphere with his hands about eighteen inches in diameter, ¡°that''s been soaked in explosives, called a Quod. Very unstable, it¡¯ll blow up in random intervals from three to ten minutes. Only one goal - pot - on each end of the field, which is smaller than a Quidditch field. More physical than Quidditch too, basically no physical contact is off limits. The two teams - seven men on each team - try to get it in the pot at the other end of the field before it goes off. You score, the pot blows up the ball, you get a point, and another ball is brought out. If the Quod explodes while you''re holding it, you''re out and the other team gets a new Quod."8


    ¡°Out as in¡­dead?¡± Henry called from his shower.


    ¡°No, you usually get caught by a cushioning charm if you get knocked off your broom. And we wear heavy padding and leather helmets, it¡¯s more unpleasant than painful. Getting body-checked by a linebacker at 50 miles an hour hurts worse.¡±


    "And people play this voluntarily?" Oliver asked incredulously.


    "It''s huge back home," Jack said. "Just had a professional league start up and everything a few years back. It¡¯s not as big as Quopro, but it¡¯s gaining.¡±


    "Mental," Todd repeated admiringly. "Absolute barking. No wonder you didn''t back down from Hightower, playing sports like that."


    "Says the runt who made Seeker," Teddy laughed, "Chasing an electrically conductive walnut-sized ball through thunderstorms..."


    "That''s different," Todd replied stiffly. "That''s proper sport, that is. None of this exploding business."


    ¡°Hang on then, back up,¡± a new boy piped up. ¡°What¡¯s Quopro?¡±


    "Stick and ball game," Jack explained, warming to his subject. "But with some extra enchantments. Players on brooms, except for the batter and pitcher. One strike instead of three because the balls go for hundreds of yards if you connect properly. It¡¯s a sight to see when the batter connects, there''s a massive explosion and the ball goes soaring into the sky with a fiery trail like a frigging comet. I brought some balls with me, we should get a game together."


    "Oi, speaking of games," a boy called from the showers. "Did any of you see Cassandra''s face when this mad lad laughed at her on the platform? I saw the crowd but didn¡¯t realize what was going on."


    ¡°You missed the fight of the century, Adkins,¡± supplied another boy on the other side of the cubbies. ¡°Thought she was going to hex him!¡±


    "Five points from Gryffindor for existing!" someone mimicked in a high-pitched voice, generating more hilarity.


    Jack laughed along as he got into his bathrobe and started to brush his teeth and style his hair. He felt like he had just been inducted into an elite brotherhood.


    "HO THERE! STAND TO ATTENTION, YOUNG FELLOW ME LAD!"


    The booming voice from the large mirror nearly made Jack swallow his toothbrush. His reflection was suddenly joined by the translucent figure of a mustachioed officer in battle dress, complete with swagger stick and a chestful of campaign medals.


    ¡°W-who the heck are you?¡± Jack sputtered.


    "Wing Commander Bader-Smythe, Royal Air Force at your service!" The ghostly officer twirled his impressively waxed mustachios. "But the lads just call me ''The Wing Co.'' And I must say, you¡¯re looking a shambles for the first day of term. Can''t face the enemy looking like you''ve just barrel rolled out of a Hurricane¡¯s cockpit!"9


    Jack stared at his reflection in bewilderment. "Guys, the mirror is lecturing me."


    "Oh, he''s brilliant," Henry appeared behind him in his bathrobe, sandy hair pointing in every possible direction. "Everyone loves the Wing Co. He¡¯s a Muggle but he fits in great. Been here since the Blitz. Previous Head Boy tried to have him moved to the prefects'' bathroom, but we rioted."


    "Quite right too!" the Wing Co. declared. "Can''t abandon one''s post in times of crisis. Now then new boy, report! Name, rank and serial number!


    Jack barely stopped himself from snapping to attention, instead just straightening up, ¡°Jack Semmes, sixth-year, Ilvermorny, sir.¡±


    The Wing Co. paced back and forth in front of Jack¡¯s reflection twice, ¡°Very good. Alright young Yank, let''s get you squared away and shipshape. Remember the three P''s, Leftenant Semmes: Pride, Purpose, and Pomade! You represent not only Gryffindor, but the entire Allied forces of magical education!"


    "Allied forces?" Jack asked as he reached for his comb, amused in spite of his discomfit.


    "Naturally! Hogwarts, Ilvermorny, Beauxbatons, all standing firm against the forces of darkness!¡± The Wing Co. swished his swagger stick for emphasis. ¡°Can''t let standards slip, wot-wot? Now then, part to the left, that''s the ticket. Touch more pomade. Excellent!" The spectral officer beamed. "Looking like proper officer material now! Next we¡¯ll work on your facial hair, looking a bit scant, but plenty of time for that later! Now then, Leftenant, chin up! Shoulders back! Show our boys what a proper American wizard can do! How¡¯s your morale?"


    "I''m actually kind of nervous about it all, sir," Jack admitted, surprising himself.


    The Wing Co.''s expression softened behind his magnificent mustache. "Course you are, old chap. Natural as rain. But remember, courage isn''t about not being scared. It''s about pressing on regardless! Got me through the scrap, just like it¡¯ll get you through this! Remember, fortune doesn¡¯t favor the faint-hearted. So straighten up, keep your chin high, never let the blighters see you sweat, and let¡¯s give ¡®em a right thrashing! Right, off you go, chin-chin and tally-ho! Carpe diem!¡±


    ¡°Uh thanks sir,¡± Jack replied awkwardly as the Wing Co. waved his swagger stick and vanished. ¡°You too.¡±


    Back in the 6th year boys dormitory, his new roommates were settling in for the night. The familiar sounds of boys getting ready for bed - quiet conversations, the rustle of blankets, someone stubbing their toe and cursing - were both foreign and comforting. Different accents, different school, but some things were universal.


    Jack changed into his pajamas (American style, he noted, different from the nightshirts his dormmates wore) and climbed into bed. The sheets were already warm, probably from a warming enchantment.


    The tower window near his bed showed a slice of star-filled Scottish sky, so different from New York''s lights and the black forests of Ilvermorny. Jack bid goodnight to his new friends and pulled his curtains closed, shutting out the stars and hopefully most of his worries about tomorrow. He was clean, well-fed, and feeling more exhausted than he''d ever been in his life. It was cold outside, and the bed was warm. His last thought before drifting off was that he should write to his parents¡­but that could wait until tomorrow.


    <hr><hr>


    1. "Ritz", meaning classy or glamourous, is from Muggle C¨¦sar Ritz (1850¨C1918), a Swiss hotel owner. A nod to "Putting on the Ritz" a 1927 song by Muggle Irving Berlin, later immortalized by Muggle dancer Fred Astaire. "Putting on the Ritz" signified dressing and acting far posher than one¡¯s station. If a house-elf tried on a monocle and spats, you¡¯d get the idea.


    Ohioans: Muggles from the U.S. state of Ohio are famously provincial, even by American standards, often struck dumb by urban sophistication. Imagine a Welsh Hufflepuff encountering Diagon Alley for the first time.


    Sixth Avenue: A bustling 1940s Manhattan thoroughfare filled with neon lights, jazz clubs, and swanky hotels - Muggle culture¡¯s crude attempt at sophistication.


    2. The 29 August 1947 match between Chudley and Kenmare ended with Kenmare winning 280-90, allowing the Kestrels to advance to the quarterfinals. The Chudley Cannons¡¯ loss was as inevitable as sunrise, though their fans maintain a loyalty bordering on the deranged. Kenmare¡¯s 1947 run was spectacular - ending, of course in true Irish fashion, in heartbreak during the semi-finals when their Seeker accidentally caught a Leprechaun instead of the Snitch.


    3. ''Georgie'' is referring to the ill-fated Saratoga Campaign of 1777 A.D. during the American Revolution (1775-1783) that ended in a joint Magical-Muggle catastrophe for British forces and the total surrender of Sir John Burgoyne''s remaining forces. A black mark in British military (and magical) history. The campaign involved a bungled Muggle attempt to cut off American forces down the Hudson Valley paired with an equally incompetent Magical attempt to catch the chief of MACUSA resistance in New England, Captain Fox Morgan. Ministry reinforcements only added to the disaster when a wayward Delugeo Maximus spell meant to refill a bathtub accidentally wiped out several roads and Burgoyne''s line of retreat. Muggles still debate how ¡°American minutemen¡± managed to be so effective against British regulars.


    4. Hogwarts was founded in 990 A.D. as a collection of small shacks and stone huts on what is now the Transfiguration Courtyard. Fascinatingly, early Hogwarts resembled less a school and more a ramshackle settlement of eccentric hermits wielding wands. One imagines the Sorting Hat began its career telling students, ¡°Try not to sit under that leaky roof.¡± Over the succeeding centuries the area that would become the Academic Wing was first built up into a motte and bailey style castle, then a full-fledged castle. The Quad Courtyard with its four surrounding towers (Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Grand, and Faculty) was completed in 1257.


    5. Mr. Ravenhurst''s immature comment is not inaccurate. Phineas Black consistently rates in the top 3 most unpopular Hogwarts Headmasters, even amongst such enlightened company as Petunia Pott - the first female Headmistress of Hogwarts - who during the diamond jubilee of her tenure in 1541 was revealed to actually be a potted plant when an overzealous Ravenclaw began researching Transfiguration mishaps.


    6. My research has uncovered only one non-prefect use of the prefect''s bathroom in the entire history of Hogwarts. Further details remain sealed in the archives.


    7. Knuckers - dragon-like creatures prone to lurking in watery lairs - were a cornerstone of pre-modern British wizarding biodiversity. The Marshwiggles of Deeping Fens were the only licensed knucker breeders in the world from 1913-1957. The Marshwiggles¡¯ monopoly ended when an unlicensed knucker swallowed the entirety of the Upper Flagley Village Quidditch team during practice.


    8. Quodpot, a game founded in the United States in 1891 by Abraham Peasegood, has (fortunately) only achieved limited popularity outside its homeland. Unlike its slightly more refined cousin Quopro, which is massively popular amongst Japanese and Latin American wizards. Ties in Japanese Quopro (or as they call it Hinoyaky¨± [»ð¤ÎÒ°Çò]) are traditionally decided with the rival pinch hitters having a sword fight on the mound with flaming katanas.


    9. The Hawker Hurricane was a staple of the Royal Air Force during the Second Muggle Big War, a conflict far more destructive even than Grindelwald¡¯s rise. Hogwarts¡¯ magical wards often attract restless spirits, though the Wing Co¡¯s mysterious departure from the Gryffindor washroom in the 1950s suggests he¡¯s moved on to his Reward - or been moved by the Ministry Department for Ghostly Affairs.

 10. Transcripts and Tribulations

    Morning arrived with the sound of British liquid sunshine splashing against the leaded glass windows and the distant cry of goshawks hunting their prey in the long meadow grass of the valley floor. Jack awoke with a start and a panicked grab for his wristwatch on the nightstand. It was nearly half past nine. Then he remembered where he was.


    No 6th graders racing down the hallways back at Ilvermorny pounding on the doors to awaken the upperclassmen, no morning formation to sprint downstairs to for the march into the mess hall for breakfast. No, Mr. Semmes, you¡¯re practically on vacation right now. Jack allowed himself to stretch luxuriously in the soft cotton sheets that somehow still smelled of summer sunshine despite the rainy autumn weather. The dormitory was empty. His roommates had apparently let him sleep in. The strange twittering songs of unknown birds serenaded him from their roosts outside the window. He lay in bed, contemplating the bed canopy, and wondering if he could get an underclassman to fetch him breakfast in bed. Did they do that here?


    A brisk knocking sound brought him back to earth. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" Henry opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Scheduling in fifteen minutes! Better hurry up or all the good classes will be taken."


    Jack dressed quickly in what he hoped was appropriate casual wear under his school robes, pressed khaki trousers, a white button up shirt, brown suspenders, and a comfortable pair of brown leather oxford shoes. The shoes felt like a little piece of home, he''d bought them on Fifth Avenue last summer, before any of this transfer business had been finalized.1 He began adding one of his blue and red striped Thunderbird neckties¡­


    "Oh no you don''t, here," Henry tossed him a strip of crimson and gold as he emerged from behind his bed curtains putting his tie on. "You need a proper necktie. Can''t have you wearing that Ilvermorny thing anymore." He took away Jack¡¯s old tie and tossed it back onto his bed.


    Jack carefully knotted the borrowed Gryffindor tie in front of their shared mirror into a casually nonchalant half-Windsor.


    ¡°Never trust a man with a full Windsor knot,¡± his father had told him. ¡°That¡¯s a man who puts too much stock in his own appearance. Learned that from a British colleague.¡±


    His reflection showed a tall, athletic young man trying very hard to look like he belonged here. The sun-browned skin and easy smile that had felt so natural at Ilvermorny now seemed foreign against the unfamiliar backdrop of his new dorm room.


    ¡°How do I look?¡± he asked Henry, who was collecting a few things from his nightstand.


    "The robes make the wizard," Henry replied without looking. "Or at least a decent American imitation of one."2


    "...Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Taking our prisoner out for air, Major?¡± Georgie asked suspiciously as they passed his portrait. The little red-coated wizard was sitting on a campaign stool enjoying breakfast complete with china service and white linen tablecloth. A remarkably civilized repast considering his woodland surroundings. Now that Jack paid closer attention, the background looked remarkably like the Hudson River Valley¡­3


    ¡°He¡¯s out on parole, Georgie,¡± Henry replied. ¡°Word of an officer and a gentleman and all that.¡±


    ¡°Pish-posh!¡± George grunted disapprovingly, ¡°The word of a scoundrel and rogue more like! He¡¯s taking advantage of your better nature, young Ravenhurst!¡± He pointed his painted fork at Jack threateningly. ¡°Mark my words, when he absconds it will be on your head when we report to the Ministry!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll take my chances,¡± Henry pulled Jack past before Georgie could waste more of their time.


    They descended the spiral staircase to find the common room filled with their housemates, but considerably more subdued than last night. Griffindors sprawled across every available surface from carpet to couch, comparing schedules and trading tips about professors. First years clutched their brand-new timetables like sacred texts while older students lounging in the best chairs offered contradictory advice. Watery gray sunlight filtered through the rain-splattered windows.


    "Advanced Potions is brutal," a worldly seventh-year was warning a group of fourth-years, "You want nothing to do with it. Leave it for the Ravenclaws and the overachievers. Look at me, I¡¯m still graduating with nothing better than P¡¯s and A¡¯s in Potions. Remember ¡®P¡¯s get degrees.¡¯"4


    "Don''t take Divination," another advised. "Unless you enjoy making up increasingly creative ways to die."


    ¡°I never had any trouble with that,¡± his friend jumped in. ¡°Sitting in Doubtfire¡¯s classes make me think of all sorts of ingenious suicide methods.¡±


    ¡°Professor rankings from worst to best? That¡¯s easy: Binns, MacGregor, Blackthorn, Vale, Winterborn, Whitby, Brightwell, MacLeod,¡± pronounced a bespectacled third-year boy far too loudly, to boos and cries of ¡°Stop sucking up!¡±, ¡°Apple polisher!¡±, ¡°Lickspittle!¡± and other rude appellations. The unfortunate speaker was pelted by crumpled napkins and bits of toast for good measure. That drew Jack''s attention. There must be food available. He soon noticed a breakfast cart set out by the staircase with crumpets, toast, fruit, and tea and availed himself of the refreshments.


    Professor Malcolm MacLeod was holding court by the roaring fireplace, towering over his charges like the Ghost of Christmas Present.5 His bristly red beard was even more impressive at close range.


    "Ach, our new boy!" MacLeod boomed cheerfully as Jack approached, trying (and failing) to carefully eat a crumpet that he had overloaded with raspberry jam and clotted cream. "Had a look at your transcripts. Top marks in History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Looking forward tae having you in class. Have ye completed the apparition examination yet?"


    ¡°No sir,¡± Jack replied, wiping his hands on a napkin and sitting down in an armchair next to where Henry was examining his own schedule. ¡°I turn sixteen in October.¡±


    ¡°No trouble, we''ll take care of that next summer before your seventh year.¡± He handed Jack a blank schedule form. Now that he was up close Jack noticed that the professor wore an articulated iron gauntlet covering his left hand, its surface engraved with subtle runes.


    Jack tried not to stare, but MacLeod caught him looking. The professor''s weathered face split into a broad grin.


    ¡°What¡¯s that laddie? Want me to take it off?¡± Without waiting for Jack to politely decline, MacLeod was already unbuckling the straps that secured the gauntlet to his arm.


    The metal hand detached... and walked across the table on all five fingers like a demented spider. Jack''s jaw dropped. Where the gauntlet had been was nothing but a scarred stump ending mid-forearm, the skin a shiny pink mass of burn scars.


    "Gift from a particularly nasty Polish wizard in Upper Silesia,"6 MacLeod explained cheerfully, watching his mechanical hand do a little dance among the breakfast dishes. "Rotter thought he was being clever, using something that would resist magical healing. Had to get creative with the solution." He whistled sharply and the gauntlet scuttled back, reattaching itself with precise clicks.


    "Does it...always do that?" Jack asked, slightly sickened but fascinated despite himself.


    "Only when new students get a wee curious," MacLeod winked. "It plays wizard chess too, though it doesn¡¯t take losing gracefully. Tried to choke me last time, the little blighter." He flexed the iron fingers affectionately. "Developed quite the personality after I had the goblins enchant it. Cost me a small fortune, but worth every Galleon just to see the looks on people''s faces. Just like yours."


    Jack¡¯s face drew a round of fresh laughter from his housemates. He grinned self-consciously.


    "Now then, about your classes¡­¡± MacLeod handed over a double-sided piece of parchment covered in course information. what subjects were ye planning to continue at N.E.W.T. level?"


    N.E.W.T.s, right, the level above APs, Jack thought as he scanned the course list, noting several significant differences from Ilvermorny''s curriculum. There were fewer classes, but the hours were longer. The courses also appeared more comprehensive and less specialized than back home. Divination was Divination, though the British seemed to take it more seriously, at Ilvermorny it had always been an optional elective. He was glad he didn¡¯t have to take it until Spring Term.


    "Alchemy is just called Potions here?" he asked. "At Ilvermorny it''s split into Practical Alchemy and Transmutation Theory..." Neither of which, he did not add, he was very good at.


    "Professor Vale handles both aspects," MacLeod explained. "Though he favors the practical. Says there''s little point in understanding theory if you can''t brew a decent Pepper-Up. I¡¯m trying to place you into Advanced so that you can make up for missed course work."


    Jack continued down the list. "No separate class for Indian Magical Traditions?"


    "Covered in History of Magic, rather briefly. Professor Binns uses a Euro-centric curriculum."


    "Magitechnology?"7


    "I know that¡¯s popular across the pond, but not considered orthodox over here, very controversial at the Ministry. What we have regarding that is split between Charms and Muggle Studies." MacLeod''s enchanted hand clicked thoughtfully. "Ilvermorny does seem rather focused on defense applications of magic."


    "Comes with life on the frontier sir," Jack said carefully. "And doubly so after the war."


    "Aye, well, can''t fault that." MacLeod made a notation on a gridded piece of parchment, evidently Jack¡¯s Ilvermorny transcript. "Your grades are excellent. Top 10% of your class¡­Defense, obviously, those courses you took will serve you well there. Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic... Muggle Studies too? Interesting choice."


    "With how Ilvermorny is, basically all of us have a minor in Muggle Studies,¡± Jack explained.


    "Aye, Professor Whitby''s approach might be a tad¡­different from what you''re used to,¡± Jack¡¯s housemates laughed uproariously at that, even though he didn¡¯t get it. Yet.


    They worked out the rest of his schedule over the next few minutes, MacLeod occasionally consulting a complex chart showing course equivalencies between the two magical schools. Jack was relieved to see the majority of his Ilvermorny credits would transfer, though some adjustment would be needed.


    "You¡¯ll need to take an increased course load this term, but the change in wand technique might be your biggest challenge," MacLeod said. "British technique emphasizes precision and control over improvisation and speed. Professor Winterborn especially is strict about proper form."


    ¡°Yes sir," Jack said ruefully. There was one last course he was curious about, one of his favorites back home. Jack knew it was a long shot but asked anyway, ¡°Is there a class that includes Magical Guerilla Warfare offered here?"8


    "Gorilla-wha?" MacLeod''s bushy eyebrows rose. "Merlin''s beard, no, but I¡¯m sure they cover callitrix and other dangerous primate beasties in Care of Magical Creatures. Now here, take a look.¡± He handed over Jack¡¯s adjusted transcript with course credits.


    Jack suppressed a sigh. He should have known better, Ilvermorny''s martial heritage showed in courses like that one, where they learned everything from magical camouflage to counter-tracking. It had been developed during the Revolution and refined through various conflicts since. Clearly the British didn¡¯t worry so much about fighting.


    He consulted his extensive list of Ilvermorny transfer credits:


    <blockquote>


    Advanced Combat Magic, Outstanding (converted to O) ¡ú Defense Against the Dark ArtsThis book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Magical Theory and Practice, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Charms


    Transmutation, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Transfiguration


    Alchemy, Acceptable (A) ¡ú Potions


    No-Maj Studies, Outstanding (O) ¡ú Muggle Studies


    Magical History, Outstanding (O) ¡ú History of Magic


    Infinitesimal Calculus, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Arithmancy


    Pictography, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Ancient Runes


    Astrology, Outstanding (O) ¡ú Astronomy


    Cryptozoology, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Care of Magical Creatures


    Herbology, Exceeds Expectations (E) ¡ú Herbology


    Signs and Portents, No Grade ¡ú Divination


    </blockquote>


    "Your Combat Magic marks are impressive," MacLeod noted. "Though you''ll find my Defense curriculum focuses more on theory and controlled application rather than your¡­gorilla tactics."


    "And dueling," Henry added. "Proper dueling. None of that American freestyle business."


    Jack thought nostalgically of the fast-and-loose combat style taught at Ilvermorny, where winning mattered more than doctrine.


    "Now here..." MacLeod checked another parchment. "You''ll need tae take a placement test for Potions. Different brewing techniques here, you understand. Professor Vale is very particular about methodology.""


    "He means Vale''s a nightmare," Henry stage-whispered, earning a glare from their Head of House.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough of that, Ravenhurst. Now Semmes, Professor Winterborn wants a go at assessing yer Transfiguration an¡¯ all," MacLeod continued. "And..." He paused, scanning the parchment. "Ach, aye, Professor Brightwell made a note that yer Charms O.W.L. equivalent was particularly strong. He¡¯s suggesting ye join the Advanced Practical Applications study group."


    Jack took a swig of tea to try and calm his nerves. Even the grading system was different. Ilvermorny used a modified version of the No-Maj American system: A, B, C, D, and F. But here...


    "Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A), Poor (P), Dreadful (D), and Troll (T)," MacLeod listed off.


    "Troll?!" Jack''s shock made Henry snicker.


    "Aye, named after the quality of work typically produced by said creatures," MacLeod explained. "Though we haven''t had one awarded at the N.E.W.T. level since the late ¡®30s."9


    ¡°What¡¯s N.E.W.T. stand for?¡± Jack asked, although he knew he was going to regret it.


    ¡°Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Exams,¡± Henry supplied proudly.


