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Twenty-five years after Voldemort’s downfall, the Secret has been kept. Memories erased. London unaware that its world was almost turned upside down. Wizards and witches remain hidden in their houses, their secret alleys, and their unplottable and undetectable communities scattered throughout the land – against an ever-expanding London metro area. As the muggle population grew exponentially, consuming more, producing more, and inventing more, the wizarding world has been almost locked in time. When Voldemort was plotting his return, wizards were technologically, architecturally, and culturally in the Victorian age: strict social hierarchies, the oppression of all sentient species, and an aristocratic mindset of deserved privilege and rights given by birth. They lived then and still live in a loosely structured society based on mutable laws barely reined in by precedent, in a society disconnected from the muggle world.

Twenty five years in the muggle world saw the widespread adoption of computing, the introduction of the cellular phone, the expansion of the internet, and the globalization of all business – but has hardly changed the life of a witch as she would await her Hogwarts letter today. She knows what to expect: the same path her parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents took. At least, the path taken by those with magical ability, and who were not a squib stuffed in a closet never to be mentioned. A young witch, letter in hand, would excitedly await meeting other young witches and wizards and finally having playmates her own age – for in the wizarding world, with its many secrets, every unplottable village is an island unto itself.

In the quiet wizarding village of Hedleyton Copse, north of London proper, a stroll amongst green meadows and stone cottages, in a single step, suddenly gives way to the smoke, dust, and noise of a two-lane highway. Being at that edge, the ugliness of strip malls and two-story row houses clashes with the quaint houses that the witches and wizards live in. Not that muggles would have been able to see the cottages. And not that wizards would often take that first step out of the magically protected zone that kept their village as quaint town as it was hundreds of years prior. It was jarring, to say the least, and not a step that a wizard or witch would like to take. Firstly, it would have required exchanging the comfortable robes of a wizard with uncomfortable and foreign tight-fitting clothing. And lastly, there was hardly anything out there to interest a wizard. That one step required so much preparation and effort that hardly anyone ever bothered.

In an unremarkable place in the village sat a single-story cottage with an overgrown yard and ivy vines that needed pruning, having grown to the lopsided roof that would leak but for magic. The only remarkable thing was that all the shades were drawn; the weather was nice that day. A man with cleanly cropped brown hair, unshaven, medium height, thin with angular features, sat on a chair in front of a heavy oak table half covered in beakers of varied hued chemicals. He wrote rapidly with quill and parchment while muttering, “muggles… muggles… Aristotle had it right.” Outside, three owls flew by carrying letters for it was the day of Hogwarts letters, and there was a boy in the neighboring house impatiently waiting.

Several miles away, and in what might as well be the other side of the galaxy, two Americans were on vacation in London. One was a tall man with brown hair, a little too skinny, wearing a practical jacket and khaki pants that were awkwardly formal for the occasion. The other was a woman with long dark hair, short heels, and bare legs below her fashionable top and coat. Both had thick glasses and unkempt hair. They were a scientist and a doctor, just married, enjoying their first vacation free of school and obligations before starting new work in the fall. Jamie and Clara, hand in hand, eyes on each other and not on the street or buildings around them. After a whirlwind few days of London tourist attractions they were ready for a slower pace. Lazily walking and chatting, they were looking for some dinner to fill a couple hours before a film started in the theater at Piccadilly Circus. The traffic light changed and they began crossing the plaza on foot when…

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Jamie woke up, confused. His head hurt and his side hurt and probably everything hurt. He saw bright lights and looked left and right. He was in a dingy room with oppressive lighting. Clara was in a bed ten feet away to his right. “Clara!” he yelled. He tried to get up but it was difficult and Clara didn’t respond. “Clara!” he yelled louder.

“What?” she murmured. Then she opened her eyes. “Oh my god, why are we in a hospital?” She recognized it as a hospital recovery ward right away since such wards have been her second home for the past few years in residency, though the room was strangely devoid of the typical array of modern medical equipment. She sat up easily, apparently not in as much pain as Jamie. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, I just woke up too. I don’t remember anything, do you?”