    "Here''s your tentative schedule," MacLeod said, tapping the blank form with his wand. Lines of neat script flowered over the page:


    <table style="border-collapse: collapse; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 1); border-color: rgba(149, 165, 166, 1); border-style: inset" border="1">


    <tbody>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 50.0703%; text-align: center" colspan="2">Day I</td>


    <td style="width: 49.9077%; text-align: center" colspan="2">Day II


    </td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">Time</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Class</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">Time</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Class</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">7:00am</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Breakfast</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">7:00am</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Breakfast</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%" rowspan="2">8:00am - 10:30am </td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%" rowspan="2">Adv. Potions (Double)</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">8:00am - 9:15am </td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Adv. Defense Against the Dark Arts</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">9:30am - 10:45am</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Adv. Muggle Studies</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">10:45am - 12:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Adv. Transfiguration</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">11:00am - 12:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Study Hall</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">12:00pm - 1:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Lunch</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">12:00pm - 1:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Lunch</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">1:30pm - 2:45pm </td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Adv. History of Magic</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">1:30pm - 2:45pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Adv. Charms</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">3:00pm - 4:15pm</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">  Ancient Runes </td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">3:00pm - 4:15pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Herbology / Care of Magical Creatures (alternating)</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">4:15pm - 6:30pm </td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Sports and Club Time (Magical Integration on Second Wednesdays)</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">4:15pm - 6:30pm </td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Sports and Club Time</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">6:30pm - 7:30pm</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Dinner</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">6:30pm - 7:30pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Dinner</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">7:30pm - 10:00pm </td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Supervised Prep</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">7:30pm - 10:00pm </td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Supervised Prep</td>


    </tr>


    <tr>


    <td style="width: 13.493%">10:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 36.5773%">Lights Out (1 hour of Astronomy weekly at 12:00pm)</td>


    <td style="width: 14.3058%">10:00pm</td>


    <td style="width: 35.6019%">Lights Out</td>


    </tr>


    </tbody>


    </table>


    "Placement tests this afternoon, classes start Monday.¡±


    ¡°Placement tests on Saturday afternoon?!¡± Jack echoed in despair. "I haven''t studied!"


    ¡°Aye, you¡¯re the only one who needs them!¡± MacLeod grinned, ¡°All your fellow students did them last term.¡±


    ¡°Winterborn says taking tests on Saturday builds character,¡± Henry added unhelpfully.


    ¡°Any last questions?"


    "Just one, sir," Jack said, studying the schedule. "What''s this ''Magical Integration'' period on Wednesdays?"


    "Ah." MacLeod''s twinkling eyes grew serious. "New requirements from the Ministry after the war. Monthly seminars for each class year focused on wizard/Muggle relations, pureblood ideological deprogramming, cultural exchange, international magical cooperation, that sort of thing. Gi¡¯en recent events..." He didn''t need to elaborate. The shadow of Grindelwald still hung over everything. Jack suppressed a shudder, remembering the door of the pub shaking with curses launched against it, the strange guttural language being barked by his pursuers.


    "Speaking of integration," Henry chimed in, "fair warning, you''re sharing most of your advanced classes with Ravenclaw. Including double Potions Monday morning."


    Jack¡¯s expectant smile grew even wider, "Let me guess¡­Cassandra Hightower?"


    "Top of our year in Cauldroning," Henry confirmed cheerfully. "Try not to blow anything up. Vale''s enough of a terror without adding house rivalry to the mix. Don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m in your Transfig class though! Don¡¯t be scared of Winterborn, she loves me."


    ¡°And if you fail your placements,¡± Teddy added, ¡°You can just take the normal course load like Oliver and me.¡±


    "Aye, well." MacLeod shuffled his papers again. "You''ll have some catching up to do, but your O.W.L. equivalents are strong. Just remember, different school, different methods. Try to adapt rather than argue, Mr. Semmes."


    Jack nodded, thinking of the differences he''d already noticed. On the surface, Hogwarts seemed more relaxed than Ilvermorny. The dress code was looser, students had lots more leeway in what they put under their robes, there was no morning formation in the courtyard, and no required study hours enforced by student officers. The professors seemed more approachable too, or at least MacLeod certainly was.


    Jack could feel himself slowly peeling back paper-thin layers of tradition and formality beneath the informal exterior. Here were ancient house rivalries and byzantine social codes with subtle but strict divisions. It was like navigating an invisible maze. At Ilvermorny, the rules were clear. They were written in manuals, posted on walls, and drilled into students until they could recite them in their sleep. Here, the important rules were unwritten. Ilvermorny''s regimentation was skin-deep, designed to impose order on a young, chaotic magical tradition. Hogwarts'' traditions ran straight through the bone, wrought by centuries of history and pain. Even the castle itself showed it. Ilvermorny''s granite was solid, dependable, exactly what it appeared to be. Hogwarts'' mosaic of shale and slate shifted and whispered, hiding secrets.


    In spite of superficial appearances, Hogwarts was more rigid in many ways than Ilvermorny. But it also had a depth of magical knowledge that Ilvermorny, for all its practical focus, couldn''t match. It really made Jack feel like an intruder.


    "One last thing," MacLeod fixed Jack with his bright blue eyes. "The prefect system here may be different from what you''re used to. Pay attention to your seventh-years, follow the rules, and for Merlin''s sake don''t challenge Miss Hightower again.¡±


    Jack looked indignant, ¡°But sir, how did you-¡±


    ¡°You think that we teachers don¡¯t talk to each other? Or to the prefects?¡± MacLeod laughed. ¡°Trust me laddie, young Miss Hightower knows more hexes than most Auror trainees. She¡¯s not a girl to trifle with."


    Henry''s barely-suppressed snort suggested that there was a story there, but Jack was too overwhelmed with information to care at the moment.10 Different grading, different teaching styles, different social structures.


    He took another fortifying sip of tea. At least the tea was good. Although at the moment he really wanted a nice cup of coffee. He sat back in his armchair, considering his schedule and licking jam off his fingers as MacLeod turned his attention to the first-years. Nine classes this semester. Two more than he had at Ilvermorny, and not an easy one in the bunch. Well, maybe Muggle Studies or History of Magic.


    But he''d wanted an adventure, hadn''t he? Well, here he was - new school, new curriculum, and classes starting in two days with the most bombshell blonde dame this side of Manhattan. He sunk deeper into the plush padding. And to cap it all off, only fifteen minutes to get in between classes in a castle where the staircases liked to rearrange themselves.


    ¡°Henry,¡± Jack said from the depths of the chair, his inquisitive mind starting to carefully prioritize the new information that he needed to collect, ¡°I¡¯m going to need that nifty tour of the grounds you promised.¡±


    Henry folded up his own schedule, then stood up and stretched, "Not to worry, old sport. I''ll give you the ground tour, show you all the shortcuts.¡± He pulled a battered brass pocket watch out of his pocket, ¡°Still got a few hours before your placement tests. That¡¯s plenty of time to get you set right."


    Jack nodded, looking at his schedule again. "You''re a lifesaver, Henry. Seriously."


    His friend neatly packed away his parchments in his school bag, ¡°Shall we begin then?¡±


    <hr><hr>


    1. Fifth Avenue: the chief Muggle shopping district in New York City. The Americans¡¯ utter lack of a proper wizarding shopping district like Diagon Alley is, frankly, embarrassing. Fifth Avenue is passable for Muggles, I suppose, but where¡¯s the charm? The hidden entrances? The sense of mystery?


    2. "The Robes make the Wizard": A clever variation on "vestis virum facit¡±, a 16th century Latin proverb by Wizarding philosopher Desiderius Erasmus Roterodamus. Erasmus, along with his good friend Sir Thomas More, was one of the few wizarding philosophers who managed to influence Muggle thought, though they still haven¡¯t the faintest idea who he really was.


    3. The Hudson River Valley: This breathtaking glacial valley, running through eastern New York state and just west of Ilvermorny, holds a special place in both Muggle and wizarding history. Among Muggles, it inspired the Hudson River School of landscape painting</a>, a movement that captured the region¡¯s natural beauty in the 19th century led by Thomas Cole</a> and Asher Durand</a>. Today, Ilvermorny students visiting the valley for magical field trips often joke that it¡¯s impossible to tell where the natural beauty ends and the enchantments begin.


    4. ''P''s get degrees'': While technically accurate, it¡¯s disgraceful advice for any young witch or wizard with aspirations. Passable marks might get you through, but good luck getting a job that doesn¡¯t involve mopping floors at St. Mungo¡¯s.


    5. The Ghost of Christmas Present: A delightful character from Muggle author Charles Dickens¡¯ A Christmas Carol. Dickens, of course, had no idea how accurate his depiction of ghosts really was. One wonders if he had an accidental brush with the spectral world¡­ or just a surfeit of sherry.


    6. Professor MacLeod is almost certainly referring to the 1945 Battle of Kohlbergwerk, near Breslau in modern-day Poland. One of the final magical conflicts in the Great Wizarding War. Grim business. The accounts of dark wizard banshee deployments alone are chilling.


    7. "Magitechnology" was a faddish (and now thankfully suppressed) "science" of the early to mid-20th century proposed by American wizards Robert Homestead and Warner Brown to try and ''merge'' Muggle tech with wizarding expertise. Most of its ¡°breakthroughs¡± resulted in chaos. Magical radios were the sole success - everything else either exploded or melted.


    8. "MS460: Magical Guerilla Warfare" was an advanced elective offered at Ilvermorny by the Department of Magical War Studies from 1938-1973. It sounds far more exciting than anything offered at Hogwarts in my day. Why this course was dropped is beyond me. Perhaps they feared it was giving students too many ideas?


    9. The student in question was the unfortunate Agamemnon Dupuy, Class of ''38, who accidentally transfigured his Charms N.E.W.T. into a singing telegram while attempting to slyly conjure a cheat sheet. Let his story be a lesson to all: study or face ignominy.


    10. Mr. Ravenhurst was probably alluding to a rather infamous incident in March 1947. According to my research in the Hogwarts archives (a thankless task, let me assure you, given the state of record-keeping at this school), Prefect C. Hightower - yes, that Ms. Hightower, ever the paragon of propriety - personally apprehended three Slytherin fourth-years in the act of attempting to pilfer knickers from the Hufflepuff girls¡¯ dormitory. It seems their harebrained scheme involved some sort of levitation charm up the kitchen chimneys, as it alerted Hightower, who was on patrol at the time. She promptly chased them down - across two staircases and a secret passage, according to her statement - and dragged all three, thoroughly chastened, before Professor Blackthorn.


    Blackthorn, a notoriously strict disciplinarian, docked Slytherin House 150 points and gave the petticoat thieves two months of detention plus a dressing-down severe enough to leave one of the boys sobbing. A rather quaint scandal by today¡¯s standards, but at the time, it caused no small amount of gossip - though more about the boldness of the Hufflepuff girls in their choice of undergarments than the idiocy of the boys attempting the theft. Some things, it seems, never change.

 11. Placements and New Pals

    For the next two hours, Henry led Jack through the winding halls and moving staircases of Hogwarts, pointing out classrooms, bathrooms, and pitfalls along the way.


    He showed him how to get through the dungeons to Potions ("Do not ask Slytherins for directions."), other classes ("Like we told you last night, most of your classes are in this building, Transfiguration''s down here. Mind that step, it vanishes during new moons. Charms corridor down through there.¡±), how to not get delayed (¡°If you hear Peeves the Poltergeist coming, run like the devil. He¡¯s heard there¡¯s an American here. Now he¡¯s like a barghest with a bloody steak held in front of it.¡±1), the quickest route from the Charms corridor to the Transfiguration Courtyard ("Skip the main staircase, take this stone slide behind the tapestry with the hunting scene"), miscellaneous tips (¡°Be sure to go to the bathroom before Astronomy, the nearest bathroom is seven flights of steps down and it¡¯s a girls room.¡±) and the best place to take a smoke between classes ("There''s a nice little alcove behind the suit of armor on the second floor, hardly anyone knows about it").2


    Jack took it all in, marveling at the sheer size and complexity of the castle. Ilvermorny¡¯s academic buildings and grounds felt like a modest New Jersey townhouse compared to this. He felt a pang of homesickness, a longing for the familiar haunts and faces of his old school. But it was quickly overwhelmed by a thrill in his chest at all the history that was literally underfoot. Albus Dumbledore had gone here, and nearly every other wizard and witch worth reading about. Going down the same hallways, and attending the same classes. How many of his classmates would be blazing their names into history books for future Hogwarts students to read about, dream about, and seek to emulate?


    By the time they circled back across the viaduct to the Great Hall for lunch, Jack was feeling much more confident about his ability to navigate the castle. His head was packed with new information. He felt energized, ready to tackle whatever challenges lay ahead.


    Of course, his first challenges were the Potion and Transfig placement tests (he was already falling into the slang references for the course). After a hasty sandwich and another cup of tea, he bade Henry goodbye and made his deliberate way down to the dungeon classroom where the test was being held.


    He was - as expected - the only student there, and Professor Vale gave him the special attention Jack was afraid of. Vale loomed over his cauldron like an ill-tempered white-wigged bat and made disapproving noises at his ingredient preparation technique. "American method," he muttered. "All shortcuts and flash. Where''s the artistry? Where¡¯s the precision?"


    Jack was a split second late adding beeswing to his gently bubbling draught, prompting the Potions Master to tut loudly and add: ¡°How delightfully typical, late to the war, late on your timing.¡±3 Jack finished in under 45 minutes, had his Ointment of Rheumatic Aid critiqued as ¡°bland, insipid, mass-produced, and uninspiring¡±, and fled the dungeons after Vale had marked him ¡®barely Acceptable¡¯.


    Professor Winterborn was marginally less threatening during the Transfiguration assessment upstairs back in the Academic Wing, though her rapid-fire questions about theoretical principles and the conservation of mass left Jack sweating and stammering. "Different foundation at Ilvermorny, clearly," she noted, after Jack had successfully changed the color of a glass paperweight all the way through the rainbow while keeping it mostly transparent, "but not unsalvageable. I¡¯ll give you an Acceptable for now, but you''ll need some supplementary reading to catch up." A yard-long scroll was conjured from the air and handed to him. ¡°Mr. Ravenhurst can help you with some of the more intricate concepts.¡±


    "Is that really necessary, ma¡¯am?" Jack asked weakly, his spirit massively bruised by the ¡®C¡¯ grade. He thought he was good at Transmutation...


    ¡°Presumptuous, Mr. Semmes,¡± Winterborn pinned him with her beady eyes. "Or perhaps you''d prefer to be in my remedial section?¡±


    Jack slumped in defeat. "No, professor."


    Jack had a splitting headache and his hand was cramped from writing essays all afternoon by dinner time. Henry and his friends had saved a seat for him at the Gryffindor table. He collapsed onto the bench, air spilling out of him like a punctured balloon.


    "How''d it go?" Henry asked innocently, though his twinkling eyes suggested he already had a good idea from Jack¡¯s body language.


    "Vale thinks I''m an idiot, Winterborn hates me, and I have a month¡¯s worth of reading to do just to get ready for class on Monday," Jack groaned, reaching for a pork pie. "Tell me again why I transferred?"


    "International magical cooperation, right?," Teddy offered cheerfully. "Blame the ICW.4 Cheer up Semmes, we¡¯ve got Sunday off tomorrow. Can''t get any worse, right?"


    Oliver drained a glass of perry in one long swig, "You really shouldn''t say things like that at Hogwarts, Marsh. The castle takes it as a challenge."


    Jack looked up at the enchanted ceiling, where angry storm clouds were gathering dramatically.


    After dinner, he walked with his friends back towards the common room, splitting off with them in the courtyard and headed in a roundabout way for the Owlery, refusing an offer from Henry to show him the way. Jack wanted some time to himself. His mother was probably already worrying about something or other, he had promised to mail them the day he arrived. It was inconvenient having to trek all this way, he thought as he picked his way carefully down the wet steps of the West Tower heading towards the Beasts Paddock. Maybe he should save his money up to get his own owl¡­have it deliver mail straight to his dorm room. They were expensive though. Maybe a new broom should come first. Jack turned up the hood of his robe against the rain, which had started to sheet down, and ran the two hundred yards to the owlery.


    The circular stone building rose before him like a medieval watchtower, its windows glassless to allow the hundreds of owls living there easy passage. The storm made the whole structure seem forbidding, rain lashing against stones occasionally illuminated by lightning flashes.


    The interior, by contrast, was a warm and stuffy ascending amphitheater of soft hooting and rustling feathers. Owls of every size and breed perched in the shadowed rafters: tiny scops barely bigger than Quopro balls, elegant barn owls preening their heart-shaped faces, massive eagle owls regarding him imperiously from the highest perches. The stone floor was thickly carpeted with straw and the evidence of several hundred owls'' favorite pastime. Everything reeked of ammonia.


    He picked his way carefully between piles of owl droppings and pellets toward the school birds, finally selecting a doughty-looking barn owl that seemed up for a long journey for a reasonable fee. His letter was already written and sealed in a watertight envelope:


    <blockquote>


    Dear Mom and Dad,


    Here at Hogwarts, safe and sound. Voyage was uneventful. The castle''s very impressive. Got sorted into Gryffindor and already making lots of friends. Everything''s going great. Classes start Monday. Don''t worry!


    Love, Jack


    </blockquote>


    He''d rewritten it twice to capture the perfect amount of teenage insouciance, hiding homesickness between the lines and deleting any mention of Hightower.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Snf!¡± The owl gave him a snort and an exasperated look. "I know, I know," Jack grumbled, "Sorry! I know it¡¯s a long flight, but think about it from my perspective. I gotta pay transatlantic airfare!¡± He counted out a whole Sickle into its leather purse. ¡°Highway robbery if you ask me. Could buy a nice dinner and a movie with that!"5


    With a distinct huff, the bird snatched the envelope and launched itself into the tempest through the western window. Jack looked outside at the storm, figured that it wasn¡¯t letting up anytime soon, and ran back to the West Tower as fast as he could, leather shoes slipping on the path. His socks were soaked through before he made it fifteen yards.


    The journey back was a good review of Jack¡¯s pilgrim prowess, and of Henry¡¯s careful tutelage. Down the spiral stairs of the West Tower and through the echoing Academic Wing he squelched. Several portraits made impolite comments about good-for-nothing students wandering about late hours dripping water everywhere. The iron suspension bridge swayed alarmingly in the wind, forcing Jack to grab the rain-slicked handguard as he crossed high above the black abyss of the ravine. He trotted past Ravenclaw¡¯s aerie, into Gryffindor Tower, up six flights of spiral steps, and finally (¡°Krugeri¡±) through the portrait hole.


    Jack was attempting to dry himself with a combined heating and gusting charm in the entryway when they descended upon him.


    ¡°Mr. Semmes! Mr. Semmes!" A small boy with a mane of untamed brown hair and a sharp aquiline nose materialized at his elbow. "There¡¯s a seat over here by the fire, Mr. Semmes, we saved it for you!¡± He politely but insistently tugged at Jack¡¯s arm. "Could you tell us more about America?"


    After his initial confusion, Jack recognized him. It was Palamedes Hitchens, the first-year from the reception hall who thought Jack¡¯s Ilvermorny garb had been a guard¡¯s uniform.


    ¡°Hey, listen pal-¡± Jack began exasperatedly.


    ¡°Yes, YES!¡± Palamedes lit up like a Christmas tree, ¡°Please call me Pal! Way better than Palamedes.¡± He pulled Jack into the common room. ¡°I had so many questions I didn¡¯t get to ask you yesterday. Is it true you play Quodpot? Did you really ride a thunderbird? What''s New York like? Is Superman a wizard?"6


    "No, Superman isn''t a-how do you even know that-" Jack began, but was interrupted by a second first-year, this one dumpy and clutching a massive book to his chest like a life preserver.


    ¡°Menelaus Gristwood, Mr. Semmes,¡± the boy adjusted his thick round glasses self-importantly, "But my da calls me Mel. I just got this book from the library and I''ve been reading about American magical education systems. Is it true that Ilverm-¡±


    "Give him space, you two!" A third boy, ginger, freckled, and in pajamas decorated with moving golden snitches, shoved his way in between them. "I''m Wigbald Stoat, but I like Wiggy. Can you teach us American dueling?"


    "Absolutely not," came Mina Mulholland¡¯s ringing lilt. She pattered down the spiral steps from the boys dorm and marched up to them, looking slightly harried. "It''s past your bedtime. Did you brush your teeth?"


    Three guilty faces turned toward her.


    "But Miss Mulholland!" "We just wanted-" "He''s from America!"


    "And he''ll still be from America tomorrow," she said firmly, herding them back toward the dormitory stairs. "After you''ve slept, eaten breakfast, and done your homework. School starts in two days, and I expect-" her musical reprimands faded up the stairs.


    "This is better than a wireless drama,"7 the irrepressible Henry Ravenhurst commented from a nearby armchair. Cigarette smoke coiled upward into the still air from an ashtray.


    Jack hung up his wet robe on a coat tree and sat down in front of the fire to carefully dry his shoes. The common room was nearly empty.


    "Are freshmen usually like that here?" Jack asked.


    "Of course," Henry snorted. "You ask me, it''s because we can''t fag them anymore.8 Bloody post-war softness."


    ¡°They¡¯re like excitable little puppies,¡± Jack remarked.


    "Boys, be charitable. They''re first-years," Mina returned, looking fondly up towards the dorms. "Everything''s still magical to them."


    "As opposed to us jaded old men," Henry grinned. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and gestured to the open armchair next to them.


    "Not tonight," Mina rolled her eyes. "I need to head back to the prefects'' tower. I¡¯d like to store up some sleep before the year starts in earnest."


    ¡°So soon?¡± Henry asked.


    ¡°And you should both get to bed too,¡± Mina said, as if he hadn¡¯t said anything.


    ¡°It¡¯s only 10 o¡¯clock-¡± Henry protested.


    "Good night, Mr. Ravenhurst," she cut him off. "Good night, Mr. Semmes."


    They watched her disappear through the portrait hole, waving a water repelling charm over her robes.


    Jack returned his attention to drying and oiling his shoes. When they were cleaned enough he stood up, yawning and ready for bed.


    Henry was still staring pensively at the entryway.


    ¡°She¡¯s nice,¡± Jack offered. ¡°Her accent is really-...neat.¡± He barely stopped himself from saying ''pretty'', held back by an innate boyish code of honor.


    Henry uncoiled himself from his seat like a spring. ¡°She¡¯s right too,¡± he said, bounding over to the stairs and taking them up three at a time. ¡°Sleep deficit is no way to start the school year. Come along Semmes.¡±


    ¡°Were you waiting up for me?¡± Jack asked as they climbed toward their dormitory.


    ¡°¡®Course I was,¡± Henry replied matter-of-factly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. ¡°What if you had gotten lost?¡±


    Jack was taken aback. ¡°That¡¯s¡­really-¡±


    Henry continued on, ¡°I¡¯m locking you out, Semmes,¡± he said over his shoulder as he reached the door without him.


    Jack followed. They made their way to their beds in companionable silence.


    <hr><hr>


    1. A barghest is a spectral black dog of Northern English folklore, often associated with death and misfortune. Much like Peeves the Poltergeist, barghests are notorious for appearing at the most inconvenient times, usually to terrify or torment the unsuspecting.


    2. Smoking was, of course, frowned upon in academic areas, but common rooms were more lenient. In the 1940s, male wizarding students who enjoyed a pipe or cigarette was the norm. It was slightly more uncommon for girls. Presumably Mr. Semmes and his friends used a vacuum charm - simple, yet effective - to remove all traces of smoke.


    3. "How delightfully typical, late to the war, late on your timing", Professor Vale''s barb is accurate, as MACUSA didn''t join the Great Wizarding War until nearly six years after it had started. While Grindelwald¡¯s forces swept across Europe in the 1920s, the Americans seemed more concerned with isolationism and internal politics. When they finally joined, their contributions were significant, but the delay still rankles, particularly among wizards who lived through those years.


    4. The International Confederation of Wizards, which at the time nominally presided over the Magical World. The ICW¡¯s authority was already precarious in the 1940s, and the post-war period saw further erosion of its influence. Decolonization destabilized traditional magical hierarchies in Africa and Asia, as emerging wizarding nations sought to establish autonomy. Meanwhile, the Soviet Union''s magical factions rejected ICW oversight entirely. By the mid-20th century, the ICW was struggling to maintain any semblance of global unity.


    5. Adjusted for inflation, Mr. Semmes paid nearly 5 Sickles and 3 Knuts for that letter. Highway robbery indeed. Thankfully, the post-war expansion of the Mail-Floo Network reduced costs and improved accessibility for wizarding communication. Today, you¡¯d only pay a few Knuts for the same service - though the reliability of Mail-Floo has been called into question ever since those Romanian dragon eggs ended up in the kitchen of the Muggle Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park back in 2008...


    6. Superman debuted in 1938, the creation of two American Muggle comic writers, Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster. The character¡¯s extraordinary powers - flight, strength, and near-invulnerability - were perplexing to wizards who couldn¡¯t quite believe a Muggle could dream up such abilities without magical influence. Of course, now we know Superman¡¯s powers are attributed to his fictional Kryptonian origins, but one can imagine contemporary wizards entertaining the notion that he might be a wizard hiding in plain sight.


    7. Wizarding wireless dramas were the wizarding world''s answer to Muggle radio plays: serialized stories performed live, complete with enchanted sound effects and magical music. Popular in the early 20th century, these dramas included everything from gripping tales of heroic Aurors to comedic sagas about bumbling potion-makers. Sadly, the advent of enchanted moving pictures has largely replaced wireless dramas, though aficionados still tune in to the occasional classic broadcast.


    8. Fagging - a tradition where younger students were effectively servants to their older peers - was strictly banned at Hogwarts in 1946 after a Slytherin first-year fell off a parapet trying to escape from a group of upper years attempting to make him swim across the Black Lake in January.

 12. The Grand Tour

    "Right then," Henry proposed at breakfast on Sunday, with the sun streaming through the windows and the enchanted ceiling a perfect periwinkle blue. "Now that the storm has blown through, how about a fly about the grounds for our new boy before hitting the books?"


    ¡°Aye aye,¡± Oliver and Teddy voiced approval.


    ¡°A fly?¡° Jack looked up, swallowing his mouthful of scrambled eggs. "On brooms?"


    Henry rolled his eyes, "No, on hippogriffs. Yes, on brooms, you daft Yank.¡±


    ¡°No, I mean-that¡¯s allowed here?¡± Jack asked in surprise.


    ¡°You thought that Quidditch pitch outside is for show?¡± Teddy needled him. ¡°What, you can¡¯t fly at Ilvermorny?¡±


    ¡°Not outside no,¡± Jack explained, ¡°Way too risky. Remember, we have a No-Maj town just down the mountain. We have an indoor stadium, dual-purpose for Quopro and Quodpot.¡±


    ¡°An indoor stadium¡­¡± Oliver pronounced the words as if they tasted bad.


    "It''s actually pretty amazing," Jack defended. "There''s a door in the gym that opens into this massive space, like a giant bubble. Goes miles in all directions, people get lost in there. The ceiling''s enchanted to look like the sky outside, kind of like the Great Hall here but not as detailed. The floor is all cushioned, and it¡¯s totally climate-controlled, no wind or rain to worry about!"


    "Sounds horrible," Oliver declared. "Half the fun of flying is feeling the wind in your face, dealing with the weather..."


    ¡°Merlin, you Yanks are soft!¡± Teddy shook his head in disgust. His declaration carried the authority of someone who''d taken more than his share of Bludgers to the chest and face.


    ¡°Come on then,¡± Henry stood up. ¡°Time for some real flying. And we''ll show you around the exterior grounds properly. Give you a taste of what Hogwarts is really about."


    Back in their dormitory, the others retrieved their brooms with the reverence usually reserved for sacred artifacts. Henry''s Hotspur 41 was getting past its prime but lovingly maintained. It was a masterpiece of engineering, its lightweight ash wood treated with streamlining charms, perfect for a Chaser. The British racing green metallic finish caught the light like jadeite.


    Teddy''s dark crimson Elderstrand Thunderbolt emerged from a custom case, its stocky oak handle wrapped in pebbled knucker-hide he''d clearly applied himself.


    Oliver lovingly applied an extra coat of handle polish to his Havelock Guardian, a specialized Keeper''s broom built for hovering stability and rapid vertical acceleration. The bristles were splayed out in a distinctive Japanese fan pattern.


    Then Jack pulled out his Henricus Model B.1


    Their raised eyebrows and poorly concealed smirks said everything. "It''s good for Quodpot," he explained defensively. "Quick acceleration, tight turning radius. Pretty cheap too..." he trailed off as their amusement grew.


    "Sure it is," Teddy held out his hands professionally. Jack surrendered the broom for inspection. "You might want to try out a British broom sometime." He turned it over with an expert''s eye. "That tail drag must add fifteen seconds to your mile. What''s your mile sprint time?"


    "78.2 seconds," Jack admitted.


    "Oooof," Teddy winced. "Do you lot fly through treacle?"


    ¡°Don¡¯t chaff him so, Ted, it¡¯s not his fault. We¡¯ve still got Ratburn¡¯s old Stormrider down in the equipment shed,¡± Henry observed. ¡°He can use that as a loaner for tryouts.¡±


    ¡°Tryouts?¡± Jack asked.


    ¡°Quidditch tryouts this Thursday, Semmes.¡± Henry explained. ¡°We need another Chaser.¡±


    ¡°Oh¡­¡± Jack said. Great, another thing on his plate. It did sound fun though. And he appreciated being included-


    "Consider this morning your audition for the tryout," Teddy spun his Thunderbolt with practiced ease, the motion so smooth it seemed to blur. "Time to see what you''re really made of, Yank."


    Henry led them down through the Quad and Grand Stairs, then outside to the massive viaduct that spanned the gorge below the castle. Shreds of morning mist still clung to the walls, swirling in the wind that whipped through the arches.


    "Right," Henry announced, casually mounting the viaduct wall like he was climbing onto a garden bench. "Grand tour starts with a grand entrance."


    "What are you-" Jack started.


    Henry turned to face them, balanced precariously on the narrow stone. His school robes billowed dramatically in the wind as he spread his arms wide, broom held loosely in his right hand like a performer''s prop.


    "Be quick Hal," Teddy called, "Prefects will have your hide if they see-"


    But Henry was already falling backward, a wild grin splitting his face as he disappeared over the edge.


    "Franklin¡¯s kite!" Jack lunged forward. ¡°HENRY!¡±


    "Wait," Oliver said calmly.


    A red and gold blur shot upward past them, Henry''s whoop of triumph echoing off the walls of the gorge and castle as he spiraled higher.


    "Bloody Tyke Yorkie show-off!" Teddy shouted good-humoredly.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Your turn, Semmes!" Henry shouted down. "Unless American brooms can''t handle it?"


    Jack peered over the edge. Two hundred feet of empty air separated him from the rushing water below, which foamed white around jagged rocks as it poured into the lake. His feet tingled. His mouth went dry. Suddenly his Model B felt about as reliable as a bundle of twigs.


    "This is insane."


    "No, it¡¯s tradition!" Teddy corrected.


    "Started by who? You three?" Jack''s voice had an edge of hysteria.


    He stared down at the dizzying drop, then at his broom. He''d done crazier things in Quodpot, hadn''t he? Though usually with nice soft grass underneath, not granite teeth waiting to crack him open like an egg...


    "You don''t have to," Oliver offered. "You can just kick off from the courtyard¡­¡±


    That sounds nice, a sensible voice in Jack''s head whispered. That''s a good idea. Much safer. Can''t impress anyone if you''re dead. Do that!


    Jack took a white-knuckled grip on his broom to silence it.


    "Oh no no, you''d never let me hear the end of it," he muttered, scanning for teachers and prefects. His broom hummed beneath his fingers, responding to his elevated heartbeat. He climbed up onto the wall.


    "That''s the spirit!" Henry called from above. "Just don''t think about the rocks at the bottom!"


    "Thanks!" Jack shot back sarcastically. His heart thudded in his ears. The familiar pre-Quodpot rush was beginning to flood his system, turning fear into electric anticipation.


    He stood on the wall, facing forward unlike Henry''s theatrical backward fall. The gorge yawned behind him, mist spiraling up from its depths like grasping fingers. His breakfast lurched in his stomach. Don''t think, just drop...


    ¡°Winterborn¡¯s coming,¡± Teddy warned.


    Jack let himself pitch forward.


    The world tilted crazily as he plummeted, turning head over heels, wind shreking past, the stomach-dropping sensation of freefall. For a long heart-stopping moment he was just falling, nothing but air and gravity and approaching crunching impact-


    Then his hand pulled up on the Model B''s handle.


    The broom responded instantly, transforming his death-drop into a shallow glide. He pulled into a climbing turn, threading through the central arch of the viaduct before shooting over the top, pushing higher until he drew level with an applauding Henry. His veins sang with pure adrenaline.


    "Not bad!" Henry shouted, extending his hand.


    "Not bad yourself!" Jack slapped it instead of shaking.


    Together they watched Teddy and Oliver vault the viaduct wall and take off the same way, joining them moments later.


    ¡°Wait a minute,¡± Jack said, forcing himself to relax slightly and look below them. There was only a pair of second-years on the bridge, watching them with craned necks. He couldn¡¯t see any other students except a few farther off. ¡°Where¡¯s Winterborn? You said she was coming.¡±


    Teddy grinned. ¡°I only said that to get you off the ledge.¡±


    "Right then," Henry called, taking point. "Grand tour begins now. Keep up, and try not to fall off!"


    They circled the Great Hall first, going higher and higher, Henry playing tour guide as they soared close enough to the walls to frighten roosting pigeons. His three friends were naturals on their brooms, whooping and spiraling around each other like playful magpies while Jack took in the view and tried not to crash when they repeatedly cut in front of him.


    "Here''s the Quad from above, it looks quite a bit smaller from the air. Gryffindor Tower there, you can see our dorm window." Henry pointed to the familiar crimson and gold banners fluttering in the autumn breeze. "Grand Staircase next to the Great Hall, that¡¯s the massive circular one that''s always changing direction when you''re late to class."


    They banked around the northern turret, its blue and bronze banners sparkling in the sunshine. "Ravenclaw Tower," Henry announced. "Where the swots live- sorry, where the academically gifted reside. Mind the weather vane, it bites."


    ¡°It¡¯s taller than our tower,¡± Jack noted.


    ¡°Ravenclaws prefer to look down on everyone,¡± Oliver replied drily as they flew closer.


    Jack caught a glimpse of students through the windows, bent over books even on a Sunday morning.


    ¡°Oi, look who it is! Wave to Hightower,¡± Teddy grinned.


    "Very funny," Jack retorted. But he looked anyway. He couldn¡¯t see her. He circled the tower once more slowly, the ground effect pulling his broom closer to the walls than he intended. His broom''s turbulence gently rattled the ancient window panes.


    ¡°Buzzing them Semmes? Brilliant!¡± Teddy¡¯s delighted voice called out from behind him.


    ¡°Wait¡­no I¡¯m not buzz-¡± Jack couldn¡¯t finish before Henry and Teddy rocketed past him and around the tower at max speed. Their slipstream carved spiral contrails around the turret like a forming tornado.


    The whole tower vibrated from spire to oubliette from the shock of their passage.


    A window burst open directly in front of Jack. "STUDENTS ARE TRYING TO STUDY, YOU CRETINS!" A crimson-faced seventh-year leaned out, his head and shoulders suddenly occupying the exact space Jack''s broom was heading for.


    Time slowed. At this speed, a direct hit would blast the Ravenclaw clear of the window, and probably knock Jack off his broom as well. Pulling up would clip him under the chin, knocking him out and causing him to fall forward. Diving would unseat Jack and pull the Ravenclaw out as he flew underneath, with the same deadly result.


    He pictured all this in less than a second.


    Only one option, turn hard right away from the tower. Jack''s Model B responded instantly, turning on a dime as he yanked on the handle.


    The tail whipped around in a perfect arc - directly into the shouting Ravenclaw''s face.


    ¡°Gah!¡± The impact still nearly knocked Jack off his broom, and he scrambled back onto his seat catching his breath. Sorry, but it was better than the alternatives, Jack thought as he watched the boy fall backwards into the common room rather than out into three hundred feet of empty air.


    "I''m sorry!" he shouted into the open window, as younger students swarmed it, both checking on the downed seventh-year and staring outside curiously. "He got in my way! I didn''t mean to hit him!"


    Jack watched his friends roll their brooms into three synchronized steep dives, plunging into the safety of the gorge. He knew the smart thing was to follow them. But something - conscience, naivety, or an ingrained American need to take responsibility - made him hover there instead.


    Stupid George Washington and his stupid cherry tree.2


    Or maybe it was something else¡­


    Through the tall arched window and around the Ravenclaws, Jack could see an airy circular room with a midnight-blue carpet and starred ceiling. It looked like a tidy eagle¡¯s nest of velvet and marble. Now, of course, it was in disorder. Scattered parchments lay like shot gamebirds and spilled tea spread across an elegant bronze table where several leather-bound volumes lay open. Star charts and Ancient Runes translations lay abandoned mid-sentence, and amber and lapis silk cushions were scattered across the floor where they had fallen from window seats.


    Then Cassandra Hightower appeared at the window, and Jack''s heart stopped.


    <hr><hr>


    1. A Henricus Model B: A mass-produced black utility broom. Embarrassing even by the modest British standards of the 1940s. Honestly, I¡¯d be ashamed to see my 8-year-old son on a training broom with specs like that. Still, Mr. Semmes has a point about the price. Adjusted for inflation, a new Model B in 1932 cost around 350 Galleons - a pittance compared to the price of a Firebolt these days, which will set you back nearly ten times that."


    2. George Washington and his Cherry Tree: An unoriginal Wizarding Americanism, ripped straight from the Muggle fable. You know the one: little George admits to chopping down his father''s tree because he ''cannot tell a lie.'' American Wizards apparently take in patriotic Muggle myths with their mother''s milk. Their lack of a Wizarding National Epic is embarrassing.

 13. A Brief Encounter

    Cassandra Hightower was wearing a casual dark blue sweater vest over a white blouse, now sporting an impressive brown tea stain down the right sleeve. Her elaborate crown braid was replaced by a simple side plait, giving her a softer appearance that contrasted sharply with her outraged expression.


    "MR. SEMMES!" Her voice hit Jack like a slap. "What is WRONG with you?!"


    "I can explain!" Jack started desperately.


    "First you mock me on the platform, then you undermine me in front of the first-years, and now this?" She gestured at her stained sleeve and the disaster around her. "Your band of vikings just destroyed our common room! Tea everywhere, scrolls ruined, and now you''ve gone and assaulted Maurice!"


    Jack''s stomach dropped, "It was an accident!"


    "An accident? Then explain how you''re accidentally buzzing our windows on a Sunday morning! Explain why my best blouse is ruined and Maurice is unconscious!"


    Windows were opening now around the tower like gunports on a man o¡¯ war, faces crowding out to stare. This was rapidly becoming another spectacle. Jack hated it.


    "Look," Jack said, trying to keep his voice steady while balancing on his broom six feet from the window, "I was flying too close to the tower. Then someone, not saying who, flew past too fast. When¡­.Maurice stuck his head out, I almost crashed into him. If I hadn¡¯t turned at the last second, we both would have fallen all the way to the ground.¡±


    ¡°Now I''m not saying it''s his fault," he added quickly, seeing her mouth open. "I''m really sorry about all of this. We didn''t mean to cause trouble. The wind caught me wrong, turbulence off the wall, and then-"


    "The wind caught you wrong?" She tossed her braid. "Do you ever take responsibility for anything?"


    "I''m trying to! That''s why I stayed to apologize!"


    ¡°Hmph. You stayed.¡± she crossed her arms. ¡°And where are your fellow air-pirates now?


    "SEMMMMMMMES!" Henry''s voice echoed up from the gorge. "Get out of there before they hex you!"


    Cassandra leaned forward slightly, peering down. Jack saw the corner of her mouth twitch. "Your choice in fellows leaves much to be desired," she looked back at Jack, eyes sharp as thistles.


    Jack ignored the remark, ¡°Is Maurice ok?¡±


    She glanced behind her, "His nose is bleeding, but he''s awake." Someone groaned loudly from the common room floor. "No thanks to you."


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Jack said firmly. ¡°This won¡¯t happen again.¡±


    "Thirty points from Gryffindor," she said coldly. "Each. For reckless flying, disrupting study hours, and damaging personal property.¡±


    "Wait a sec." Jack leaned forward on his broom, coasting slightly closer to the window. "I''m the only one here. I should be the one punished."


    "Protecting your accomplices now?"


    "Please." He met her gaze steadily. "They''ll kill me for bringing the whole house down.¡±


    ¡°You should have thought of that before.¡± Cassandra said, looking around at their attentive audience.


    ¡°I only just got here, they¡¯re my brand new housemates,¡± Jack fought on gamely. He thought his ears were about to catch fire from embarrassment. ¡°Let me take the punishment instead of docking everyone points. I¡¯ll clean your tower, scourging, poena cullei, anything!"


    "You were all responsible-" she started.


    "But I''m the one here,¡± Jack said. ¡°Please.¡±


    She gave him a long, calculating look, her head tilted slightly, eyes slightly squinted beneath her eyelashes.


    Then she pulled out her prefect''s notebook and conjured a quill.


    The detention slip rapidly took shape beneath her precise handwriting. With a tap of her wand, it folded itself into an origami bird and fluttered across the gap between them. Jack caught it carefully, trying not to lose his balance.


    "You''ll receive no special treatment, Semmes," she dismissed him coldly. ¡°Good morning.¡±


    The peeping audience of Ravenclaws peered down on him from the surrounding windows like a parliament of highly judgmental owls.


    Jack''s heart sank as he barrel-rolled into a dive, finding his friends hovering in the shadow of the cliff. Teddy was furiously tapping his fingers on his elbows. Oliver was stone-faced. Henry was evidently trying to pacify both of them.


    "Semmes, old sport," Henry shook his head sadly, "you can¡¯t stick around like that. They¡¯ve got us now¡­"


    ¡°They better have frozen you with a sticky jinx,¡± Teddy growled, ¡°Because if you willingly stuck around like some kind of cowboy so help me-¡±


    ¡°Easy Ted,¡± Henry soothed, then blanched as Jack produced the folded detention slip. ¡°What¡¯s the butcher¡¯s bill?¡± he asked the question that was on all their minds.


    Jack unfolded the paper bird, and they all crowded around him to read:


    <blockquote>


    HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY


    <hr>


    Date Issued: Sunday, 31 August 1947


    Time Issued: 9:31 a.m.


    Issued By: Cassandra A. Hightower


    6th Year Prefect, Ravenclaw House


    Recipient: James T. Semmes


    6th Year, Gryffindor House


    Nature of Violations:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Article 13: Simple Assault</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subheading 3: Accidental, No Magic</li>


    </ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Article 38: Destruction of Property</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">(Personal)</li>


    </ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Article 91: Horseplay</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Subheading 5: Disrupting Scheduled House Activities</li>


    </ul>


    </ol>


    Description of Incident:


    On the morning of Sunday, 31 August 1947, during a house study prep for first-years, the aforementioned student engaged in disruptive and reckless behavior, resulting in accidental physical contact (classified under Simple Assault), minor destruction of personal property belonging to at least 3 other students, and conduct unbecoming of a Hogwarts student, as outlined under the student Code of Conduct. The violations occurred in the vicinity of Ravenclaw Tower.


    <hr>


    Punitive Measures:


    <ol>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">House Point Deduction:</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Ten (10) points from Gryffindor House.</li>


    </ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Gating:</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Effective at noon today, Mr. Semmes is restricted to school grounds for three (3) weeks.</li>


    </ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Detention Prep:</li>


    <ul>


    <li style="font-weight: 400">Every evening for one (1) week, beginning tonight, from 7:30 to 9:30 p.m. in the Library under staff/prefectural supervision.</li>


    </ul>


    </ol>


    Failure to adhere to these terms will result in further disciplinary action, including possible referral to the Head of House.


    <hr>


    Prefect''s Signature:


    Cassandra A. Hightower


    6th Year, Ravenclaw House


    <hr>


    This form is to be co-signed and returned to your Head of House by 10:30 p.m. today.


    </blockquote>


    His friends looked at him like there was a unicorn horn growing out of his head.


    Oliver let out a low whistle.


    ¡°Wha-...that?¡± Henry asked, shocked.


    ¡°Seems that way,¡± Jack said mournfully. ¡°I¡¯m sorry guys, but she was originally going to dock a hundred and twenty. The forced study halls are going to be a pain-¡±If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Ten points?" Teddy interrupted, looking thunderstruck. "For crashing into a seventh-year and buzzing a house tower?"


    "And detention prep," Jack reminded him. ¡°And gating, whatever that is.¡±


    "Gating means you''re restricted to school grounds," Henry explained. "It¡¯s a severe punishment. No Hogsmeade, and no grounds past the courtyard unless you get special permission. You¡¯re basically a first-year again. They might let you tryout for Quidditch if you grovel properly. Algy can put in a good word for you."


    ¡°Ugh,¡± Jack grimaced, ¡°That¡¯s tough.¡±


    ¡°Yes it is, but it could have been miles worse,¡± Teddy reached over and took a firm grip of Jack¡¯s shoulder, his anger forgotten in his amazement. ¡°We dodged a dragon¡¯s tail. That could have been over a hundred house points and two weeks of detention for all four of us. The unusual thing is that Hightower put it all on you. That is not like her¡­¡±


    All three of them stared at Jack with identical impish expressions. Jack felt his face getting hot.


    ¡°What?¡± he asked.


    "Jack," Henry look at him appraisingly, "I think she fancies you."


    "What?!¡± Jack nearly choked, ¡°No way, I just ruined her morning!"


    "Hightower never gives light punishments," Teddy said. "Last term she gave me twenty points and a week¡¯s detention just for cutting a Slytherin toff¡¯s suspenders in the hallway. And he deserved it! You do something miles stupider and walk away with half?!"


    "Semmes must have charmed her," Oliver¡¯s usually phlegmatic face was awestruck. "When he stayed to apologize like a proper gentlewizard."


    ¡°Think how she delivered the slip!¡± Henry cackled. ¡°All secret so that her house didn¡¯t know how lenient she was being!¡±


    "A prefect and her halfwit knight-errant," Oliver agreed.


    ¡°And here I was cursing the day he was sorted,¡± Teddy slapped Jack on the back so hard they both nearly overbalanced and fell. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Semmes, just never do that again, aye? When we run one, we run all. No more heroics.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± Jack promised. ¡°I almost knocked that idiot out the window. Wanted to make sure he wasn¡¯t hurt.¡±


    He stuck his hand out, ¡°From now on I¡¯m with you guys.¡±


    The other three exchanged glances, then grinned. Their hands stacked on top of his, hovering steadily above the gorge. There was silence. Just the rushing of water beneath.