“No, we were crossing the street to go to that restaurant.”
“Well, I don’t think we had totally decided on Bellafonte, but yes, that is what I remember.” He sat in silence for a moment. “Well, Mrs. Doctor, what can cause memory loss? Were we in some big accident?”

“Yeah… that’s possible…” She remembered about hospital charts and reached to the foot of her bed to find it. “There’s just vitals here, no good information, looks like I’m ok and also it’s like six hours later and we missed the movie!”

“I don’t think the movie is our biggest problem right now.”

“But we paid like sixty dollars for those tickets because these London theaters are crazy.” She got up and walked around to Jamie’s bed to check his chart. “Looks like you’re ok too.”

“I don’t feel ok though.” He groaned and prodded his side. “Actually I feel a lot better. When I first woke up I was in such pain and now it’s basically gone.” He stood up and finally noticed the room. There were twelve beds but all were empty. It looked more like an old movie hospital than a contemporary hospital, where each bed would be motorized and surrounded by monitoring equipment and call buttons. These beds were simple and steel framed. The room was quite dingy and the curtains threadbare.

“This is a weird looking hospital,” he said.

“Yeah, especially weird because we’re in white canvas smocks instead of the disposable ones. I wonder if that’s normal for Britain. Also, where’s my cell phone?”

A knock sounded on the door and, without waiting, in came a tall skinny man in a dark suit with what looked like a white apron over it. His mustache was extraordinary. Jamie and Clara turned to watch him as he approached and Clara spoke first. “What is going on here? If we were in an accident and in a coma, why weren’t we being monitored? This is not proper care at all.”

“Well, you weren’t quite in a coma, but more like asleep. You’re confused and in your confusion resorting to the typical American mode of questioning the judgement of a trained professional. I will overlook it this time.” The pause in his speech suggested he wished his patients were more compliant. “After the accident you were brought here-”

“So there was an accident?” Jamie interjected. “What accident?”

The man paused before continuing, annoyed at being interrupted. “The accident at Piccadilly Circus that landed you in this hospital. However, we carefully checked and found every hair in place, every neuron in perfect condition.”

“Yeah so, this accident…” Clara started.

“Yes, whatever happened to you on the street is not of a concern. We would have no reason to hold you here as you are perfectly healthy.” He turned to the side, slightly embarrassed, “perfectly healthy except for one thing, that is.”

It was Jamie’s turn to pester the doctor. “Except for passing out for six hours and having no memories?”

The doctor looked surprised. “No memories?”

“I mean no memories of anything after starting to cross the street,” Jamie corrected himself. “So tell us about this accident and about whatever else is wrong with us.”

The doctor pursed his lips. “What I was going to tell you is that you have lost weight, and continue to lose weight. Slowly but steadily. And as a man of science I can tell you that mass has to go somewhere and we don’t know where it may be going. On the subject of the accident – accident might be the wrong word. It may have been intentional.”

“Intentional?” Clara gave a little shriek. “How could it be intentional? We don’t know anyone in London.”

“Well,” said the doctor, and a mix of emotions crossed his face: confusion, embarrassment, apology, sorrow, hurt pride. “A terrorist attack, you see. The police are still sorting it out.”

Jamie was less interested in the terrorist attack as his mind could not get past the violation of conservation of mass. “Wait, we’re shrinking?”

“Yes, you are shrinking.” The doctor looked relieved that his duty to talk to the patients was done. “You will need to stay here until it stops or gets worse, whichever the case may be. Your clothes are in the lockers near the door and a nurse will deliver you food regularly, but you are not to leave this floor of the hospital.” He quickly rubbed his hands together as if brushing off dust. “I shall see you tomorrow. Good day.” He strode out of the door and it closed swiftly behind him as Clara was yelling at his back for more information.

“I’m a doctor too you know!” she said to his back. “You need to tell us more of what’s going on!” She gave up questioning him when the door clicked shut. She sat resignedly down on the bed.