    "You¡¯re supposed to say something, Ravenhurst,¡± Teddy said.


    ¡°Why me?¡± Henry asked defensively. ¡°Why not the Yank?¡±


    "You¡¯re the nobleman," Teddy said. ¡°Semmes¡¯ll just say something hackneyed about freedom and the tree of magical liberty being watered.¡±


    ¡°Noblesse oblige,¡± Henry cleared his throat, ¡°We few, we happy few, we band of lions, so be it, amen!¡±


    ¡°Aye, though he be earl, yet Ravenhurst is the king of courtesy!¡± Teddy exclaimed, beating his chest with his free hand.


    ¡°Well said!¡± finished Oliver.


    ¡°What the hell are you guys saying?¡± Jack asked blankly. ¡°I thought we were going to say ¡®Go Gryffindor¡¯ or something.¡±


    They broke apart laughing, nearly falling off their brooms.


    ¡°It¡¯s Shakespeare, you dunce,¡± Teddy gasped, wiping his eyes. ¡°The most brilliant wizard playwright to ever have lived!¡±


    ¡°So great even the Muggles claimed him,¡± Oliver nodded.


    "Right then," Henry clapped his hands. "Let''s finish the tour before our American friend here gets officially gated at lunchtime. Still the whole rest of Hogwarts to see."


    They flew south through the ravine and underneath the suspension bridge that spanned it between the Quad and the-


    ¡°Alright, where were we?" Henry fell quickly back into form, "Ah, yes, Academic Wing, remember? Astronomy Tower is there," he pointed to the highest needle-like spire jutting from the Academic Building. "Tallest point in the castle. Excellent for stargazing, better for rendezvous, not that I''d know personally. Ask Marshwiggle."


    "Don¡¯t bother," Teddy said in response to Jack¡¯s quizzical look. ¡°Gentlewizards don¡¯t kiss and tell.¡±


    ¡°Look, you¡¯ve got Marshy putting on airs now,¡± Oliver snorted.


    They spiraled lower over the Academic Building, skimming past windows showing classrooms and hallways. "Defense Against the Dark Arts corridor," Oliver designated. "See the scorch marks ¡®round the windows?"


    "Transfiguration Courtyard below," Teddy added. "Where Winterborn turns first-year troublemakers into statues."


    ¡°Bell Tower, right over the north gate, the one we walked through our first night here. Over the central hall are the greenhouses," Henry indicated a cluster of glass structures gleaming in the morning sun north of the central hall. ¡°See the green mass on the roof there? Carnivorous mistletoe. It¡¯ll take your lips right off, so be careful during Christmastime.¡±


    They looped the Bell Tower, then swooped low over the North Lawn towards the Quidditch Pitch ("Tryouts this Thursday, you should come"). Then they banked left towards the Care of Magical Creatures paddock where the tartan-clad teacher Mr. MacGregor was hoeing cabbages along with his enormous assistant. MacGregor shook a rake at them menacingly as they flashed past flying low overhead. His assistant let out an ear-splitting whistle and a wave. They looped over the Owlery tower and then back again toward the north along the border of a great, ancient woodland. A patchwork of gently waving leaves beginning to turn fall colors and dark conifers stretched to the horizon.


    ¡°The Forbidden Forest,¡± Teddy gestured to the vast expanse of trees and the foreboding darkness between the trunks. "Forbidden for a reason. Full of all sorts of nasty surprises. The centaurs mostly keep to themselves, but the acromantulas are more¡­extroverted."


    "The what?" Jack asked.


    "Giant spiders," Oliver explained. "Size of a carthorse, very territorial!"


    Jack peered into the shadows between the trees. American woods were not nearly as dangerous as this, it seemed. At least not until you got really deep into the Appalachians¡­


    ¡°Do we ever go in there?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Strictly off-limits unless escorted, and even then only during Care of Magical Creatures. Don''t even think about it," Henry warned, noting Jack''s interested expression. "Lost a second-year in there last spring. They found him a week later, speaking in tongues and wearing clothes made of mushrooms."


    "He''s still in St. Mungo''s," Teddy added helpfully. "Thinks he''s a talking toadstool."


    They zoomed over the greenhouses outside the central hall gleaming in the morning sun, beyond them the Black Lake stretched halfway across the valley.


    ¡°Hogmeade¡¯s there, you can see it quite well from up here,¡± Henry pointed out the village nearly a mile away. ¡°See the road we came up from the train station?¡±


    A vast, pallid form glided into view beneath the surface of the lake, its sheer mass bending the water¡¯s reflection into shifting ribbons of light. A tentacle, smooth and spectral, pressed close enough to bulge the surface in a slow, rippling swell, as though the lake itself recoiled from its presence.


    "Is that a-" Jack started, taking a firm grip of his broom. ¡°Is that Nessie?!¡±


    "No, Nessie is further south east in Loch Ness.¡± Oliver corrected. ¡°That¡¯s our giant squid. Or kraken, if you prefer. Friendly enough, unless you''re a trout. Or swimming after curfew."


    ¡°Lost another second-year that way,¡± Henry said.


    They flew farther north, catching a thermal that carried them past the lake and over the storybook village of Hogsmeade. Smoke rose from chimneys in lazy spirals, and Jack could make out a few students walking the path to and from the town.


    ¡°Pull up there,¡± said Henry, waving his hand, ¡°Plenty of time to show him Hogsmeade in three weeks once he¡¯s ungated. Plus the leaves will be proper autumn colors by then. Pretty as a picture. Let¡¯s take Semmes back to the pitch, show him what real sport looks like.¡±


    Jack swallowed a remark that Quodpot and Quopro were infinitely better than Quidditch, inside or outside, and followed them back towards the school grounds and pitch.


    "And that concludes our tour," Henry announced as they descended into the empty Quidditch pitch. "Any questions? Comments? Declarations of awe at our magnificent institution?"


    As they touched down on the manicured green grass, Jack couldn''t help but stare at the towering golden goal hoops, the brand-new gleaming stands, and the fluttering house banners snapping in the breeze.


    ¡°It¡¯s incredible,¡± Jack admitted as he spun around slowly., windswept and exhilarated. He could see why the founders had chosen this spot, surrounded by natural defenses. ¡°You guys have the whole valley! It makes Ilvermorny feel like a prison!¡± He didn¡¯t mind that he was confirmed to campus for nearly the next month. This place was incredible. He really should try out for Quidditch.


    His appreciation was short-lived. No sooner had they dismounted their brooms than a group of boys in blue robes came striding out of the locker room, broomsticks slung over their shoulders. At their head was a tall, handsome young man with unfashionably long brown hair and piercing blue-gray eyes.


    ¡°Merlin¡¯s halitosis,¡± Henry stiffened beside Jack, his easy grin fading. "Ravenclaw must have booked the pitch," he muttered, his voice low and tense.


    <hr><hr>


    1. Mr. Semmes¡¯ broom being pulled closer to the tower is a classic example of ground effect, a phenomenon first discovered by Muggles during the early days of their primitive aviation efforts. Muggle pilots, flying crude cloth-and-plywood contraptions, noted that their planes often ¡°floated¡± near the ground, stubbornly refusing to land. This curious behavior was eventually attributed to the interaction of air pressure and drag when a flying object gets close to a surface, reducing drag and increasing lift. While Muggles treated it as a breakthrough for their growing obsession with flight, wizards largely ignored the principle until it was disastrously forced upon our attention.


    The Amarillo Runaway Lorry of 1967 remains the textbook case for why magical folk should occasionally pay attention to Muggle discoveries. Three American wizards, attempting to land a charmed flying lorry on the I-30 Interstate at midnight, failed to account for the lorry''s increased lift near the ground. What should have been a simple descent turned into a catastrophic bounce that obliterated a trailer park a half-mile from their intended landing site. The incident caused three severe wizarding injuries and property damage to many more, including several Muggles (deemed, of course, unimportant in the official MACUSA report). This debacle sparked an international push to educate magical folk on ground effect - an embarrassing concession to Muggle science, to be sure, but evidently a necessary one.


    2. Poena cullei, or ¡°The Punishment of the Sack,¡± was one of the more colorful horrors of ancient Roman justice. Reserved only for those convicted of murdering their parents, the punishment involved sewing the condemned into a leather sack with a dog, a snake, a monkey, and a rooster before tossing the entire writhing package into the Tiber River. The Muggles saw this grotesque spectacle as the height of poetic justice, though one wonders how they sourced such a menagerie for each occasion.


    Wizarding Romans, with their usual practicality, considered the poena cullei both wasteful and unnecessarily messy. Instead, they dealt with parricides by bricking them into the family villa and letting starvation take its course¡ªa fate considered ¡°more humane¡± in wizarding circles, though one suspects this is a matter of perspective. It is worth noting that both punishments were designed not merely to kill but to annihilate the honor of the guilty, which, in Roman society (wizarding or otherwise), was seen as the greater penalty.


    3. Noblesse oblige, ("nobility has obligations") or the principle that privilege entails responsibility, is often cited as a cornerstone of noble behavior¡ªamong Muggles and wizards alike. It originated, of course, with wizards long before Muggles appropriated the idea and turned it into their own moralistic catchphrase. The concept asserts that those blessed with wealth, power, or status are duty-bound to use their advantages for the good of society. In practice, noblesse oblige is more often honored in the breach than the observance. Mr. Ravenhurst¡¯s ironic invocation of the term is a case in point.


    4. Mr. Ravenhurst''s mock oath and Mr. Marshwiggle''s response are drawn from the Great Wizard Bard''s Henriad (specifically Henry IV Part 1 and Henry V''s St. Crispin speech).

 14. How to Make Friends and Antagonize People

    The Ravenclaw leader saw the four Gryffindors and changed course directly for them, his team following loyally like a flock of migrating geese. He greeted Jack and his companions as if he was welcoming unexpected guests.


    ¡°My my, the Gryffindors!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°And their new American! He looks as if he¡¯s already fitting in splendidly.¡±


    "Hello there, Montfort" Henry said, leaning on his broom casually. "We were just leaving.¡±


    ¡°So soon?¡± Montfort gave a smile that didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°I¡¯d just come up with a rhyme for you!¡± His voice took on a mocking singsong quality:


    <blockquote>


    "Marshwiggle, Brackenby, and Ravenhurst,


    Who do you think they be?


    A peat-thief, a pig-scraper, and beggar-knight.


    Turn ¡®em out, knaves all three!¡±


    </blockquote>


    He paused for applause. The Ravenclaw team obliged him, laughing unpleasantly.


    "That¡¯s a new one," Henry''s voice was light, but Jack could see his cheek muscle twitch. "Did your house-elf write that for you, or did you manage it yourself?"


    Montfort¡¯s grin grew wider, "Better borrowed wit than a dissolute¡¯s fate, O Ravenhurst, with your pawned estate.¡± He pronounced the couplet like a stage actor. ¡°The Yanks come to put their shoe on our neck and just like our foolish Muggles you line up to lick.¡± His gaze settled on Jack. ¡±So this is Semmes. Washington¡¯s clumsy infiltrator. No surprise the hat put you with the lions, no decent house would have taken you..."


    Jack blinked, completely thrown by this unexpected line of attack. "Hey now, I''m just here to-"


    "Spread discord?¡± Montfort interrupted. ¡°Ensure magical Britain remains on a leash? We know what you want, to keep us weak, divided, and dependent on your protection against manufactured threats of Grindlewalders hiding in the shadows."


    ¡°I-I-,¡± Jack blustered. ¡°That¡¯s not what-¡±


    "I wouldn''t expect an Ilvermorny boy to understand," Montfort made a dismissive gesture. "Your whole society is built on magical and racial segregation-"


    ¡°That¡¯s not true-!¡±


    ¡°-to say nothing of systemic exploitation.¡± Montfort continued.


    "Look," Jack tried again, "I don''t know what you think MACUSA is doing, but I''m just here to study-"


    "To study us? Report back? Ha!" Montfort''s laugh was like the bark of a coyote. "Your timing is apropos! The very month that the Ministry debates closer ties with MACUSA, along comes their young representative..."


    "Bugger off Montfort," Teddy cut in. "Save it for History of Magic."


    "Keep your head in the sand then, Gryffindors," Montfort adjusted his silk Quidditch robes. "Your benighted den has always been this way. No self-awareness. No sense of responsibility. Too busy with sophomoric mischief while the world turns around you. Change is coming to Hogwarts. You¡¯ll all see, soon enough."


    "That''s enough," Henry pulled on Jack¡¯s robes. ¡°We¡¯re leaving.¡±


    "Run along," Montfort dismissed them. "Remember, Semmes: Hogwarts is not Ilvermorny¡¯s puppet."


    The two groups parted. The Ravenclaws strode off towards the end of the pitch. Jack stared after them as the Gryffindors walked the opposite direction, completely flummoxed.


    "Who," he managed finally, "was that?"


    ¡°Caeso Montfort," Henry explained grimly. "Sixth-year Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain, all-around rotter.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to explain that last bit,¡± Jack replied, fixing his wind-blown hair. ¡°What the heck is his problem? Acting high-hat like that¡­I''ve never even met the guy before.¡±


    "He hates most Yanks on principle," Oliver explained. "Says that you lot export America along with your magic."


    "You¡¯re in good company, because he really hates us," Teddy added cheerfully. "Says we lack the capacity to understand our own oppression."


    Henry huffed, ¡°Let¡¯s go old boy, we¡¯ll walk back up to the castle and show you the north road to Hogsmeade.¡± They shouldered their brooms and started up the muddy trail, feet slipping occasionally on wet leaves. The late summer wind whipped Teddy¡¯s scarlet and gold scarf. Jack was still reeling from the encounter. His good humor had evaporated. After about two minutes of silence, Jack had enough.


    "If he had said that kind of stuff back home someone would have dropped him on the spot," Jack kicked a stone, sending it skittering off the path into the underbrush.


    ¡°Well you¡¯re not ¡®at home¡¯, now are you, old boy?¡± Henry grunted, adjusting his broom. "Montfort¡¯s always been a toff, we''ve had our share of run-ins¡­ But I thought that he¡¯d just ignore you. Something about you has really gotten under his skin."


    ¡°He¡¯s a bloody bookworm Harry Flashman1,¡± Teddy said, pulling out a pack of Ignis Fatuus cigarettes and passing them around.


    "He must have caught wind of your tiffs with Hightower." Henry shot Jack a sideways glance, his brow furrowed. "The Montforts and the Hightowers go way back. Old families. Stuck-up and stuck together, like glue."


    "Great," Jack muttered, taking one of Teddy¡¯s cigarettes. His appreciation for Cassandra¡¯s lenient punishment faded. "Miss Perfect Prefect writes me up and now I''m public enemy number one. Is that how things work around here?" He lit up his cigarette off of Teddy¡¯s proffered wand.


    Oliver let out a chuckle along with a cloud of smoke. "Welcome to Hogwarts, Yank."


    "Montfort is not a boy to take lightly," Henry''s voice was serious, shooting Oliver a quelling look. "His family has connections everywhere, the Ministry, school governors, the papers, you name it. And he''s got a nasty habit of arranging accidents for people who cross him."


    Jack felt slightly sick. Montfort¡¯s mocking jingle resurfaced in his mind, ¡°That stupid little song he sang: ¡°The peat-thief, the pig-scraper, and the beggar-knight,¡± what did that all mean?¡±


    "That rubbish.¡± Henry''s face darkened further. "It''s a Montfort thing. He loves writing little lines about other pure-bloods here that don¡¯t see eye to eye with him. He really goes after the Slytherins. Calls them the ruling class. For us and any Huffles that cross him, its families who''ve fallen from grace¡­or were never there to begin with. Calls us riff-raff. Makes him feel good about himself."


    "My family is from the fenlands," Teddy explained after a drag of his cigarette. "You don¡¯t have them in America, I assume. It¡¯s a giant swamp. Hence ''peat-thief.''" He looked over to Oliver.


    "We Brackenbys are Cumbrians, neither Scot nor English," Oliver said after a few moments. "''Pig-scraper.''"Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    "And the Ravenhursts?" Jack asked, looking at Henry.


    ¡°The most pathetic of them all,¡± Henry let out a bitter laugh. "Used to be proper nobility, actually. Collected rent from half of the North. Then my great-grandfather got on the wrong side of the Goblin Banking Crisis of 1873. Lost everything. The demesne, the servants, the estate. Now we grow corn. I grew up in a dirt floored cottage within eyeshot of the Ravenhurst manor. It¡¯s owned by a cadet branch of the Malfoys now. They¡¯ve done dreadful garish things to the interior, so I¡¯ve been told. All we have left is a title. When my father dies I¡¯ll be Sir Henry, 9th Earl Ravenhurst - the ''beggar-knight.''"


    ¡°Merlin¡­¡± Jack breathed, ¡°That¡¯s awful.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s actually quite liberating, Semmes.¡± Henry grinned, ¡°Do you think that I¡¯d be able to tweak Hightower like that from the carriage or be out hobnobbing with these two reprobates if I was still a ¡®proper noble¡¯?¡±


    He reached out with both arms and pulled Teddy and Oliver into a Falstaffian embrace, broomsticks clattering together. ¡°What¡¯s all that harness good for? Personal house elves spying on me? Gold plated sinks? Being betrothed to some rich no-chinned bint on my fourteenth birthday? I''ll have none of it. Thus ends my catechism.¡±2


    ¡°Say what you want about the English wizarding nobility, they are consummate survivors,¡± Teddy declared. ¡°Unfortunately most of them are not like Prince Hal here,¡± he slapped Henry on the back.


    ¡°More Shakespeare,¡± Oliver supplied for Jack¡¯s literary appreciation.


    "Does everyone here judge people by their parents?" Jack asked, amused at his friends¡¯ impressive verbosity.


    "Not everyone," Henry replied savagely. "Just the ones who have nothing else to be proud of.¡±


    "Suffice to say, Semmes, you''re basically everything Montfort¡¯s afraid of," Oliver concluded.


    "So what, we just let Montfort maraude around and insult everyone?" Jack asked.


    "No," Henry''s grim aspect shifted to something more calculating. "We need to be wise in the way we handle him. Picking our battles. Caeso Montfort prefers direct confrontation, it''s how his kind operates, it¡¯s where he has the advantage. Don¡¯t even try to debate him. He¡¯ll eviscerate you. But there are other ways to fight. Revenge is a dish best served cold, after all. And preferably with multiple witnesses and an ironclad alibi. That¡¯s the road down to Hogsmeade, by the way.¡± Henry pointed down the left fork in the road with his broom. ¡°We¡¯ll take you once you¡¯re a free man again." The boys took the right fork up towards the North Gate and Bell Tower, heading through the outer curtain wall.


    Jack looked back toward the now-distant pitch, where Montfort was putting his team through their paces like a No-Maj drill sergeant.


    ¡°If Montfort¡¯s so progressive and forward-thinking,¡± Jack wondered, ¡°Why is he the captain of their Quidditch team? Isn''t that a bit contradictory?¡±


    ¡°Ask him yourself,¡± Henry replied with a shrug. ¡°Just don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡±


    ¡°Is he any good?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯ve won the Cup for five years running. Helps that two of our best players got killed in ¡®44.¡± Teddy said darkly.


    ¡°Is this a Ravenclaw thing?¡± Jack asked, ¡°They all carry themselves like they own the place.¡±


    "Not always," Henry said, ¡°The houses go through cycles. Each one has its time in the sun.¡±


    ¡°Fortune''s furious fickle wheel,¡± Teddy waxed unexpectedly philosophical, ¡°She can only be constant by being perpetually inconstant.¡±3


    Henry stretched his arms over his head to shake out any residual broom stiffness. ¡°Slytherin used to rule the school fifty years ago, with Headmaster Black and one of their students stopping the Great Goblin Uprising.4 Then a whole bunch of students hopped in with Grindelwald when he kicked off and quit school to go fight-"


    ¡°-they¡¯re all dead or in Azkaban now.¡± Teddy added parenthetically.


    ¡°Then it was between Hufflepuff and the Ravenclaws for a bit. During the next twenty years most of the half-bloods and muggle-born fled the country or were killed. Practically everyone left in school now are purebloods.¡±


    Jack reflected back on the gaps in the house benches during the Sorting Ceremony. Empty spaces where students should have been.


    "Slytherin and Gryffindor took the worst losses," Henry continued. "Mostly the conservative families, but some revolutionaries too."


    "Wait a sec," Jack interrupted. "Slytherin? I read they were all for Grindelwald. You know, ambition, pureblood supremacy, magical dominance..."


    "Not that simple old sport," Henry shook his head. "Slytherin split hard over Grindelwald. The traditionalists - ancient families like the Selwyns, Greengrasses, and the Venges - want absolute separation from Muggles. Splendid magical isolation. Grindelwald''s ''for the greater good'' meant actively controlling Muggles, which they saw as tainting wizarding society. They fought back. But then you had the radicals, from the upper middle-class, or younger sons of noble houses, people with something to prove. They bought into Grindelwald''s vision of wizard supremacy. Saw it as their chance to reshape the world and seize power."


    "Both sides hated each other more than they hated anyone else," Teddy nodded. "Family against family, brother against brother...proper Grecian tragedy. Ripped Slytherin apart."


    Jack thought of Cyprian Venge sitting alone in the club car.


    The great North Gate of Hogwarts loomed ahead, winged boars watching their approach with impassive stone eyes.


    ¡°The upshot is that the headmaster and all of the teachers now are Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Hollowbrook, Brightwell, Winterborn, Starling, Quillworth, Babbling, all Ravenclaws. Blackthorn, Bernstein, and MacGregor, Hufflepuffs. All we got is Professor MacLeod, and he¡¯s missing a hand."


    "Don''t forgot Professor Whitby," Teddy said. "Gryffindor Class of 1932."


    "And Vale too.¡± Oliver added. ¡°You¡¯ve got to have a Slytherin potions master, it¡¯s tradition.¡±


    Jack thought about this as they passed under the outer gate and into the northern bailey. "So how did Gryffindor fare in the war?"


    "Lots of open seats in the common room.¡± A shadow passed over Henry''s face. ¡°Gryffindors tend to pick sides and fight for them. We¡¯re not fence sitters."


    "Must have been terrible," Jack said quietly, thinking of the soldiers in the common room portrait and the enchanted mirror. The lurid scar on Algy Fairburne''s face. He realized now there were fewer students in Gryffindor compared to the other houses. Coming from Ilvermorny he was somehow outside all this. No history, no baggage. He had no idea what his housemates had gone through for the past decade of their lives¡­


    "Why''d you think the houses keep to themselves so much?¡± Teddy asked rhetorically. ¡°Everyone remembers who supported who. You¡¯re the odd duck crashing in here and upsetting the tea cart."


    Literally. Jack thought ruefully about Cassandra¡¯s blouse.


    They walked in silence for a moment, their footsteps muffled. The northern courtyard sprawled before them, its manicured grass still wet with morning dew. To their right, the Care of Magical Creatures paddock stood empty except for a large, solitary, and very mundane milk cow. Ahead, second-years wobbled through basic flying drills over the lawn, their uncertain movements making Jack feel like a very expert flier indeed.


    "Ravenclaw¡¯s won the House Cup eight years running now, on top of the Quidditch Cup.¡± Oliver said. ¡°Gone to their heads, if you ask me. Made them think they''re untouchable."


    "But they''re not," Teddy chimed in, his narrow face set in a determined scowl. "Gryffindor''s due for a surprise."


    "Speaking of surprises," Henry stated, suddenly staring ahead.


    A small figure in Ravenclaw robes had emerged from the Bell Tower, clearly intent on intercepting them. Even from a distance, her red hair blazed like a signal fire.


    <hr><hr>


    1. Harry Flashman started out as the villain in the Muggle Victorian novel Tom Brown¡¯s School Days, set at Rugby School. He is a nasty piece of work, even by Muggle standards, and an alcoholic bully to boot. Somehow, he¡¯s been reimagined as the antihero of a wildly popular series of historical fiction novels by a Muggle named George MacDonald Fraser. Typical Muggle fascination with scoundrels.


    2. Mr. Ravenhurst¡¯s closing speech echoes Henry IV (Act 5, Scene 1). Young wizards were apparently very well-read back in the mid-20th century. Goodness gracious me. What on earth are they even teaching in primary schools these days? Merlin¡¯s beard, it¡¯s embarrassing.


    3. Mr. Marshwiggle¡¯s quip about the Wheel of Fortune is a mash-up of Ancient Pistol from Henry V (Act 3 Scene V, I believe) and the medieval Muggle philosopher Boethius¡¯ Consolation of Philosophy.


    4. Mr. Ravenhurst is correct about Slytherin dominance after the Great Goblin Uprising of the late 19th century. Somehow word of Ranrok''s jihad ended up in that recent Muggle video game, Hogwarts Legacy (along with some typical Muggle silliness and Deus Ex Machina - there is no such thing as Ancient Magic). Still, how they got their hands on that tale is beyond me - probably some idiot too fond of telling tales after a few Firewhiskies. I¡¯ll concede that it was fitting that a Slytherin student put a stop to the rebellion. They deserve some wins.

 15. Ravenhurst and the Redhead

    <hr><hr>


    "Who''s that?" Jack asked, watching the girl''s determined stride carry her rapidly nearer. Her blue-trimmed black robes billowed behind her like a  morrigan¡¯s  feathers, complete with the sensation of impending doom.


    "Looks like Ludd," Henry frowned. "But Ravenclaws only walk like that when they¡¯re returning overdue library books or docking house points."


    "It¡¯s the latter," Oliver replied, shading his eyes against the sun¡¯s glare. "That stride definitely says ''prefect.''"


    ¡°Stone the crows,¡± Teddy groaned. ¡°That IS Bianca Ludd. They made her a bloody prefect. And here I was thinking this day couldn¡¯t get any bleedin¡¯ worse.¡±


    Jack could make out more details as she drew closer. She was short, with rectangular glasses that gave her a bookish appearance. But there was nothing demure about her manner as she stopped a yard away and planted herself directly in their path.


    She was even shorter than Jack had first thought, barely reaching his shoulder, but she carried herself like an ornery mountain troll. Freckles dotted her face like constellations, and her glasses magnified sharp, intelligent gray eyes that blazed with righteous indignation.


    "Henry Ravenhurst," she announced without preamble, "I have some questions." Her voice carried the crisp pronunciation of someone who''d spent considerable time practicing in the mirror.


    Jack raised an eyebrow and looked to Henry, surprised that a girl a year younger could talk to upperclassmen like this, prefect or not.


    "Ah," Henry''s foxy expression turned cherubic. "You must be¡­?"


    "Bianca Ludd, fifth-year prefect." She adjusted her spectacles. "I¡¯m asking the questions here."


    "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last!" Henry turned on the idiotic charm like a spigot. "I''ve heard wonderful things about your organizational skills from Miss Mulholland."


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Bianca replied acidly. ¡°Miss Mulholland and your other house prefects seemed disinclined to run you down. That is the reason that I have come all the way out here.¡±


    "Most dedicated of you," Henry nodded respectfully. "Though I must say, the lighting out here doesn''t do justice to your-"


    Bianca''s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. She looked from Henry to his friends, lingering particularly on Jack.


    "You must be the Ilvermorny transfer," she said. "Miss Hightower mentioned you."


    "All good things, I hope?" Jack put on his most dazzling smile.


    "She said you have antisocial tendencies." Bianca returned her glare to Henry.


    "Mr. Ravenhurst," she consulted a notebook that had materialized in her hand along with a small travel quill. ¡°I have eyewitness accounts of you and your three associates," Bianca gestured at Jack, Teddy, and Oliver, "executing an extremely dangerous aerial maneuver from the viaduct on or about today, the 31st of August at 8:45 in the morning. I took the report and notified Miss Hightower at precisely 10:47. She was most concerned about the example this sets for younger students.¡±


    "Was she really?" Henry looked delighted, "How flattering!¡± he winked at Jack. ¡°Though I must point out that at 8:45 this morning, we were all actually-"


    "Having breakfast in the Great Hall? Or perhaps sleeping in?" Bianca stared at him, eyes unblinking behind her glasses. "Curious, as I have statements from three different witnesses placing you on - and then off of - the viaduct at that exact time. Unless you''ve mastered the art of bilocation?"


    "Or someone that looked like me?" Henry mused. "We live in uncertain times. It seems like everyone has gotten access to Polyjuice Potions and metamorphic spells. Might have been an imposter.¡±


    ¡°Imposters imitating all four of you?¡± Bianca asked dubiously.


    ¡°According to Golpalott''s Third Law-¡± Teddy began.


    ¡°-That¡¯s a law for making poison antidotes,¡± she cut him off.


    Oliver stuffed his sleeve in his mouth to hide his laughter.


    ¡°Perhaps a Time Turner was involved?¡± Henry tried a different tack.


    "This isn''t about temporal mechanics!" Bianca shouted, then recovered herself. "This is about four irresponsible sixth-years deliberately flouting school safety regulations for their own amusement!"


    "Oh, safety regulations!" Henry brightened. "Well, why didn''t you say so in the first place?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re safe as houses,¡± Oliver piped up.


    ¡°Hogwarts honor,¡± Teddy bowed slightly, nudging Jack.


    Jack nodded vigorously in agreement.


    ¡°We certainly are,¡± Henry said, gesturing to the others. ¡°In fact, I''d be happy to demonstrate the excessive precautions that we take every day-" he made as if to mount his broom.


    "NO!" Bianca jumped up and down. "Get down! No demonstrations! This is a serious violation of protocol! Miss Hightower specifically directed me to-"


    "Did she now?" Henry''s hazel eyes twinkled. "Does she often send you to do her field work? Must be exhausting, running all those errands..."


    ¡°Miss Hightower¡¯s business is her own!¡± Color flooded Bianca''s pale cheeks, making her freckles stand out floridly. "She values my initiative in maintaining proper standards! Unlike some other prefects," she added with a condescending sniff.


    "Yes, Mulholland and Fairburne do tend to focus on actually dangerous behavior rather than exuberant and harmless expressions of school spirit," Henry agreed pleasantly. "What specific rules were you thinking that this hypothetical viaduct incident would have broken?¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°It is NOT hypothetical, Mr. Ravenhurst!¡± Bianca spouted, clearly thrown off script. "I... that is... Miss Hightower suggested..."


    "Suggested what exactly?" Henry''s tone was helpful, "Because if we''re discussing theoretical violations of school rules-"


    "You jumped off the viaduct!" Bianca''s voice cracked. "All four of you! On broomsticks!"


    "Did we?" Henry spread his hands open to demonstrate that he had nothing to hide. "Rather difficult to prove without incontrovertible evidence, wouldn''t you say? Unless you''ve got a pensieve handy, maybe some Veritaserum, but that¡¯s a bit harsh¡­ Plus you''ll need to specify the exact infraction in your report.¡±


    Jack was impressed. Henry was as smooth as any <span class="fiction-tooltip" title="The so-called barracks lawyer is yet another curious Wizarding Americanism, apparently borrowed from their Muggle military. Mr. Semmes'' use of it here is the first that I''ve been able to find in this context. It refers to someone loudly dispensing legal advice they¡¯re entirely unqualified to give. Very on-brand for an American: loud, brash, and utterly sure of themselves.


    ">barracks lawyer back home.4


    ¡°''Extremely dangerous aerial maneuver'' is too vague, legally speaking.¡± Henry continued. ¡°The disciplinary board requires the precise infractions in question, not something like¡­¡±


    Jack, catching on, felt bold enough to contribute with "''Creative demonstration of fire escape via controlled flight?''"


    "Oh, very nice, Semmes!" Henry''s approval was immediate. "Shows initiative, and safety-consciousness!"


    "I..." Bianca consulted her notebook with increasing desperation, pages fluttering. "The most fitting entry would be Article 148: ''Reckless Endangerment'', subheading fifteen: ''unauthorized aerial acrobatics off the North Lawn or Quidditch Pitch'', but-"


    "Righto!" Henry beamed. "That sounds brilliant! Though I believe that particular regulation does require additional statements from the aerial acrobats in question..." He affected a tragic expression. "And I''m afraid we were all at breakfast at the time. Most unfortunate. Unless you¡¯d like to hear about how Mr. Marshwiggle or Mr. Semmes like their toast¡­"


    ¡°Lightly browned brioche,¡± Teddy nodded solemnly. ¡°Extra butter.¡±


    ¡°I really like those crumpets-¡± Jack began.


    "Several people saw you!" Bianca''s voice jumped an octave.


    "Did they?" Henry asked politely. "And they''re willing to provide statements? Because false testimony is a violation of the honor code."


    ¡°You¡¯ve got it backwards!¡± Bianca seemed to hit a mental block, her mouth opening and closing silently like a codfish. "I-if YOU submit a false statement, THAT¡¯S a violation of the student honor code!"


    "Exactly!" Henry agreed enthusiastically. "Which is why we''d never dream of making any perjurious statement about theoretical activities that may or may not have occurred on the viaduct while we four were definitely eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Wouldn''t want to compromise anyone''s integrity!"


    Jack watched in fascination as Bianca''s face cycled through several interesting colors from pink, gray, magenta, and light cyan. He could almost hear the gears grinding in her head as she tried to find a way around Henry''s topsy-turvy rhetoric.


    ¡°So you¡¯re not making a statement?¡± she managed finally.


    ¡°No.¡± Henry replied.


    "M-Miss Hightower will hear about this," she stammered.


    "Oh, I''m sure she will," Henry nodded sagely. "Though what exactly she''ll hear about remains rather unclear, doesn''t it? Given the lack of documented evidence or reliable witnesses..."


    "And the fact that we were at breakfast," Teddy added helpfully.


    "Eating a well-balanced meal," Oliver contributed.


    "Most important meal of the day," Jack agreed. ¡°Besides, I already copped to buzzing the tower. But you probably know about that.¡±


    Bianca made a sound like a kettle about to boil over. Her little quill snapped on the page from pressing it too hard, splattering ink across her pristine notebook.


    "You four¡­" she declared, with such pathos that Jack thought she was about to cry. He felt a little badly for her. ¡°...why can¡¯t you just follow the rules?¡±


    ¡°We do!¡± Henry said. Jack could have sworn he saw a halo appear over his friend¡¯s head. ¡°We¡¯re on your side here, Miss Ludd! Isn¡¯t that a nice feeling?¡±


    "On my side¡­ how dare you!" Bianca practically shrieked. "This is a serious safety violation! You could have been killed! And then where would I be?"


    There was a very pregnant pause.


    ¡°...at Hogwarts?¡± Oliver supplied blandly, accompanied by an expression of serene stupidity.


    With a final incoherent splutter of rage, Bianca stormed off, scrubbing at her notebook.


    They managed to maintain straight faces until she had disappeared inside the Bell Tower, then collapsed against their brooms howling with laughter.


    ¡°That ginger minx!¡± Teddy wiped his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve half a mind to take her over my knee!¡±


    "Seriously Henry," Jack shook his head in disbelief. "How did you do that?"


    "Instinct, old sport," Henry wiped his eyes. "Ludd¡¯s new to this, she¡¯s trying too hard to impress the upper year prefects. It¡¯s also her personality, gets flustered when you quote her back at herself and pretend to be an Abraham-man."2


    "Merlin''s jumper," Oliver shook his head. "They''ve got a mini-Hightower."


    ¡°Worse. She¡¯s going to be trouble," Henry prophesied after he had regained his breath. "Did you see that look in her eyes? She¡¯s a Yethhound."3


    ¡°That won¡¯t work twice,¡± Teddy said. ¡°She¡¯ll come wand loaded next time.¡±


    "Yes," Henry agreed, "but she respects proper procedure.¡± He shrugged. "Even prefects have to play by the rules."


    "She''ll report us anyway for this," Oliver noted.


    "Course she will," Henry shrugged. "But she can''t prove anything. No prefect actually saw it, and even Hightower only takes her seriously about half the time anyway."


    "I thought Ravenclaws stuck together?" Jack asked.


    "They do," Teddy explained. "But Ludd - is a lot. Even for them. Sucks up to Hightower, ends up going overboard. She should have been a Slytherin. She¡¯s been trying to become Head Girl since her second-year. Ruddy annoying little¡­"


    "Prefects who actually believe in rules, we can handle,¡± Oliver said, ¡°It''s the ones using the rules that worry me.¡±


    ¡°Ludd¡¯s bark is worse than her bite. Montfort is the opposite,¡± Henry summarized as they headed inside the Bell Tower. Lunch was about to be served in the Great Hall.


    <hr><hr>


    1. The Morrigan, an ancient Irish spirit of death and doom who could transform into a murder of crows, has been thoroughly misappropriated by Muggles. It¡¯s also apparently the name of the ¡°second best girl¡± in some silly Muggle contraption called Dragon Age: Origins. (I won¡¯t even ask who the first is. Muggles and their obsessions.)


    2. Abraham-men were early-modern Muggle English beggars pretending to be mad patients discharged from Bedlam, the infamous Muggle lunatic asylum. In reality, most were perfectly sane and just using the ruse to swindle coins or pick pockets. This same trick was apparently used by famed Slytherin auror Tobias Abraham to infiltrate a notorious dark wizard ring operating around Sussex in 1703. The naming convention is, as far as I can find, a coincidence. Mr. Ravenhurst is most likely referring to the latter.


    3. Yethhounds, the faerie realm¡¯s relentless trackers from Devonshire, are said to never abandon a trail until their quarry is dead. Makes sense of Mr. Ravenhurst''s remark about someone¡¯s ¡°bark being worse than their bite,¡± though in the case of a Yethhound, both are equally unpleasant (personal experience).


    4. The so-called barracks lawyer is yet another curious Wizarding Americanism, apparently borrowed from their Muggle military. Mr. Semmes'' use of it here is the first that I''ve been able to find in this context. It refers to someone loudly dispensing legal advice they¡¯re entirely unqualified to give. Very on-brand for an American: loud, brash, and utterly sure of themselves.


    - Percy Runner


    London, 2024

 16. The Savage Wars of Peace

    <hr><hr>


    "Pick up the wizard''s burden, and reap his just reward,


    The hate of those you help, and the scorn of those you guard."


    - Slytherin Washroom Graffiti


    <hr><hr>


    Jack was introspective as they trooped across the viaduct, the awe-inspiring panorama going half-noticed. Even the threat of detention felt muffled, as if he was hearing things distantly underwater.


    ¡°What did you mean about Montfort?¡± he asked Henry. ¡°His bite worse than his bark?¡±


    "It¡¯s like this,¡± Henry explained, pausing in the middle of the bridge near one of the benched alcoves, ¡°Ludd will dock points and blast you for minor infractions. Montfort smiles to your face while plotting to get you expelled. He¡¯s probably writing a letter to the Ministry about MACUSA influence at Hogwarts as we speak."


    "You''re joking," Jack said.


    "Wish I was.¡± Henry shook his head.


    Below them, the lake reflected the Scottish autumn: purple heather, leaves slowly turning gold, clouds skating across water so still it might have been glass. Usually such views stopped him in his tracks. Today he barely noticed.


    "Don''t let him get to you," Henry advised, catching Jack''s expression. "Montfort''s a gadfly. This is just how he moves and shakes things."


    ¡°He sounds like an equitist,¡± Jack turned the word over in his mouth, then spat into the gorge. ¡°Pinko.¡± 1


    ¡°Maybe in the States,¡± Henry said warningly, ¡°Here it¡¯s serious business. The war changed things. When Grindelwald fell, he left a vacuum. People started asking questions about the ways we always did things.¡±


    "Questions like why do the old families own all the land and gold? Why can¡¯t goblins hold Ministry positions?" Oliver listed. ¡°How do we prevent another Grindelwald?¡±


    "Exactly. We have questions, they have answers. Promises to remake magical society, end blood prejudice, and share wealth." Henry explained. "Sounds good on parchment."


    "They''re just wizard commies," Jack protested as they started up the stairs towards the Great Hall. "Back home, we know how to deal with Reds-"


    "It''s not that simple, Semmes.¡± Henry cut him off. ¡°This isn''t your Wizarding Wild West. You can¡¯t just blow people away with wands in the middle of the bloody street.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s just on the W.A.N.D. radio show,¡± Jack complained, ¡°In reality, hardly anyone got killed-¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that one?¡± Teddy interrupted, ¡°Can we get that on our common room wireless?¡±


    ¡°¡®Wizarding America: News and Drama¡¯,¡± Jack replied proudly, ¡°We¡¯ll have to check, it¡¯s on 17.76 FM, might be hard across the ocean-¡±


    ¡°Both of you shut up,¡± Henry continued over them. ¡°Listen Semmes. The war - wars - nearly broke us. Our Muggles just nationalized half the economy because everything was failing. We lost over a quarter of our magical population. The Ministry''s in flux. The Post-War Enclosure Act is wreaking havoc on wizarding farmers.2 Refugees are pouring in from all over the Empire. Old families lost everything in the war while new money rose up. Britain is a vast brewer¡¯s vat, bubbling with ideas foul and fair."


    "And Montfort?" Jack asked. ¡°Where does he fit?¡±


    "Chameleonic," Henry explained. "He''s old money, but styles himself as an Avant-garde. Hosts salons in Ravenclaw Tower, quotes obscure magical philosophers, acts like he''s leading a grand movement for change..."


    "I don''t think he''s a dilettante. He really believes what he''s saying," Jack said slowly, feeling an icy finger gently trace his spine. "The way he talked about MACUSA, about me...he thinks I¡¯m a threat."


    "Possibly," Henry considered, "What he is - is really clever. Quiet when he needs to be. Charismatic when he wants to be. People listen to him, especially the lower years.¡±


    ¡°Just fantastic,¡± Jack muttered. "So what''s his problem with me?"


    Oliver and Henry exchanged uncertain looks.


    "Look here Semmes.¡± Henry spoke deliberately. ¡°There has been a lot of talk, ever since the end of the war, about how MACUSA is using the Muggle Soviet threat to¡­influence Magical Britain. Montfort and others have been spreading that around, passing out pamphlets and books from Knockturn Alley publishers.3 When you showed up on our doorstep-"


    "I became living proof of his warnings."


    "Yes," Henry sighed. "Most people aren''t as intense about it as he is. But here we are..." he paused briefly.


    "Magical Britain''s empire is in tatters. MACUSA''s sun is rising. We have the Ministry considering American loans, there are joint US/UK auror deployments in Western Europe, MACUSA agents in Britain-"


    "And now an American student at Hogwarts," Oliver finished.


    "Does that bother you guys?" Jack asked. "Hogwarts possibly being overtaken by Ilvermorny?"


    Henry shrugged, "What will be, will be. I''m not one to cling to past glories. That''s for other houses," he pointed over to the Slytherin table.


    Jack thought of his father''s careful letters, the vague references to his new position. Had he known what his son was walking into?


    "So what do I do?"


    "Keep your head down," Henry advised. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°Keep my head down!?¡± Jack exploded. ¡°From the guys who goaded me into jumping off of a bridge and buzzing Ravenclaw Tower? That¡¯s rich!¡±


    ¡°That first one was on me,¡± Henry admitted soothingly. "And I covered for you didn¡¯t I? That''s in the past now, old sport. Don''t let Montfort bait you into anything else. He''d love nothing more than to prove you''re some provocateur and get you expelled. Or worse, arrested."


    They entered the reception hall. Jack looked gloomily at the corner where he had spent his last ten official minutes at Hogwarts before being sorted. The simple revenge on Montfort he¡¯d been imagining now seemed childish compared to the neck-deep rapids he¡¯d just stumbled into.


    "Ta da!" Teddy scoffed, opening the doors to the Great Hall for them, "Thus the Ravenclaws host their silly weekly get-togethers, spouting about reform and the dangers of Washington.¡±


    "While their fathers¡¯ money funds their refreshments," Oliver added dryly.


    "Exactly. Don''t waste time worrying about what Montfort thinks of America or MACUSA or anything else. He''ll find a new cause by Christmas," Henry said. "Probably house-elf liberation or something equally silly."


    The worst part was, Jack thought, he couldn''t entirely blame the Brits for thinking this. After what Grindelwald had done, who wouldn''t want a better world? The question was what "better" really meant¡­and who got to decide. Aye, there''s the rub, as Henry would say.


    They entered the Great Hall, where the lunch crowd was already gathering. The rich smell of Sunday roast filled the air, roast beef with all the trimmings, perfectly crisp potatoes, and fresh horseradish sauce. The enchanted ceiling reflected the autumn sky outside, scattered clouds drifting lazily overhead. Jack caught sight of Montfort, back from Quidditch practice and holding court at the Ravenclaw table gesturing passionately to an attentive audience. Cassandra sat nearby, seemingly absorbed in a book.


    ¡°Can you fault us for wanting closer ties?¡± Henry said as they sat down at the Gryffindor table. ¡°The French are shattered, the Germans are gone, the Russians are behaving oddly-


    "Hang on," Jack interrupted, "What''s going on with the Russians? We haven''t heard anything from them since the peace conference at the end of the war."


    "That''s exactly the point," Henry said, helping himself to roast beef and horseradish. "Eastern Europe got it the worst from Grindelwald. Whole communities were murdered by his radicals. Then the Russians rallied and pushed them back, meeting us in the Alps where we finished them. Two years ago, the Russians were right there with us fighting Grindelwald. Now? Complete silence from Moscow. The Ministry can''t get straight answers from anyone east of the Netherlands."


    Oliver nodded gravely, passing the horseradish. "My uncle said the Department of Foreign Affairs hasn''t received a single owl from their Russian counterparts since January. Used to be weekly communications. The Mail-Floo Network doesn¡¯t work anymore either."


    "So what?" Teddy asked through a mouthful of potatoes. "Maybe their owls got lost."


    "All of them?" Henry raised an eyebrow. "And what about the delegation that was supposed to visit the Ministry last month? Canceled without explanation. Or Durmstrang suddenly not reopening like they said they were going to?"


    "The whole Eastern European wizarding world too," Oliver added. "Poland, Czechoslovakia, Hungary, they all fought alongside us against Grindelwald. Now it¡¯s like they don¡¯t even have Ministries anymore."


    Jack leaned forward, lowering his voice. "But why? What changed?"


    "That''s what''s got everyone worried," Henry said. "Nobody knows." He glanced around before continuing. "Remember how the Easterners were pushing for complete integration with Muggle governments during the peace talks in Milan?"


    "Yeah, but nobody took that seriously and they got outvoted," Jack said. "I mean, the Statute of Secrecy prohibits that explicitly."


    "That is exactly what they started calling ''an outdated tool¡¯ right before they went silent," Oliver cut in. "They blame the Statue for Grindelwald¡¯s rise. Their head ambassador even took out a full page advertisement in the Prophet railing about ''permanent revolution'' and ''the inevitable union of magical and non-magical peoples.''"