“So…” started Jamie, “So Doc, you know of any shrinking disease?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “anorexia.”

Chapter Text

Jamie and Clara collected their belongings from the lockers, glad to find their passports, wallets, and cell phones seemingly untouched. They contacted their families in the United States, who were surprised and worried to receive a phone call and messages in the middle of the work day.

“Don’t worry,” Jamie typed into the family chat box, “we’re totally fine but we’re staying in the hospital because we randomly lost over ten pounds each. We don’t have any plans to cancel our vacation at this point.” Fielding the chats and calls filled the next few hours and they were served a surprisingly edible late night dinner.

Jamie contacted their hotel and arranged for their bags to be sent to them in the ward, and their fees for the rest of their stay refunded. Their bags took several hours to arrive and by that time it was so late it was almost morning. Jamie and Clara had stayed awake discussing their situation the whole time. Eventually, finally, it was time for sleep. And they slept deeply.

The morning was initially calm and happy, for rest is the greatest cure for worry and tears, but that was short lived, their peace interrupted by the shock of standing on the scale and finding another fifteen pounds of weight loss. Jamie and Clara could not be but worried, and could not help each other calm down.

“What is happening?”

“But I feel so… normal!”

“I feel good too! And look, your face looks smoother. Shouldn’t your skin have gotten loose and flappy?”

“Your white hairs disappeared!”

“I feel stronger!”

“Wait, did you get shorter?”

“Your glasses look comically large on your face!”

“Look, my hip is now at the bed level! Oh my god, what is happening?”

“Why are the doctors here so frustrating and stupid!”

A full week passed — a week of not being able to focus on or enjoy anything, and a week spent looking at dingy walls and out dingy windows at a dingy alley. Their wedding rings no longer fit and were placed carefully amongst their luggage. Clara felt that was significant – as it if were the end of their marriage, and wanted to carry it in her pocket at all times. Their normal clothes didn’t fit and their hospital gowns didn’t have pockets, so Jamie convinced her to put it away so that it wouldn’t be lost.

After being taken to every possible wing of the hospital to be measured on every piece of equipment that the doctors could find, they knew the entire building and half of the staff. Jamie and Clara’s families were missing work and sleep, worried that their child, brother, or sister might die, and checking the prices and schedules of plane tickets to be there in England or to bring them home to a “real doctor.” Jamie and Clara – so small and frail looking as they played games and watched videos to pass the time. Jamie and Clara feeling physically fine but harried by the emotional stress of getting on a scale or looking into a mirror.

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It was 8 PM, almost ten days after the incident, and Jamie and Clara were alone in the ward. They were chatting, for the thousandth time, about what was going to happen. They were both under five feet tall with fine features to match, and had to resort to wearing uncomfortable hospital clothes as theirs had become too baggy. Their eyes were perpetually red, though the tears didn’t come all the time anymore. During a pause in the conversation, Clara noticed a scratching at the window. “Hey Jamie, look.”

Jamie opened the window to see what could be outside and suddenly stumbled back with his arms to protect his face as two owls flew in. From across the room, Clara watched them impossibly carrying letters as large as their own bodies. In a flurry of feathers, the letters dropped at Jamie and Clara’s feet and the owls left the same way they came in. The red wax seals on the letters beckoned. Jamie opened one.

”It’s our admissions letters for Hogwarts,” he said quietly.

“What?” Clara did not sound amused or excited.

“Is this some sort of children’s hospital thing, to make the kids feel better?” Jamie asked. “But they were specifically addressed to us. Also, who trains an owl so well?” The owls then left.

Clara ripped open her letter and read,

Dear Mrs. Clara Morneau,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 6 September. We await your owl presently.

Yours sincerely,

Margot Abernathy

Deputy Headmistress

There was a second page which contained a list of books and supplies, which read familiarly to anyone who grew up in the nineties and had read Harry Potter: three sets of plain work robes (black), one plain pointed hat (black), one pair of dragon hide gloves, one winter cloak (black), a wand, a cauldron, etc. The list of textbooks took up most of the page.