    Teddy looked bewildered, "The what of the what now?"


    "It means they want to tear down the walls between our world and theirs," Henry explained patiently.


    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what Grindelwald wanted!¡± Teddy spouted. The other three shushed him.


    ¡°Not like that,¡± Oliver said, ¡°Not dominate Muggles, but cooperate with them, equitably. That¡¯s why they call themselves equitists.¡±


    ¡°And we all know who¡¯d be leading such an equal organization.¡± Henry scoffed.


    ¡°All wizards are equal,¡± Jack quoted. ¡°But some wizards are more equal than others.¡±4 Then he snapped his fingers with realization.


    ¡°What is it?¡± Henry asked.


    "This is all too familiar," Jack said, frowning. "Something''s not right about this. All this language they''re using...I''ve read it before, but not just from wizards."


    Henry looked at him sideways. "What do you mean?"


    "In No-Maj Studies back home, we covered communistic vs capitalistic rhetoric. There''s this whole..." Jack trailed off, trying to find the right words. "It''s not just what they''re saying, it''s how they''re saying it. The exact same patterns."


    "But magical governments don''t align with Muggle ones," Oliver pointed out.


    "We stay separate," Henry finished. "It''s fundamental."


    "So why are they suddenly speaking like Muggles?" Jack tried to keep his voice casual, though his heart was beating faster. "Why use their exact phrasing? Their modified ideology?"


    "Maybe they just like how it sounds?" Teddy gestured with a fork full of potatoes. ¡°Trying to keep their people happy.¡±


    "No," Henry said slowly, "Jack''s right. It''s too precise. Deliberate.¡±


    They let that hang in the air for a moment.


    "You know what''s really strange?" Jack said, keeping his voice light. "Back home, there''s all this worry about equitist sympathizers in MACUSA. Congressional investigations going on. It¡¯s..." He paused, choosing his next words carefully.


    "It¡¯s?" Henry prompted.


    Jack shrugged. "Just funny timing, that''s all."


    ¡°Funny timing,¡± Oliver shook his head. ¡°A third of wizarding Europe is gone. No contact, no word, nothing. Like a black pit.¡±


    Henry hit the table with his fist, ¡°Then better to have our friend the Yank than whatever is lurking out there in the dark.¡±


    The four boys shuddered, in spite of the warmth of the hall.


    "But that''s exactly Montfort''s point, isn''t it?" Teddy pressed, helping himself to carrots. "We''re turning to America because we''re afraid. He''d say that makes us weak, dependent."


    "Better dependent than dead," Oliver muttered. "My cousin was in Rotterdam when Grindelwald''s men came through.¡±


    Jack noticed how the conversations around them had quieted slightly, other students listening while pretending not to.


    His classmates were worried.


    Worried during Sunday lunch, safe inside the quadruple-cloistered walls of Hogwarts, within this enchanted valley, in this little England, bound in with the triumphant sea, like the moat around a castle against the envy of less happy lands.


    Worried about what was out there in the dark.


    <hr><hr>


    1. Pinko: another Americanism borrowed from their Muggles, referring to someone with suspiciously socialist sympathies.


    2. The Post-War Enclosure Act of 1946 was a desperate attempt by the Ministry of Magic to recover from the total devastation of the Great Wizarding War. The Act nationalized vast swathes of magical land to pay off war debts, forcing countless wizarding families to give up their ancestral holdings. It turned struggling families into outright paupers and handed more power to old pure-blood families who could afford the buyouts.


    Hogwarts was barely able to keep its doors open, Gringotts only lent at outrageous interest, and traditional industries like broom and wand making collapsed. The economy was in shambles - businesses bankrupted, manufactories closed for want of workers, alchemical supplies depleted, and magical infrastructure in ruins. Only a 300-million Galleon loan from MACUSA in April 1948 saved the Ministry from total insolvency.


    Much of the worst of this was going on far above our young peoples'' blissfully ignorant heads.


    3. Knockturn Alley, London, long infamous for its darker magical dealings, evolved into a peculiar hub for fringe ideologies during the early-20th century. Some dubious publications from the period, such as Truthteller, Red Spark, and (my personal favorite title) Manifestopheles, found circulation here.


    4. "All wizards are equal, but some wizards are more equal than others." A modified quote from the popular 1945 book Animal Farm by English author and Great Wizarding War veteran Georgius Wellor, attempting to warn his fellows against the dangers of totalitarianism in a post-war world. As Wellor was in desperate need of money, he optioned the manuscript to a Muggle book publisher under a pseudonym.

 17. The Tome Raiders

    The hubbub of lunchtime chatter washed over Jack like waves on the shore as he mechanically ate his roast. His mind, reeling from international magical politics, latched onto a more immediate terror: the mountain of work waiting for him in the common room. Unopened Potions and Transfiguration textbooks, yards of supplementary reading, all the new techniques he needed to familiarize himself with before class started on Monday. He was almost grateful for his looming detention study hall tomorrow night in the library.


    It was overwhelming. He''d always been a good student, especially at tests. He had been near the top of his class at Ilvermorny, that was one of the main reasons his transfer request had even been considered - but this was a whole new level.


    What if he wasn¡¯t able to succeed here with the same level of effort he had to put in before? What if he couldn''t keep up? What if they expelled him for academics, never mind his already perilous disciplinary situation? The thought of Hightower¡¯s scornful expression and Montfort¡¯s mocking laughter as he was frog-marched through the Central Hall by suits of animated armor and tossed unceremoniously out of the North Gate made his stomach churn.


    The state of magical Europe suddenly seemed far less pressing than the fate of his grade point average. Funny how the human mind worked. Give it a choice between looming abstract threats and petty (but concrete) academic deadlines, and it would prioritize the latter every time.


    When Jack was older and wiser, he would be able to reflect on that. At the moment, fifteen-year old Jack Semmes was in a state of near-panic.


    ¡°Alright there, old sport?¡± Henry asked. ¡°If you¡¯re still wasting brain cells on Montfort, I can assure you that he¡¯s not going anywhere.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Jack managed, ¡°It¡¯s more the class prep. Five years of British magical theory and practice in less than 18 hours¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh that?¡± Henry checked his pocket watch, ¡°We have all afternoon still, don¡¯t worry about that. We¡¯ll drop by the library and get you what you need."


    "Now?" Jack looked up. ¡°It¡¯s all the way on the other side of campus.¡±


    "Ten minute walk at most, the castle isn¡¯t as big as you think." Teddy assured him. "Best time for it too. Most everyone else is still unpacking or catching up with friends."


    "We might as well review too. Ms. Quillworth''s much more helpful when it''s not crowded with bloody Ravenclaws," Oliver stood up from the table. ¡°Come on Semmes.¡±


    The Hogwarts library was a vast, two-story sanctum, with soaring wooden bookshelves, cozy study nooks, and dust motes dancing in the September sunlight. Jack compared it very favorably against Ilvermorny¡¯s subterranean labyrinth, lit with austere magical bulbs. The librarian¡¯s desk in the middle was empty. There was a small placard on it with a handwritten note that said: ¡°In the stacks!¡±


    A tiny silver bell rang as soon as Henry stepped up to the desk, fixing his tie.


    The librarian emerged from behind a shelf. Jack immediately understood why his friends had been so eager to visit the library. She was sorting through returns, her wand conducting books through the air like an orchestra. She looked scarcely older than a seventh-year, with brown eyes, a scatter of freckles across her nose, and side-braided auburn hair.


    "Henry of Ravenhurst and his Merry Men," Ms. Lettie Quillworth said, putting away the last of the books and adjusting her glasses. "A new addition to your band of outlaws?" She was wearing a knit turtleneck sweater and a smile as warm as the sunlight pouring through the large windows.


    All four boys straightened unconsciously.


    Henry''s voice cracked slightly as he introduced Jack.


    "Good afternoon, Ms. Quillworth, we''re helping Mr. Jack Semmes here prepare for classes," Henry explained, uncharacteristically subdued, his ears pink. "Especially Potions and Transfig...he¡¯s here from Ilvermorny."


    Jack tried not to shuffle his feet.


    ¡°Oh lovely,¡± Ms. Quillworth beamed at Jack, "I''ve always wanted to visit America. I¡¯ve heard that the Ilvermorny archives of American Indian magic fill a whole wing, is that true?"Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    "Yes, ma''am," Jack replied, trying to look anywhere in the library but at her. ¡°Just need to catch up on the different wizard-uh, magical theory.¡±


    "Of course," her eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. "British methods can be quite different from the Continental style, let alone the American. Follow me."


    She led them on a winding path through the stacks, past the ominous gated Restricted Section, and up to the second floor, all the while selecting books with practiced ease like she was picking wild strawberries in a meadow. ¡°Transatlantic Brewing, this should help with Professor Vale. And Transmutation and Transfiguration Techniques: A Comparative Study..."


    Jack found himself trying not to blush every time she handed him a book, or flinch when her hand occasionally brushed against his sleeve.


    His friends weren''t any better, Teddy walked into a shelf watching her climb a ladder to the top stack.


    ¡°This hasn¡¯t been checked out for a few decades,¡± Ms. Quillworth added an incredibly dusty and disintegrating book entitled Hogwarts: A Transfretende Scoleres Gydynge from the top bookshelf to Jack¡¯s growing armful. ¡°It¡¯s a guide for transfer students. I don¡¯t know quite how useful it will be to you, I¡¯m sure most of the faculty biographies are out-of-date, but very interesting nevertheless.¡±


    ¡°Who even writes something so specific?¡± Jack asked incredulously.


    ¡°Probably someone¡¯s dissertation,¡± Ms. Quillworth noted sagely.


    The book growled and nipped Jack¡¯s hand as he tried to open it.


    ¡°Yeouch!¡± he yelped and snatched his fingers away, ¡°Is this thing even in English?¡±


    "Middle English, not too difficult, the ¡®y¡¯s are ¡®i¡¯s.¡± Ms. Quillworth took the book from Jack, ¡°Flip it over and stroke the spine first, the older books like that.¡±


    She demonstrated, making Jack turn a bright scarlet and the bottom drop out of his stomach. Teddy and Henry stared. Oliver had to avert his eyes.


    ¡°These should get you started," she said as Jack and the others hurriedly checked the books out at the circulation desk. "If you need anything else," she added as they prepared to leave, "anything at all, just ask!"


    The boys mumbled sweaty thanks and fled the library, Jack speed-walking in the lead.


    "Sweet merciful Merlin," Henry breathed once they were safely back in the common room.


    Jack was trying to fan himself with his shirt front. It was uncomfortably hot in the common room.


    "She can''t actually be that nice to everyone," Teddy insisted. "Can she?"


    "That''s just how she is," Henry said, still flushed.


    ¡°That¡¯s not decent,¡± Jack grumbled, ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be allowed to be a librarian until you¡¯re in your mid-50s.¡±


    "Makes studying much more interesting," Oliver sighed wistfully.


    ¡°How are you getting any studying done when she¡¯s within fifty yards?!¡± Jack exclaimed, drawing looks and shushes from his housemates. He continued in an undertone, ¡°Franklin¡¯s kite, man, did you see what she did to that book?¡±


    ¡°We all did,¡± Teddy said with a thousand-yard stare.


    "Focus, lads," Henry said, calming the group, "We''ve got work to do."


    <hr><hr>


    <blockquote>


    To Dearest Lettie   To Ms. Q


    To The Fairest Flower of Knowledge''s Garden


    O Auburn-tressed angel of the stacks,


    Your gentle hands upon the tomes so fair,


    When checking out my books, my courage lacks


    To tell you how I tremble, standing there.


    Your freckles dance like stars across the sky (That''s rubbish, you idiot)


    Your grace when stamping dates makes my heart fly


    Like [ink blot] soaring o''er a crystal pool


    When you remind me books are overdue,


    Your voice is sweeter than a siren''s song


    I''d gladly pay a thousand fines to you


    And in the Restricted Section...[rest burned away]


    - Half-finished Sonnet, Author Unknown, found in the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room


    (Editor''s Note: Holy Merlin, it¡¯s even in iambic pentameter! How much time did he spend on this?!)


    </blockquote>

 18. Last Minute Cramming

    <hr>


    "A Gryffindor with a textbook? Must be December!" - Ravenclaw gibe


    "At least we know a date isn¡¯t just something you memorize for History of Magic." - Gryffindor retort.


    <hr><hr>


    The Gryffindor common room was quieter than usual, most students enjoying their last free weekend outdoors. They claimed the corner near the wireless set, spreading books across the worn table as his friends arrived with their own materials.


    Jack rubbed his face with his hands to temporarily banish all thoughts of Ms. Quillworth and laid out his reference books in order. He began the laborious task of taking notes on the key differences between American and British magical approaches.


    "''Essential Theory of Powder-Based Potions,''" Teddy read from a massive grimoire in desperate need of rebinding. "¡¯Featuring A Comparative Analysis of Stirring Techniques.¡¯" He grinned at Jack''s expression. "Light bedtime reading."


    "I''m doomed," Jack groaned, looking at the two foot-high stack of books, including all of Winterborn¡¯s ¡°supplementals.¡±


    "Nonsense, you''re just playing catch up.¡± Oliver assured him. ¡°Give it a month and you''ll be fine."


    "Look here," Henry said firmly, picking up the top textbook. ¡°Some considerate Ravenclaw went through and highlighted all the important bits.¡± He opened the front chapter to demonstrate. ¡°You can skim it.¡±


    "Right then, I¡¯ll start off with my notes. Get out some cribbing parchment," Oliver produced a leather-bound folder that looked suspiciously well-organized for a sixteen-year-old boy. "British potion-making has some key differences from American methods. First off, we use standard 256-dram pewter cauldrons, none of that tempered glass business..."


    A well-dressed 16th century ghost in a ruff drifted over politely to observe their progress as Jack¡¯s quill scratched in time with Oliver¡¯s discourse.


    ¡°Hello Nick,¡± Henry, Teddy, and Oliver chorused (¡°He¡¯s our house ghost,¡± Henry whispered to Jack).


    "Ah, young minds at work!" Nick declared. "How gratifying to see such dedication to magical education! So free of¡­distractions!" He wafted next to Jack and tried to impress him with his now-dangling head, hanging only by a strip of ghostly flesh.


    "That¡¯s nothing," Jack said, unimpressed. "You should meet the Hessian. Now he¡¯s got an impressive decapitation. His name¡¯s Gustav. Hates choir directors."


    "I-I beg your pardon?" Nearly Headless Nick''s semi-attached head wobbled dangerously.


    "Oh yeah!" Jack continued enthusiastically, not noticing the frantic gestures his friends were making. ¡°He comes thundering up the Hudson River from Sleepy Hollow completely headless, with a billowing black cloak, and riding a spectral hellsteed through the halls at midnight launching flaming pumpkins everywhere. He likes to disappear freshmen on Halloween, especially if their last name starts with ¡®C¡¯. We have to go out into the woods on All Saints Day to find them before the No-Maj police do. One year we found a kid named Crandall half-way up a pine tree in nothing but his PJs. Took weeks of therapy to get him back, poor guy."


    "Well!¡± Nick drew himself up to his full height, his partial decapitation quivering with indignation. ¡°If you prefer your spirits mounted and completely decapitated, perhaps I should leave you to your studies!"


    He swept away through a wall, radiating wounded pride.


    ¡°Was it something I said?¡± Jack asked.


    "Shouldn''t have mentioned the horse," Henry suggested.


    "How was I supposed to know he''d be sensitive about it?" Jack protested. ¡°He¡¯s dead!¡±


    "It''s Nick," Oliver explained, going back to his notes. "He''s sensitive about everything. Now, back to the Scottish brew, it¡¯s simple as. ¡®For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble¡­¡¯"


    For the next few hours, they walked him through the basics. Henry made copies of his old Transfiguration and Charms notes for Jack (color-coded by year and block of instruction), while Teddy had practical tips for dealing with each professor''s quirks.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    "Like MacLeod said, Winterborn''s is unbelievably strict about form, as you could probably tell," Teddy said. "Gets tetchy if your wand''s even a degree off.¡±


    ¡°But magic responds to intent more than method,¡± protested Jack. ¡°This stupid teacup can become a tufted titmouse whether you do it with Brit precision or American efficiency."


    ¡°Proper form creates more stable, longer-lasting transfigs,¡± Henry responded. ¡°Seriously. Don¡¯t talk back in class, she¡¯ll assign you three-foot essays or turn you into a turnip.¡±


    "Eh?" Jack asked, looking up from The Abridged Book of Spellcraft, which contrarily was over 800 pages long. ¡°Really?¡±


    "With Winterborn? Absolutely,¡± Teddy expounded. ¡°Happened to a Gryffindor third-year in ¡¯42. Took Dr. Butts two hours of persuasion to turn her back. And she¡¯s as fast with detention slips as an Auror on the wand draw. Now, MacLeod already likes you so you¡¯re set with him, just don¡¯t fall asleep or blow up his classroom too much. Whitby in Muggle Studies is mental-¡±


    ¡°Completely mental,¡± Henry and Oliver chorused.


    ¡°Brightwell is brilliant, really kind too, he always offers Study Prep for any student falling behind in Charms, which is more than I can say about most of the other teachers here. Blackthorn wants everyone to actually do the assigned reading before her class. Don¡¯t try to skate Herbology, she¡¯ll catch you and make an example of you. Herbology detention is the worst, especially if you want to keep all your fingers. Starling does Astronomy, don¡¯t fall asleep, find the right stars, memorize them for the tests, not much more to be said. MacGregor, the Care of Magical Creatures teacher, is a bit of a crabbit. He can be quite funny to wind up though. Last of all, Vale. He will dock points for rough-cut ingredients or adding your materials in batches. He expects perfect mise en place-¡±


    ¡°Mise in what?¡± Jack interrupted.


    ¡°Ingredients arranged just so, tools aligned precisely...it¡¯s French, Yank.¡± Teddy explained, showing a flash of irritation. ¡°Do you not learn French in primary school?"


    "No¡­Spanish. How do you guys know all this?" Jack asked.


    "Five years of trial and error," Henry grinned. "Mostly error. But we learned the hard way so that you can learn through our mistakes."


    They worked through dinner, with only a brief study break to walk down the Great Hall to collect  a large tray of sandwiches and ginger beer. The common room slowly emptied as other students drifted off to bed, leaving them surrounded by books and parchment in the firelight.


    "You''ll be fine," Henry said finally, watching Jack practice the British ¡®switchback¡¯ wand movement for the eighteenth time. "You''re not in this alone, you know."


    "You can''t fail," Teddy added, "I¡¯ve got money on you lasting at least until Christmas. Five to one odds against."


    ¡°Think how embarrassing it would be for the Ministry,¡± Oliver observed. ¡°All this work to bring in the first Yank and he falls on his face? Someone would have to pull some strings.¡±


    "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jack replied dryly, but he felt better. The work was daunting, yes, but not impossible. And having friends willing to spend their last Sunday before school starts helping him prepare. He was overwhelmed by their magnanimity.


    ¡°I really owe you guys,¡± he said gratefully, looking around at his three housemates. ¡°Thanks so much.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that kind of twaddle in future, mate, you sound like a poofter,¡± Teddy deflected his gratitude with rough Lincolnshire levity. ¡°Bloody Americans and their feelings.¡± Jack burst out laughing. Oliver snorted loudly.


    ¡°Consider it me slightly making up for the chewing you got from Winterborn, and also for you taking the brunt of the Ravenclaw Tower incident,¡± Henry replied lightly. ¡°You can pay us back when we take you to Hogsmeade. First round will be on Teddy, then you. He owes us from last term¡­isn¡¯t that right Marshwiggle?¡±


    Teddy waggled his thick eyebrows cryptically.


    "One last run-through?" Oliver suggested, holding up the distillation instructions for celandine.


    "Actually," Henry intervened, "I think Semmes needs sleep more than another review of fractionation. Can''t have you falling asleep in Vale''s class, old sport. He¡¯ll toss you feet-first into a vat of Piranha Solution."


    Jack¡¯s neck was stiff, his eyes itched with tiredness, but thanks to his friends he felt like he had done all that he could to keep himself from making a complete fool of himself in class tomorrow.


    Stifling a yawn, he waved his wand to gather up his things and trudged up to the dark and silent dormitory with the others. As he changed into his pajamas and crawled into the wonderfully soft and enormous bed, he couldn''t help but feel a twinge of dread in his gut.


    Tomorrow loomed like the Sword of Damocles: double Potions followed by advanced Transfiguration, all before lunch. He was sure glad he had sorted into Gryffindor, at least he had some help here. What a disaster this would have been otherwise¡­


    At least, he thought, he hadn''t included all that in the letter to his parents. That conversation could wait until he knew whether he''d survive his first day of classes. As exhaustion pulled him under, his last coherent thought was a prayer to whatever Powers that Be looked after transfer students that he wouldn''t completely humiliate himself.


    With that, he closed his eyes, rolled onto his side, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep, his dreams full of spinning notes, bubbling cauldrons, and shadowy figures glimpsed in storefront windows, of laughter and whispers that followed him down eternally twisting stone corridors.

 19. Rebel Without a Cauldron

    <blockquote>


    Take thee first a cauldron of good pewter, tested by moonlight and thrice-blessed. The size must be neither too large nor too small, but just as thy grandmother might have used.


    Begin when Venus rises in the third house, and add:


    Three measures of morning dew, gathered from roses which have never known frost


    Essence of Jobberknoll, obtained when the bird gives its final cry


    Plentie of moonseeds, crushed ''twixt silver and stone (but not so much as to embitter the brew)


    Seven drops of dragon''s blood, neither more nor less, unless the dragon was old, in which case five may suffice


    A pinch of powdered unicorn horn (if thy purse allows - if not, substitute with ground pearl of good quality)


    One sprig of rosemary, picked by a virgin at dawn (the herb must be virgin too)


    The color should be that of a summer sky at dusk, though in winter it may turn more purple.


    When the surface shimmers like a cat''s eye, add:


    Crushed butterflies (common garden varieties will serve, though tropical sorts make the potion more potent)


    A thimbleful of mercury caught from a broken looking-glass


    Three hairs from a wise person''s head (thine own will not serve)


    Let simmer until the potion whispers thy name. If it calls thee by thy full name, thou hast erred - throw it out and begin again.


    The finished draught should taste of forgotten summers and have the consistency of a young child''s tears. If it tastes of regret, thou hast over stirred.


    N.B. If brewed during autumn, double the rosemary, this makes the potion somewhat tastier.


    (scrawled in the margins: ¡°I want to die. - JS ¡®47¡±)


    Excerpted from A Most Efficacious Receipt for the Brewing of Memorie''s Quickening by Magdalena Mouldsworth, 1742 A.D.


    </blockquote>


    <hr><hr>


    Jack woke with a start, his heart pounding. For a moment, he didn''t know where he was - the four-poster crimson-canopied bed, the scarlet curtains, the soft breathing of his fellows all unfamiliar. Then it all came rushing back.


    Hogwarts. First day of classes.


    He sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The dormitory was still dark, the rosy fingers of dawn just starting to creep through the mullioned windows. He''d set his alarm early, wanting plenty of time to prepare. He was used to that. His sleeping-in yesterday was a fluke. Ilvermorny was not a place for late risers.


    It was just school, he told himself firmly, as he put his hands behind his head and stared up at the canopy. He''d faced down worse than this. He could handle a few extra classes, a few different ways to cast spells or make potions. He was Jack Semmes, after all. The weird little kid whose first accidental cast of magic was to make a local bully¡¯s pants fall down after he had repeatedly followed behind Jack kicking his foot out of his shoe. Come on Jack, up and at ¡®em.


    He dressed quickly, his fingers fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar fastenings of his robe. He tied his tie just loosely enough to make it look rakish, flicked his wand over his leather shoes to give them one last polish and headed to breakfast.


    ¡°ALARUM!¡± bellowed Georgie the portrait as Jack passed, scaring him half to death. ¡°THE REBEL PRISONER HAS ESCAPED!¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Jack hissed, rounding on him. ¡°You¡¯ll wake the whole tower!¡±


    Georgie yelped and hid behind the large rock that served as his background, ¡°Back, provincial!¡± he menaced Jack impotently with his crop. ¡°I fear not your savage allies or your rude attempts at spellcraft!¡±


    Jack, amused by his antics, read the little brass nameplate on the frame: Sir George Pendleton Twistleton-Fitzhubert, 3rd Earl of Waterbury and Viscount of Wombly-upon-Thames: 1689-1777.


    ¡°Tecumseh¡¯s teepee, no wonder they call you Georgie,¡± Jack grinned, tapping the canvas and making the whole painted forest shake, dumping a load of autumn leaves on the wizard¡¯s head and triggering another vitriolic outburst (more muffled this time).


    The Great Hall was nearly empty when he arrived, just a handful of fellow overly-eager students and slowly-awakening professors scattered among the long tables. He helped himself first to some coffee and crumpets, then to a plate entirely of different types of sausages. He looked vainly about the table for tomato ketchup, and was just resigning himself to pouring a tureen of some sort of brown sauce over them when Henry and his friends arrived, chatting about the weather like true Englishmen. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Going to be rain,¡± prognosticated Oliver gloomily, looking at the ceiling.


    ¡°Hope you slept well, old sport,¡± Henry plopped down next to Jack. ¡°Ready for your baptism by fire?¡±


    ¡°Ready as ever,¡± Jack polished off the last of his sausages and checked his wristwatch: 7:25am. He realized everyone else here seemed to use pocket watches. ¡°I¡¯m going to get a head start to Potions,¡± he stood up from the table.


    "Good luck, and remember what I said about the dungeons!¡± Henry called after him. ¡°Take the stairs in the central hall by the suit of armor, and don''t listen to anyone who tries to tell you otherwise!"


    Jack nodded absently, mentally reciting the twelve uses of dragon''s blood. "Got it. Thanks, Henry."


    In his distracted state, he promptly forgot all about Henry''s advice the moment he stepped out of the great hall. He made his way across the viaduct into the central hall, and down into the dungeons.


    Ten minutes later, he was hopelessly lost, and came to a dead end. He cursed himself for not paying better attention on Henry''s tour.


    ¡°Franklin¡¯s kite, what a stupid rookie mistake.¡±


    He turned and started running the opposite direction. He was dead. So very dead. Late to class on his first day while already looking down the wand point of a week of detention prep¡­


    He was just about to give up and start shouting for help when he turned a corner and ran headlong into a thin young man in green-trimmed robes with carefully-parted blonde hair and round wire-rimmed glasses. Cyprian Venge from the club car.


    ¡°Cyprian!¡± Jack cried out like a drowning man seizing onto a raft. ¡°I need help, I¡¯m trying to get to class!¡±


    ¡°Semmes,¡± Cyprian looked at him owlishly, ¡°What are you doing all the way down here?¡±


    Jack just looked at him, too embarrassed and out of breath to think of anything reasonable. The boy adjusted his glasses. "Potions? I''m heading there."


    The Slytherin led the way at a casual pace while Jack hopped in frustration next to him.


    ¡°Are we going to be late?¡± he asked as Cyprian deliberately went up a staircase one step at a time.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Jack¡¯s watch read 7:58am. Cyprian walked up the stairs, pushed on an unremarkable stone in the wall, and walked though as the section rotated like a spinning door. Jack dove through before it crunched shut, and found himself in a busy hallway just outside of Vale¡¯s classroom.


    Cyprian was through the door precisely as the bell started ringing eight and slipped with practiced ease into the nearest seat. Jack stood at the entrance, quickly surveying the room, trying to spot a fellow Gryffindor or a friendly face. The only empty stool he saw was at the back, next to Cyprian.


    Professor Vale entered the classroom from his office precisely as Jack sat down beside Cyprian. The Potions Master''s shock of white hair was a sharp contrast to his dark robes as he strode to the front of the room.


    "Welcome to Advanced Potions, sixth-years," Vale announced, turning to face the class. His eyes flickered briefly to Jack before continuing their sweep of the room. "This term we''ll be first focusing on medical applications, beginning with an individual review of healing potions you should have mastered in your O.W.L. year. Today''s assignment will be a standard Blood-Replenishing Potion, necessary for treating shock. We will spend the second half of class reviewing the course syllabus."


    Jack felt his shoulders relax slightly. They''d covered that potion at Ilvermorny, though the British method had some differences. He began unpacking his equipment, trying to mirror Cyprian''s arrangement.


    "The standard recipe is in your Alkemyste¡¯s Cookbook, page 194," Vale continued. "You have until the end of the first period to complete it. The second period will be devoted to the syllabus and this term''s expectations." He waved his wand at the blackboard, where neat chalk writing appeared. "These are the modifications I expect you to incorporate: a Taste Inhibitor and an Anticoagulant. Begin."


    Jack squinted at the board. The British variations were there - crushing the blutroot instead of slicing it, stirring the widdershins seven times instead of six...but besides that, it was just following the recipe. He could feel sweat beginning to form on his brow as he worked.


    Oliver¡¯s cribbed notes were a lifesaver. He placed them out next to his desk to help gloss the extra details that the ancient textbook left out. For instance, the recipe called for ¡°a goodly handfule of angelica, well choppe.¡±


    Oliver¡¯s notes on the potion spelled out: ¡°Exactly ? cup of angelica leaves- no sticks or stems.¡±


    Beside him, Cyprian moved with quiet efficiency. Jack noticed the Slytherin had his pocket watch propped open beside his cauldron, though he never seemed to look at it.


    Vale methodically patrolled the class, offering advice to students that looked like they were struggling, and caustic critique to those working too quickly. He passed by Jack and Cyprian¡¯s shared table. ¡°It looks like you prepared for today¡¯s lesson, Mr. Semmes,¡± he said, with a note of mild approval. Jack was too focused to offer more than a quick nod.


    Halfway through the practical, Jack caught sight of Cassandra across the room. She was working with preternatural grace. Jack quickly looked away before she could catch him staring, nearly dropping too much troll blood into his potion.


    "Time," Vale announced as Jack finished his final stir and removed the cauldron from the heat. The Potions Master moved through the room, examining each cauldron in turn. He paused at Jack''s workspace, peering into the cauldron.


    "Acceptable, Mr. Semmes," he said finally. "It wouldn¡¯t kill your patient, but your consistency could be improved. This requires a lighter touch with the stirring rod." He moved on to Cyprian''s cauldron. "Excellent work as always, Mr. Venge. Perfect viscosity."


    After checking the last few potions, Vale returned to the front of the room. "Clear your stations and take out your quills. We''ll spend the remaining time discussing this term''s curriculum and my expectations for your N.E.W.T. preparation."


    The second hour passed in a blur of note-taking. Jack''s hand cramped as he tried to keep up with Vale''s rapid-fire listing of potion theory requirements and exam preparations. When the bell finally rang, he felt like he''d just run three laps around the castle.


    "Thanks," he said to Cyprian as they packed up their things. "For showing me the way here, I mean."


    Cyprian adjusted his glasses. "Everyone gets lost at first," he said. ¡°Count the torch sconces. They¡¯re constant.¡±


    Jack shouldered his bag, considering this. "I''ll keep that in mind," he said. "See you around?"


    Cyprian gave a slight nod and departed, leaving Jack to hurry up to the Transfiguration classroom.

 20. The Ghost of History

    ¡°If you manage six hours of napping a day, on top of six hours of sleep a night, you¡¯re only stuck here for 3.5 years.¡± - Ilvermorny Student Proverb


    <hr><hr>


    Henry had saved him a seat near the middle of the Transfiguration classroom. The room was wonderful bright and airy compared to the dank and claustrophobic dungeons, in spite of the gloomy weather outside. Cassandra Hightower was already in a seat in the front row.


    "Made it through Potions alive." Henry commented as Jack dropped into the chair beside him.


    "Barely," Jack replied, "I managed not to completely embarrass myself thanks to you guys." He reached into his schoolbag and brought out his Advanced Transfiguration textbook, a modern work (only just published in 1921) cheekily entitled What¡¯s The Matter?


    "Bravo, old sport," Henry said. "Wait until you see what Winterborn has in store for us today. I heard from the seventh-years that the final project this term is on human transfiguration..."


    ¡°Animagi?¡± Jack whispered back, but Henry didn¡¯t have time to respond before Professor Winterborn was already launching into her introduction to the course.


    "Advanced Transfiguration is not for the undermotivated or the faint of heart," she warned, her eyes sweeping over the assembled students. She gestured with her to a stack of paperback books on top of her desk, and they flew out to the tables in a coordinated swarm. Jack¡¯s copy landed directly next to his notes with a slap. He inspected the staple-bound cover, The Arte of Animagick. "This is a N.E.W.T.-level class,¡± Winterborn continued as the last of the books were delivered, ¡°and I expect each and every one of you to put in the work required to succeed. There will be no malingering, no excuses, and no second chances. Do I make myself clear?"


    There was a murmur of assent from the class, a few shifting nervously. Jack sat up straighter in his seat, suddenly feeling very alert. He had to focus here, not start falling behind on the first day. Keep up the strong start.


    His confidence was short-lived. As Professor Winterborn outlined the syllabus for the term, Jack felt his heart sink lower and lower as the coursework moved from matter phasing to human-animal transfiguration. The reading list was enormous and the spell work complex beyond anything he''d ever attempted. To cap it off, the term paper - a three yard-long monster on the mechanics of Animagi worth thirty percent of their final grade - sounded like something out of his worst nightmares.


    He glanced over at Henry, hoping to see a similar look of trepidation - but the young scion of the West Riding was grinning, his eyes alight with excitement. Of course he was. Henry loved Transfig, probably had been looking forward to this class all summer.


    Jack felt sick with discouragement. Potions was one thing, but Transfiguration on top of it? How was he ever going to keep up? He was already behind and the semester had barely started. At this rate, he''d be lucky if he didn''t flunk out by Christmas. He was almost grateful for being gated with mandatory study prep now.


    The bell rang, cutting his mental semester simulation short. He gathered up his books and followed Henry out of the classroom towards the Great Hall for lunch.


    "Well, that was invigorating!" Henry exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they crossed the suspension bridge. "I can''t wait to start the practicals. And the paper sounds brilliant! Might turn it into a research project for seventh-year¡­¡±


    ¡°Gee whiz,¡± Jack said dully. Henry was too caught up in his own enthusiasm to notice his friend''s mood.


    "Come on, let''s grab some food before History of Magic," he said, slinging an arm around Jack''s shoulders. "It¡¯s great you¡¯re in Advanced Transfig with me, old sport! Finally another Gryffindor to chum around with instead of grumpy snakes and raven toffs. I heard they''re serving treacle tart for pudding. They don¡¯t have that in the States do they?"


    Henry¡¯s good humor was infectious. ¡°Sounds kind of like shoo-fly pie,¡± Jack managed a smile, allowing himself to be steered towards the Great Hall.


    ¡°That¡¯s a rum name, Semmes. Rum,¡± Henry chuckled. "Made with real insects is it?"


    Food, Jack thought. That was what he needed. Food, a break, and a chance to catch his breath before he had to face another class.


    They joined Teddy and Oliver at their table for lunch, the former regaling them with how Charms and Care of Magical Creatures had gone, Henry filling in their side of the day. Algeron Fairburne stopped by, his scar pink against his tan, to remind them about Quidditch tryouts on Thursday and how they needed a new chaser now that Isaias Ratburn had graduated.


    ¡°Hopefully these first-years have a ringer in there,¡± Fairburne said, skeptically eying a handful of his new charges at the end of the Gryffindor table. Wigbald Stoat had bitten a hole through a treacle tart and was holding it up to his eye like a monocle, to the hilarity of his fellows.


    ¡°Might have a ringer right here, Algy,¡± Teddy volunteered Jack with a grin. ¡°Only problem is he¡¯s gated.¡±


    ¡°I heard about that,¡± Algy gave Jack a searching look. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to the prefect council tomorrow about getting you permission to extend your roam to the pitch. Shouldn¡¯t be hard to win over votes from the Huffles and Slyths. Anything to try and take Ravenclaw down a peg.¡±


    ¡°See Semmes, told you Algy would put in a word,¡± Henry slapped Jack¡¯s back.


    ¡°If you think his Yank flying can translate to Quidditch, I¡¯m willing to see it,¡± Algy gave a resigned sigh. ¡°Not like our team can get much worse than a 3-7 record.¡± He dug into his school bag and pulled out a well-thumbed Quidditch rulebook, complete with animated diagrams and little brooms that whizzed through the air in three dimensions when you opened it. He handed it to Jack, ¡°Mind you, Quaffles don¡¯t explode.¡±


    Jack took it, ¡°How boring.¡± he replied with a straight face.


    Algy laughed, ¡°Review that, the terrible trio will set you straight. See you lads Thursday afternoon.¡± He walked off to join his fellow seventh-years.


    ¡°Great, more reading,¡± Jack said, flipping through the beautifully illustrated book. He admired the full-page colored plate of different professional teams and their uniforms. ¡°At least this has pictures.¡±


    ¡°You can skip most of it,¡± Henry advised, ¡°Quidditch is Quidditch, get the ball through the hoops and don¡¯t die. Basically the same as your Yank game, except with a Snitch, and two flying iron skittle balls trying to turn your brains into mushy peas.¡±


    After lunch and the walk back to the Academic Building, Jack slid into his seat in History of Magic next to Henry. His stomach full of treacle tart and his mind stuffed with morning classes and Quidditch. He was ready for classes to be over already, and the day was only half done. But he forced himself to set out his quill, parchment, and massive History of Magic Volume IV textbook on their shared desk and shake off his mental fatigue. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Magical History had been one of his favorite classes at Ilvermorny, second only to Defense Against the Dark Arts and No-Maj Studies - the tales of ordinary warlocks and wise witches, the grand sweep of time, and the way that seemingly insignificant events could have widespread and long-lasting impact.


    Jack took stock of his classmates. All four houses were here: Henry sitting next to him, Cassandra Hightower, perched in the front row of course, her hands neatly folded over a fresh sheet of parchment; Caeso Montfort, lounging on the far left side of the room looking bored; Eustace Grymes, the lean, intense Gryffindor with parted red hair and a determined set to his jaw that Jack remembered from the Welcome Feast; a few Hufflepuffs he remembered from Potions, and last of Cyprian Venge, who was strategically positioned on the opposite wall as Montfort.


    The bell rang for class to start, but the front of the room was still empty. Jack looked around at the door to see where Professor Cuthbert Binns was.


    Henry tapped him on the shoulder, ¡°He¡¯s over there.¡±


    Jack looked forward, blinking, to see a pearly-white figure floating through the wall of the classroom, his face vague and indistinct.


    "That''s Professor Binns?" he frowned. ¡°A ghost?¡±


    "That¡¯s him, been dead for ages,¡± Henry whispered, ¡°But he keeps on teaching."


    ¡°How the heck does he grade papers?¡± Jack hissed.


    ¡°Wandwork."


    ¡°Sounds like a bad joke,¡± Jack shook his head. ¡°A bad joke by someone who had bad experiences in high school history class.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s brilliant, he works for free and doesn¡¯t take up space anymore,¡± Henry added. ¡°MacLeod said they turned his old bedroom into a storage closet. He didn¡¯t even notice.¡±


    ¡°So what¡¯s the catch?¡± Jack asked warily, watching Professor Binns try and fail to pick up a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard.


    ¡°You¡¯ll see,¡± Henry said. He pulled a small white pill-shaped object out of his pocket and squeezed it in his palm. The little object expanded rapidly into a large pillow that Henry put behind him and settled into with a contented sigh.


    Professor Binns gave up on the chalkboard, flew through it a couple of times, cleared his throat - a strange, echoing sound - and did a loop of the classroom, "Welcome, class, to sixth-year History of Magic. I am pleased to see you all again. I hope that you had a pleasant summer, now this term we will focusing-ah!¡± he paused by Jack and Henry¡¯s shared table. ¡°A new boy?¡± his pale eyes glimmered down upon Jack. ¡°I do not remember you from last term.¡±


    ¡°Jack Semmes, professor,¡± Jack said, standing up respectfully and suppressing an idiotic impulse to extend his hand for a handshake. Not like Binns could shake his hand. ¡°Ilvermorny transfer.¡±


    Binns made an indistinct sound that could have been either pleasure or dismay, Jack couldn¡¯t tell, ¡°Ah, Ilvermorny! A fascinating little case study, originally founded 1627, by a Hogwarts graduate and her Muggle husband.¡± Jack took his seat again at Binns'' vague gesture.


    ¡°A truly remarkable thing,¡± Binns floated towards the center of the classroom and raised his voice to allow the rest of the class to hear, ¡°Ilvermorny operated as a school of Hogwarts all the way up until 1775, taught and led by Hogwarts graduates, just like our schools around the rest of the Muggle Empire continue to do to this day, the Calcutta School in India and Impundulu in South Africa.¡±


    Henry grimaced, ¡°Calcutta was abandoned months ago due to riots during the partition,¡± he whispered to Jack.


    ¡°What happened to the students and faculty?¡± Jack whispered back.


    ¡°Trying to make their way back to England, the new Indian Ministry wants to set up a new school entirely staffed and attended by natives.¡±


    ¡°Professor,¡± a bespectacled Hufflepuff girl near the middle of the class raised her hand, and Binns called on her. ¡°What happened at Ilvermorny?¡±


    ¡°A remarkable thing, Miss Pevensey,¡± Binns repeated himself, ¡°The American wizards threw their lot in with their Muggles!¡± There was a brief, confused pause.


    ¡°When their Muggles rebelled against our Muggles,¡± Binns explained. There was a flutter of ¡®ahhs¡¯, ''quite rights'', and other British noises of comprehension. Jack hid a smile behind his hand.


    ¡°Professor,¡± Cyprian raised his hand, ¡°What could have possessed them to do that?¡±


    Jack felt the now-familiar feeling of every eye in the class turning onto him.


    He groaned internally. He¡¯d never asked for this¡­having to speak on behalf of MACUSA on all topics. He knew Binns was about to foist the question onto him, and started mentally rehearsing-


    As expected: ¡°Why don¡¯t we ask our new boy from Ilvermorny?¡± the ghostly history professor swept his arm over towards Jack. ¡°Why did the Ministry wizards over in America rebel along with their Muggles and form the MACUSA?¡±


    ¡°Because the No-Maj were right,¡± Jack said flatly. Not ¡®our No-Maj¡¯, ¡®the No-Maj¡¯, he thought fiercely to himself.


    Professor Binns'' ghostly form wavered slightly into transparency at Jack''s blunt response. The class stirred. He saw Cassandra turn partway around to look at him.


    "Because the No-Maj - the Muggles - were right," Jack restated. "The British Ministry was treating American wizards the same way the King was treating the Muggle colonies. Every decision had to go through London. American wizards couldn''t hold high positions in our own government. We couldn''t negotiate for ourselves with the Indians, Spanish, or French. We couldn¡¯t even manufacture our wands, they all had to be imported from Ollivanders."


    He took a deep breath, remembering Professor Bancroft¡¯s passionate history lectures back at Ilvermorny. "But it was more than that. American wizards lived differently. We had to. The frontier was vast and dangerous. You couldn''t survive by keeping magic and non-magic separate. When a wendigo was stalking your settlement, you didn''t check if your neighbor was a No-Maj before deciding to help them."


    "But the Statute of Secrecy-" Venge began.


    "Was written by Europeans," Jack countered. "But in America, Indian wizards had been living openly in their tribes for centuries. Puritan witch-hunters meant that we settlers needed some secrecy, we still generally follow the Statute, but total and complete separation? That was London trying to force Old World rules on New World realities."


    "You ''generally'' follow the Statue?" Venge repeated in disbelief. Montfort snickered loudly.


    "Let him finish, Mr. Venge," Binns nodded, enjoying the unexpected animation in his usually somnolent class.


    "The final straw," Jack continued, "came when the Ministry ordered American wizards to help suppress the Muggle Rebellion. To use magic against their own neighbors, people they''d fought alongside against French wizards and Indian shamans. People who''d helped hide them from witch-hunters..."


    "You chose Muggles over your own people?" Cyprian''s face was outraged.


    "We chose freedom," Jack shot back. "The right to govern ourselves, magical and non-magical alike. When the No-Maj Congress issued their Declaration, the American wizards copied it verbatim. The Magical Congress of the United States, MACUSA, was founded in Philadelphia right at the same time as the No-Maj United States-"


    "A fascinating perspective," Binns interjected. "Though perhaps missing some nuance regarding the Ministry''s position..."


    "The Ministry''s position was that Americans should remain obedient subjects," Jack pointed to the large and out-of-date world map on the wall. Two-thirds of it was red and pink, demarcating the British Empire on which the sun never set. "Just like they expect Indian and African wizards to do now. How''s that working out?"


    Several students shifted uncomfortably. Cassandra buried herself in her textbook. Cyprian shook his head. Montfort was shaking with silent laughter. Eustace Grymes smiled wolfishly.


    "An interesting interpretation," Binns began, "Though the textbook suggests-"


    ¡°Oh yeah, the textbook,¡± Jack leafed to the frontispiece of Bagshot¡¯s History of Magic Volume II, and read aloud, ¡°¡®Printed in Diagon Alley, London.¡¯ Our version is a bit different-¡±


    ¡°Thank you Mr. Semmes, very elucidating,¡± Binns was already floating back to the front of the classroom. Jack glared after his retreating back. Henry put his head down to muffle his chuckles.


    The class settled down as Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard, already droning about the term''s syllabus. Jack struggled to focus as the professor listed dates and treaties in a monotonous voice. His attention wandered back to the massive world map dominating the wall, its territories colored in fading imperial red. The United States was painted light blue, with a patchwork of unincorporated land in the southwest. Jack noted with amusement that Oklahoma was still labeled as ''Indian Territory''.


    "The Wizarding Congress of Europe in 1865," Binns intoned, "established the framework for magical sovereignty in the age of expanding Muggle empires. While Muggle governments carved up Africa and Asia, the magical ministries..."


    Jack gamely tried to keep up, but the names and numbers were blurring together in his ears. Binns¡¯ voice had a soporific effect, made even worse by his full stomach from lunch. Beside him, Henry was snugly embedded in his novelty pillow, not even bothering to take notes.

 21. The Ministry of Ungentlewizardly Warfare

    ¡°When in the Course of Magical Events, it becomes necessary for one Magical Community to dissolve the Political Bonds which have connected them with another, and to assume among the Powers of Magic, the separate and equal Station to which the Laws of Nature and of Magic''s Creator entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of Wizard-kind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.


    We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all Witches and Wizards are created equal, that they are endowed by Our Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Magical Knowledge. That to secure these rights, Magical Governments are instituted, deriving their just powers from the consent of their fellow Wizards. That whenever any Form of Magical Governance becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the Magical People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Magical Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness.