 The Revised Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1), J&J (Eds.)
 A History of Magic and Magical Theory,  M. Aout
 Foundations of Magic, T.R.H Trimble
 Magical Drafts and Potions, A. Jigger
 Herbal Essences, T. Abernathy
 Transfiguration for the Patient and Dedicated, M. McGonagall
 Dark Magic and Evil Beasts: A Primer, J. Arbit
 Playing with the Music of the Spheres, M.B.R. Quodquat

At the bottom of the page were some notes: Don’t buy Foundations of Magic by T.R.M. Trimble, it’s a decidedly inferior book. You are allowed a pet. No broomsticks. The list of banned items has gotten too long, so there is no longer a list. If there is any question whether you should bring it or not, then you should probably leave it at home.

Jamie listened patiently as Clara read the sheet out loud, then he spoke. “Ok, first impressions. I never really read this list closely when I was little, but are these kids supposed to get by for an entire school year with just three changes of clothes?”

“Don’t say ‘when I was little,’” Clara responded, a small tear in her eye.

“Also, this reads like the school color is black. Kind of cool but also ominous. I wonder if the upperclassmen get to branch out from black.”

“You know they do,” said Clara, able to joke along with Jamie. “Once they get sorted, people wear their house colors. But still black robes. Or is that just in the movies? It is kind of funny that the whole society wears black all the time, adults included. I’m not sure I could get by without some color.”

Jamie sat back on his bed. “You know, this has actually cheered me up a tiny bit. At first I was kind of insulted but it does feel kind of magical how they actually got the owls to do that. If we get out of this ok, it almost makes the whole ten miserable days worth it.”

“Your voice is so high pitched I can’t take you seriously anymore. This is ridiculous. I’m in the middle of the biggest crisis of my life and I can’t even enjoy this. Like, this would have been the coolest thing ever if I wasn’t mysteriously wasting away.”

A soft noise at the same window drew their attention again. This time it was a cat that somehow made its way up – not too surprising as the fire escape was on that side of the building and they had frequently heard yowls of stray cats in the dingy alley. Jamie and Clara’s reactions were typical of those without cat allergies: when you’re feeling down it’s always nice to have a little cat visitor.

“How cute!” Clara moved to pet the cat but before her hand could touch it’s fuzzy face there was no longer a cat on the floor. Instead, a full height woman in green and black robes with a tall hat stood in front of her. Her bearing, now towering over the tiny Jamie and Clara, was almost regal and quite authoritative. This made it all the more intimidating when the first words out of her mouth were, “please don’t try and pet me, I’ve had a busy day and I’m not the in the mood.”

Jamie, supposedly a scientist, started to question everything he ever believed in.

“Hello, children,” the intimidating woman continued. “I see you’ve received your letters to Hogwarts. I am the headmistress, Minerva McGonagall. Over half of our students come from wizarding parents, but since your parents are not wizards or witches I am here to clear up any questions you might have, and to give you your first warm welcome to the school — but why are you crying?”

It was Jamie who had broken down. “We were in a terrorist attack and I’ve lost over 150 pounds in the past week, I think we might be dying, and your nonsense cheer-up-children-in-hospitals acting is not helping the situation at all!”

“You mean to tell me that you were over 10 stone just a week ago?” It was now the actress “McGonagall’s” turn to look confusedly back and forth between the two of them.

“And we’re not children. I’m 27 years old!”

“Oh my. Oh my indeed.” McGonagall shook her head. “Hold on to my hands, then, I’m taking you to a much better hospital than this.”

“McGonagall” took off her hat and tucked it under her arm securely, then grabbed Jamie and Clara by the hands before they could protest. What followed next was a tugging sensation at the navel as the whole world became blurry and streaked. Just as the nausea started to become unbearable the world snapped back into place — but they were no longer in the hospital room. They were in an entry way to what looked like another hospital, except the nurses rushing around looked ridiculous because they were dressed like it was the 19th century.

The actress “McGonagall” strode up to the front desk. “Please admit these two immediately, there may not be much time left.”

Chapter Text

Jamie and Clara were led by a man in a tight white smock through double doors and down a hallway. Left and right strange sights were visible through open doors — a man with a three foot head, a woman with tentacle arms, and some boy surrounded by slugs. As they sped past, the boy belched out another slug. At the end of the hall was a stairwell. They were led to a high floor, no elevators, and left in a small room alone. There was a window out onto a normal street below but the room was almost empty. Clara remarked it was built like an examination room but without all the supplies, just a high bench and chairs. The room was comfortable, but the decor matched the industrial age clothing of the nurses.

“Is this a real hospital?” Jamie asked.

Clara looked even less certain than Jamie. “I don’t trust anyone in this hospital. Where’s all the usual equipment? I think we need to get out of here before they pull out a jar of leeches.”

The door opened and three doctors came in, even weirder than the man who had led them up. One was wearing totally impractical black robes, one a smock, and the third a button down shirt. They varied in height from just under five feet to six foot three, and they all had extreme facial hair of different types – long beard on one, wide beard on another, mustache on the third. They appeared to vary in age from twenties to well over one hundred, and while one was clearly a man and one clearly a woman, the one with the mustache, the third was not so obvious. The doctors approached.

Without a word, the shortest one started waving a stick around. The tallest one looked into Jamie’s eyes with a bright light. And the third stood near the door rubbing his hands together. After some time, the one near the door started asking questions. They were not the usual, “have you any allergies?” type of questions. Instead, “have you eaten any squash in the last 24 hours?” “When was the last time you saw the sunset?” “Did your grandmother ever survive a big fire?” After some time, they turned back and formed a circle, discussing excitedly. Jamie and Clara were too stunned to respond properly and instead waited impatiently.

After more than five minutes, the doctors turned back.

“We know what the problem is. You’re bodies are reverse aging,” said the tallest.

“Pretty rare, that. You should feel lucky to be so unique!” chimed in the shortest.

“I’m glad we get these interesting cases sometimes,” continued the middle height one, “if I had to spend the rest of my life shrinking heads, I would quit the profession.”

Clara was not impressed. “Lucky? We’re going to reverse back into nothingness within how many days. Can you fix it?” She surprised herself how quickly she bought in to the whole narrative, totally against her normal sensibilities. Maybe the past ten days of nonsense had been getting to her already.

The fattest doctor answered, “well, a cure, that is another matter.”

“We can certainly stop it,” the small woman piped in.

“Oh yes, we can stop it right away. In fact…” The oldest one rushed off.

Jamie was not reassured. “But what about going back? You know, reversing the reverse aging? I can’t go into work next week looking like a 10 year old!”

Clara joined Jamie in protesting the situation, “and there’s no way I’m going to convince anyone I have a medical license!”

The skinniest doctor’s beaming face ran counter to Clara and Jamie’s distraught expressions. “Oh. Well. You know. It might actually be better this way. You get another twenty or thirty or forty years to enjoy! Anyway, however old you’re supposed to be minus ten.”

“Yes, you know, relive your youth!”

“Buy a huge ball of candy floss without getting stares!”

“But make sure you go to bed on time, you naughty scamps you!”

All three doctors started laughing, including the third doctor who had just returned. He had brought a bottle with him. “Drink this.”

Jamie took it but held it at arms length like it might be poisonous. He looked at Clara significantly, asking, should we?

Clara took it and stared at it. A moment passed, and then suddenly the tallest doctor grabbed the bottle and dumped half of it down her throat, then turned and forced the rest into Jamie. Sputtering, Jamie started yelling, “hey! What the hell?”

The doctors looked pleased. “Ok! Stick around for the next day so we can make sure it worked. But we’ve got other patients to see. Toodles!”

They rushed out of the room but before the door had even swung back the short woman came back in.

“Occuvidere!” she yelled, and slapped Jamie on the head with a rod.

“OW!” cried Jamie, still reeling from choking on the liquid. “Aah, I can’t see, everything is blurry!”