    The history of the present Ministry of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations against the American Magical Community, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these Colonial Provinces. To prove this, let these Facts be submitted to a candid Wizarding World¡­(the complaints go on for several more pages. Franklin was not as laconic as his No-Maj counterpart Thomas Jefferson - PR)¡±


    Done this FOURTH Day of JULY in the Year of Our Lord Seventeen Hundred and Seventy-Six, at the Chambers beneath Independence Hall, Philadelphia, by the Assembled Representatives of the Thirteen Magical Colonies of America.


    Signed, Benjamin Franklin (et al.)


    Master of Natural and Supernatural Philosophy, Chief Scribe of the Continental Congress of Magic, Founder, American Philosophical Society of Thaumaturgy, Ambassador to the Court of Louis XVI and the Acad¨¦mie Royale de Magie


    The MACUSA Declaration of Independence, as preserved in the Library of Magical Congress


    <hr><hr>


    The bell couldn''t ring soon enough. As students began packing up their things, Binns assigned six inches on the major provisions of the 1865 Congress by next class. Jack rubbed his eyes and put his things into his schoolbag. Henry stretched luxuriously.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had such a terrible history teacher,¡± Jack complained, as he watched Cassandra pack up and depart.


    ¡°You did your best to liven it up a bit,¡± Henry grinned, ¡°But that¡¯s like trying to hold back the tide with your bare hands.¡±


    "Not bad there Semmes," Montfort said as he passed them. "Perhaps you''re not as stupid as you look."


    "Keep walking, Montfort," Henry replied.


    Caeso waved dismissively over his shoulder.


    As they left History of Magic, a thin figure with red hair detached himself from the corridor wall.


    "Semmes!" Eustace Grymes fell into step beside them with a friendly smile. "Wanted to properly introduce myself, seeing as we¡¯re housemates and all. Eustace Grymes.¡±


    ¡°Jack Semmes-¡± Jack smiled politely, always happy to make a new friend.


    Grymes was already starting to talk before he had finished, ¡°That was brilliant in there, about the parallel founding of MACUSA and the No-Maj Congress. Most of us don''t realize how deeply intertwined American magical and non-magical independence is."


    Jack started in mild surprise, "Thanks," he said. ¡°Don¡¯t think that won me any points with Venge though.¡±


    "Don¡¯t worry about Venge, he¡¯s an odd duck," Grymes continued, "Listen, Jack. I was out of line at the sorting feast. All that rubbish about Americans and Muggles... been listening too much to Montfort''s crowd, I suppose. Hope we can start fresh?"


    Jack didn¡¯t hesitate shaking it. Grymes had a surprisingly firm grip for such a skinny frame. "Sure, no offense taken."


    "Excellent!" Grymes brightened. "Henry, you''ll have to tell me sometime how your father''s handling the Ministry''s new agricultural policies. Must be affecting the farm, eh?" Without waiting for an answer, he gave them both a cheerful nod and loped off down the corridor with his hands in his pockets.


    ¡°What¡¯s with him?¡± Jack asked Henry as they added down the stairs. ¡°He seems¡­ off.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s very, very sharp, Grymes.¡± Henry said, ¡°Smartest boy in our year. He would have been sorted into Ravenclaw but he asked the hat to be in Gryffindor like his father...¡±


    "What happened to him?¡± Jack asked, with a feeling of trepidation. "His dad, I mean."


    "Killed by Grindelwalders, Siege of Diagon Alley in ¡®44. His Muggle mother''s in St. Mungo''s¡­curse damage. She doesn''t recognize him anymore." He shook his head. "All happened during the autumn of our third year. He missed a whole term. Made up the coursework in two months over the summer."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    ¡°Cripes¡­¡± Jack breathed, "I''m sorry, I didn''t know."


    ¡°Not like he was going around wearing a sandwich board, old sport,¡± Henry responded with a strained smile. "Anyway, you''d better hurry. Wrack and Runes waits for no man."


    Ancient Runes proved similar to Ilvermorny, though Jack''s expertise in Native American pictographs and Spanish Saragossan script proved useless against Proto-Germanic.


    Professor Babbling filled the blackboard with endless declension tables. Jack''s eyes glazed as she explained the differences between the Elder and Younger Futhark.


    The novelty of Hogwarts'' quirks was already starting to wear thin by dinner. The Great Hall''s enchanted ceiling showed a deepening twilight, promising a long night of detention ahead.


    The library was almost empty when he arrived, most students still lingering over their dessert in the Great Hall. Ms. Quillworth looked up from her desk and gave him a sympathetic smile as he signed in for study prep. Jack avoided eye contact, found a quiet table in the Reference section and pulled out his History of Magic homework, trying to knock out his short paper on 19th century wizarding geopolitics while the sky darkened outside the tall windows.


    Time management was critical if he was going to survive here. He checked his watch, allowing exactly 30 minutes for History of Magic, then closing the book and moving over to Transfiguration. He still needed to review tomorrow¡¯s classwork as well.


    The librarian moved quietly among the shelves nearby, shelving books and humming softly to herself, the only sound besides the occasional rustle of other arriving students and scratch of his quill.


    The rest of the week stretched ahead of him like a race track. At least he''d managed to get through his first day of classes without losing points or earning additional detention. Small victories, he supposed, opening his notebook to review Professor Winterborn''s lecture before moving on to prep for Defense class. 9:30pm arrived sooner than he thought. He stayed an extra few minutes to finish reading the Charms syllabus before heading back across campus to Gryffindor Tower.


    The Fat Lady stifled a yawn as she swung open to admit Jack. The common room was still busy despite the late hour, filled with the murmur of conversation and scratch of quills. The fire crackled in the massive hearth, casting dancing shadows on the crimson draped walls.


    Henry, Teddy, and Oliver had claimed a spot by the window, surrounded by open books and crumpled pieces of parchment. They''d pushed three armchairs together to form a study circle. The wireless was softly playing classical music.


    "There''s our brave Ilvermorny boy, back from the goblin mines!" Teddy called out softly, as not to bother anyone already asleep. "Heard you gave old Binns what for today."


    "Did you really tell him that Bagshot was British propaganda?" Oliver asked, not looking up from his Arithmancy problem set.


    Jack pulled up an empty armchair to join the circle. "Not in those exact words." He dropped his bag and plopped down. ¡°Could we put some actually good music on?¡±


    "Mr. Semmes! Mr. Semmes!" The first-years Pal, Mel, and Wiggy ran up to his chair in a storm of pattering feet. "Is it true you brought some Quopro balls with you?" Pal asked breathlessly. "Can we watch? We found this brilliant book about American wizarding sports-"


    "Boys." Mina Mulholland''s voice broke through their chatter. She stood with her hands on her hips, trying to look stern despite the smile tugging at her lips. "Mr. Semmes has had a very long first day, and he has classes tomorrow. This can wait until tomorrow."


    "But Miss Mul-" Wiggy started to protest.


    "No buts. Off to bed, all of you. You can pester him about American sports tomorrow."


    The first-years trudged away, though not before Mel managed to slip the book onto Jack''s armrest. "Just in case you want to look at it," he whispered conspiratorially before scampering after his friends.


    "Thanks," Jack told Mina gratefully. She favored him with a pretty smile before passing by.


    "Those three are turning into your personal army," Henry observed, amused.


    "They''re annoying," Jack yawned.


    "That''s one word for it," Teddy snorted. "They asked me before you got back if Americans duel with two wands at once."


    "Where did they even get that idea?"


    "Probably the same place they got the notion that MACUSA rides flying motorcycles," Oliver said.


    Jack chuckled and picked up the book that Mel had left him. He opened it idly. A slip of parchment fell out. He picked it up and held it up to the light. The ink was watery and hard to read:


    <blockquote>


    ¡°Agent J,


    Pride sends: Dead drop, glasshouse. Intel under largest pot. Destroy message after reading. Careful, Snakes everywhere!


    Signed,


    The Gryffindor Irregulars aka the Sorcerous Operations Wizards (SOW) aka the Ministry of Ungentlewizardly Warfare"


    </blockquote>


    The signature block was scrawled hastily in three different handwritings, as if the authors couldn¡¯t agree on what to call themselves.


    Jack stared at the note for a moment before bursting into laughter. He passed it to Henry, who read it with increasingly raised eyebrows.


    "''Agent J''?" Henry started chuckling.


    "''Snakes everywhere!''" Teddy read over Henry''s shoulder, his eyes wide with mirth. "Those little berks have been reading too many comics about Jedburghs!"


    Oliver peered at the note. "Should we be concerned that they''re mucking about in the greenhouse?"


    "I¡¯m quite sure it¡¯s MacGregor''s prize Chinese Chomping Cabbage in that ''largest pot,''" Henry snorted. "Probably spent hours trying to write this in invisible ink."


    "The Ministry of Ungentlewizardly Warfare," Jack shook his head, ¡°What a mouthful.¡±


    "S.O.W.," Teddy corrected with mock seriousness, tapping the side of his nose. "Very hush-hush."


    "Well, Agent J," Henry affected the exaggerated accent of an overworked Ministry bureaucrat, "You''ve got your team together. Better not lose your hands collecting that intel."


    "Yes commander, I¡¯ll check that pot," Jack gave a sloppy salute, then yawned again. "Tomorrow. After I''ve slept.¡±

 22. The Price of Liberty

    <blockquote>


    On Knowledge of the Enemy: "Before casting your first spell, cast your eyes upon your enemy¡¯s wand, his training, and stance. The wise magician reads his foe as a book¡ªcarefully, patiently, and thoroughly."


    On the Superiority of Interior Ley Lines: "In battle, he who commands the ley line commands the field. Magical currents are the unseen rivers of power; to fight against them is to row against the tide."


    On Positioning: ¡°To defend well is to place oneself upon the key terrain: high ground, uneven terrain, and choke points render an opponent¡¯s numbers impotent while amplifying your own.¡±


    On Maneuver and Illusion: "The greater duelist is not he who casts the most spells, but he who appears where his enemy least expects. Apparition is not merely movement¡ªit is misdirection."


    On Economy: ¡°A defensive charm foolishly placed is as wasteful as a Galleon spent on frippery."


    On Wards and Countermeasures: ¡°The essence of magical defense lies in economy of effort. The Protego Reflexionis is not a wall but a mirror; this most elegant shield turns a foe¡¯s own strength against them by a factor of three. Why exhaust yourself when the enemy will gladly provide their own downfall?¡±


    On the Balance of Offense and Defense: ¡°A wizard who defends endlessly will be buried. Any defense, however strong, must always be in preparation to shift to the offense at the first opportunity.¡±


    On Offensive Action: "To linger in defense is to yield the initiative. The wizard who presses forward with fire and fury dispels his enemy¡¯s plan and compels him to react, and reaction breeds mistakes."


    On Momentum: "Victory in battle is a rolling stone; once it begins, it gathers speed and strength. Strike, strike again, and strike until the stone and slope are too great to stop."


    On Strategy vs. Tactics: "Spells win duels; duels win battles; but strategy wins wars. A wizard who plans for the hour is a tactician. A wizard who plans for the season and the one thereafter is a master strategist."


    - Excerpts from "The Principles of Magical Warfare" by Antonius Grimini, 1836. Translated from the French by Cephas Parrott.


    Required Reading at Ilvermorny, CM370: 10th Grade Advanced Combat Magic.


    </blockquote>


    <hr><hr>


    The next morning dawned gray and drizzly, the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mirroring the gloomy sky. Jack was halfway through an improvised bacon sandwich, trying to ignore the pounding in his temples, when the morning mail arrived in a flurry of feathers.


    A bedraggled owl landed in front of him with a slightly damp letter clutched in its beak. Jack took it eagerly, recognizing his mother''s neat handwriting on the envelope.


    He scanned the contents, his heart lifting at the news that his parents would be arriving in Britain in a week. His mother wrote that everything was ready for his father¡¯s ¡®new job and our new apartment¡¯, without any further details. Jack smiled tightly, his dad always told him never to entrust details to mail.


    There was a small postscript: ¡°Keep your eyes open for a boy named Venge, should be in your year. His father and I were in Paris. - Dad¡±


    Cyprian Venge? Jack looked over towards the Slytherin table where the boy in question was sitting at the far end, a yard wide gap between him and the new first-years.


    Still waters run deep, he thought to himself. He¡¯d have to try and grab him between classes. He made a mental note to write back to his parents that evening.


    The morning''s Daily Prophet brought fresh reminders that the magical world''s troubles hadn''t ended with Grindelwald. Grim headlines told of more chaos in India and trouble with striking goblin factory workers in southern France and Lancashire.


    The Quibbler''s shrill warnings about dark wizard infiltration at the Gringotts Stock Exchange sounded comical in comparison, though Grymes leaning over to borrow the tabloid from a third-year suggested otherwise. Concerned murmurs about relations stationed in the Orient bubbled around him, a few Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had family in colonial civil service.


    The Slytherins were particularly disturbed by the news about India. Green-clad students crowded around each other to read the papers. He focused his ears, picking up groans of consternation and gloomy speculation about what will go wrong.


    Next he glanced over at the Ravenclaws, where Caeso sat having a spirited and one-sided debate with his sycophants:


    "You sound like a bloody Fabian, Partridge! Always ¡®gradual change¡¯ this and ¡®tea with the Establishment¡¯ that! I tell you, in ten years, we¡¯ll either have full integration or we¡¯ll be living under a MACUSA jackboot..."


    Cassandra was sitting in the middle of their house table with Bianca Ludd, filling out forms. Probably demerits or patrol schedule, Jack reckoned. She looked polished and unruffled.


    The Ravenclaw table seemed blas¨¦ about the newspapers dropped on their tables. As if the world outside, with all its tragedy and suffering, simply didn''t exist. Like the deaths of millions of Muggles and the destruction of whole wizarding enclaves, was less real or important than the personal dramas playing out within the walls of Hogwarts.


    Jack felt a surge of irrational anger, hot and bitter in his throat. People were dying and losing their homes. How could they all be so cavalier about everything?


    But even as the thought formed, he felt a twinge of guilt. He''d grown up safe and sheltered in America, far from the devastation of the war here. He had no idea what it was like to live with that kind of loss. For him, pain was dinner coming an hour late, or taking an exploding Quod to the chest. Nasty sure, unexpected maybe, but nothing earth-shattering or life-changing. What about the poor wizarding families in the former British Raj that had lost everything overnight?


    As he gathered up his books and headed for Defense class with Henry, he couldn''t shake the feeling that something was deeply wrong at this school. Things back home seemed incredibly simple by comparison. Was this the burden of trying to maintain such a sprawling magical empire?


    He climbed the winding staircase to the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower, preoccupied with depressing thoughts. Professor MacLeod''s classroom was near the top of the wide tower, taking up most of the floor. The tapestries lining the staircase and walls showed magical combat through the ages, from ancient Roman magi hurling elemental magic at dark magic-wielding Carthaginians1, medieval magicians dueling in enchanted armor and riding upon dragons, an early-modern wizard in alchemist garb destroying a pike square of landsknechts2, all the way to 19th century Aurors dramatically facing dark wizards on stormy mountaintops.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    The Defense classroom bore the scars of countless duels ¨C scorch marks on the stone walls, a few suspiciously clean patches where curses had stripped away centuries of grime, and desk legs that had been repaired so many times they seemed to be made of splinters held together by spellwork. Tall windows let in the autumn sunlight. Runic iron bars criss-crossed the windows, to protect the glass against both stray spells and potential attack from without.


    Professor MacLeod, the head of Gryffindor House, stood beside a raised dueling platform with his gauntleted hand tucked into his belt. Jack and Henry settled into an inconspicuous back table. Cyprian and Caeso Montfort were in opposite corners. Cassandra was in the front, one table over from Eustace Grymes.


    "Welcome to N.E.W.T. level Defense Against the Dark Arts," MacLeod announced without preamble as soon as he adjudicated that the last student was in her seat. "You''re here because you''ve shown both the aptitude and the will to learn advanced combat magic. But make no mistake, this isn''t about passing exams."


    He paced the platform, his boots thunking rhythmically on the boards. "Three years ago, Grindelwald''s forces attacked Diagon Alley. Students your age found themselves fighting dark wizards in the streets.¡±


    Eustace Grymes didn''t move a muscle.


    ¡°Two years ago,¡± MacLeod continued, ¡°nearly to the day, they attempted to storm Hogsmeade. One last gasp. Again, young witches and wizards stood on the front lines. You¡± he gestured at the class ¡°were kept in the castle. The fifth-years and up were called out to fight in order to defend Hogwarts. Some of them didn¡¯t come back."


    The class was silent. Jack was scared to look away from the dueling stage. MacLeod continued to pace steadily.


    Now Jack knew why there were so many empty seats in the Great Hall.


    "I am not saying this to try and scare you," MacLeod continued, his blue eyes fixing each of them in turn, "I am telling you that not one of us knows when you''ll be called upon to defend yourselves, your loved ones, or the innocent. Dark wizards will not wait for you to finish school. The curriculum reflects that reality." He flicked his wand at the blackboard. Words appeared in bold letters:


    <blockquote>


    Block 1: Advanced Shield Charms and Counter-Curses


    Block 2: Detection and Dispelling of Dark Magic


    Block 3: Defensive Wards and Anti-Apparition Area Protection (Mid-Term)


    Block 4: Combat Healing


    Block 5: Partnered Combat Techniques and Avoiding Friendly Fire


    </blockquote>


    "The last block of instruction is particularly important for when you are in a m¨ºl¨¦e,¡± MacLeod smiled, attempting to lift the tension, ¡°I speak from experience. Professor Whitby - fellow Gryffindor alum - almost took my good hand that way. He was aiming for the chain on a drawbridge. In his defense, I was holding onto said chain at the time, and an armored mountain troll was bearing down on us. It¡¯s a good story, especially when he tells it, since I nearly tossed him off the top of the Hohensalzburg3 afterwards.¡±


    A few nervous laughs. Jack diligently noted down the words on the board, not realizing they were already on his course syllabus until he had already gotten past Block 3.


    "We''ll begin with Shield Charms," MacLeod continued. "Not the basic 180-degree Protego you learned for O.W.L.s, but specialized variants. Variants that are highly dependent on timing and direction. Shields that can reflect curses back at attackers. Shields that protect not just yourself but others nearby. Shields that can be maintained while moving or casting other spells. By Halloween, you''ll be able to do this."


    He demonstrated while still pacing, his wand moving in a complex pattern. The air glimmered and refracted around him.


    Jack noted with satisfaction that it was practically the same reflection Protego that he had learned last fall at Ilvermorny. Finally, he was a bit ahead of the game.


    ¡°Clear your tables so that I can move them to the side of the room to make space,¡± MacLeod ordered. A scuffle of activity in the classroom. ¡°Now partner up with your seatmate. Knockback jinxes. I want five percent power only! I want you to focus on timing and deflection, not trying to smite each other."


    The rest of the class passed in practical exercises. Jack and Henry practiced launching gentle Flipendos at each other like they were first-years, with the new sixth-year wrinkle of catching the jinxes with Protego and volleying them back and forth like a Quaffle. Jack handled the assignment effortlessly. It was actually pretty fun.


    "Good class, old bean," Henry commented as they packed up at the end of class. "I think you made an impression."


    ¡°Eh?¡± Jack said, distractedly trying to put his wand back into his sleeve pocket.


    "You think Hightower was watching me and my partner that closely last term?" Henry asked with a grin.


    Jack glanced over to where Cassandra was carefully filing away her notes. She wasn''t looking at them.


    He felt a strange, swooping sensation in his stomach.


    ¡°No way,¡± Jack replied, shaking the feeling off, ¡°She¡¯s just got it out for me. Making sure that I¡¯m staying on the straight and narrow- Squanto¡¯s corns3, where¡¯s Cyprian Venge gone off to? He was just in his seat.¡±


    ¡°What are you asking about him for?¡± Henry asked curiously. ¡°Venge is queer. Even by Slytherin standards.¡±


    ¡°My dad wanted me to say hi to him, I think he and Venge¡¯s dad know each other from the war.¡±


    ¡°The war?¡± Henry¡¯s lip curled, ¡°The Venges played neutral until they threw in with us late in ¡®40.¡±


    ¡°Johnny-come-lately, huh...¡± Jack caught a glimpse of Cyprian slipping out the door behind a pair of chatting Hufflepuffs. ¡°Oh, there he goes.¡±


    Montfort shot Jack a smug look as he packed up and left. Jack looked past him, instead zeroing in on Venge, who was beelining for the stairs down. He bid a hasty good-bye to Henry.


    ¡°Hey there, Cyprian, wait up!¡± Jack had to jog down the hallway to catch him.


    <hr><hr>


    1. The Roman magi were famed for their disciplined use of magic¡ªharnessing fire, wind, and earth as effectively as their legions wielded steel. During the Punic Wars (264 BC ¨C 146 BC), these magi often found themselves hurling flames and invoking tempests against Carthaginian sorcerers, whose dark necromantic blood magic struck terror into Roman ranks. The Carthaginians, it is said, bound shadows to their will and called on eldritch forces that unnerved even the bravest legionaries. Rome''s eventual victory not only secured dominance over the Mediterranean but cemented its magical legacy. The Romans codified Greek spellcasting into structured incantations and charms, creating the foundation of what the Western world still considers magic today. Terms such as magia, incantatio, and protego stem directly from Roman tradition, as do the principles of wandcraft, runic warding, and magical law.


    The secrets of Carthaginian black magic and necromancy have been lost to time, thank Merlin.


    2. Landsknechts, gaudily dressed German mercenary soldiers of the 16th and early 17th centuries, would march as readily for gold as for glory, and were as dangerous as they were flamboyant. Known for their brutal efficiency with pike and firelock, they wreaked havoc across the towns and battlefields of Europe. The 17th century was an especially perilous time for magical people. The chaos of constant warfare, combined with the breakdown of society and organized religion, desperation, suspicion, and superstition, often forced wizards and witches to defend themselves against Muggle rapine and pillage. This dark period proved one of the final straws that made wizardkind realize co-existence with Muggles was impossible.


    3. The Hohensalzburg, a massive medieval stronghold overlooking Salzburg, Austria, was the site of a covert wizarding battle in October 1944. Aurors Malcolm MacLeod and Edwin Whitby engaged several dark wizards who had fortified themselves deep within the fortress, supported by a mountain troll they had bewitched. The battle - which happened concurrent with a massive Anglo-American Muggle air raid - reached its climax when Whitby used a Bombarda spell to sever the chains of the fortress¡¯s ancient drawbridge mechanism and drop the bridge onto the troll, flattening it. Though the dark wizards managed to escape amidst the chaos, the Aurors successfully recovered the cursed artifact they had been smuggling to Grindelwald¡¯s forces.


    4. Squanto¡¯s Corns is another colorful American wizarding idiom, used to express disbelief, frustration, or exasperation. Its origins trace back to the early days of America and the peculiar circumstances surrounding the famed Patuxet Indian known as Squanto (Tisquantum), who famously aided the Muggle Puritan settlers of Plymouth Colony in 1620 AD (and thus indirectly the following wizarding settlers of Rhode Island). Squanto was not only multilingual but also a highly skilled magical botanist. By blending herbology with magic, he managed to cultivate extraordinarily resilient maize (known as corn to Americans) that flourished in the rocky New England soil¡ªa feat so miraculous it baffled Muggles. It''s also a sophormoric pun on foot corns.