“Occuvidere!” the woman yelled again, slapping Clara on the head with the rod. The woman continued in a normal voice, “don’t be silly now, take off those pieces of glass.”

“What?” Jamie asked, but Clara understood. She took off her coke bottle glasses and looked around – with perfect vision. Jamie soon joined her in amazement.

“Honestly, why do muggles do this to themselves?” the short woman muttered. Then gave them a beaming smile and another “toodles!” as she rushed out the door.

Chapter Text

Jamie and Clara stared at each other while the actress McGonagall entered. A concerned look creased her already furrowed brow. “How are you? What did the doctors give you?”

Clara said, “I don’t know what they gave us, but they said it would stop our reverse aging.”

“But not return us to normal,” Jamie added. “What are we going to do?”

The concerned look didn’t leave McGonagall’s face. “Well, I can arrange for your return to America if you choose, and provide an explanation to your families. However, there are things you should know before you decide. While you were being cured I discovered some clues into your predicament. You both were memory charmed by Ministry obliviators after a wizard mishap.”

Clara looked shocked. “Memory charmed? That feels like a huge violation.”

“It is standard practice to charm muggles,” McGonagall said. “There’s little harm in losing a few hours of memories and it protects us magical folk from getting found out. Though since it turns out you are wizard folk, I see no harm in reversing it.” McGonagall hesitated and then added, “we used to use an irreversible charm. You are indebted to the reforms of the last two decades, and to Alexander Agarwal for inventing it. Although there are rumors he didn’t invent it but find it.”

Jamie’s sour look at having his memories tampered with matched how Clara was feeling. “Ok, then, go on and reverse it then.”

“McGonagall” took a small silver object out of her robe pocket and hit Jamie and Clara on the head with it, the object making the sound of a cracking egg each time. Before they could get mad at yet another head smack, all their lost memories came rushing back:

Jamie and Clara were walking down the street when a man in black robes appeared in the middle of the intersection. He waved a short stick and the bus that would have hit him flew away and landed with a horrible crunch of metal and broken glass. Other drivers and pedestrians immediately noticed and stopped to look, but they were not quick enough to understand how to save themselves. With a grand, repeated whirling of the stick and loud words in an unknown language, a strong wind full of streaks of blue lightning filled the entirety of Picadilly Circus. All the people, cars, and anything that was not bolted down were swept up in the dangerous fray. The man paused his incantations, but the wind dd not stop. He pulled a set of jars from his robes and set them on the ground, lighting a flame underneath one of them in a metal jar. The entire time, Jamie and Clara were huddled near a concrete bench, clinging on for their lives and hoping their fate would not be the same as the poor people being flung around, hitting buildings and lamp posts in a sickening way. The man continued mixing his liquids for almost a minute before a bright white light blinded both Clara and Jamie. An ungodly noise like some sort of mythical banshee continued for several minutes as their eyes slowly returned to normal. The wind had stopped. The two of them released the bench and looked around. The entire plaza and the surrounding buildings were destroyed. There were bodies everywhere – most seemed to be moving but not easily, as if they were badly injured. Jamie looked down and found six inches of steel sticking out of his shirt, and his pants soaked through with blood. Clara was fortunate to only have scrapes. Jamie tried to ask her if she was ok, but they could not speak to each other. They were deafened. They wandered in a daze as more men in black robes started appearing all over the plaza. Jamie’s response was immediate – he grabbed Clara and pulled her with him towards the nearest side street. If one man in robes could do all of this, they were in extreme danger now that more and more were appearing!

Before they could escape, they were both lifted bodily into the air and pulled backwards, towards the center of the plaza. Clara was swimming futilely against the air but Jamie was resigned and looking to see what dangers awaited them where they were headed, feet first.

Jamie and Clara were shocked yet again to land softly next to one of the men in robes. Jamie was ready to fight when one of the men in robes waved a stick and Jamie curled up, waiting for the pain of whatever new wind and lightning to start.

Instead, he was faced with a slight warm sensation, and a pleasant tingling as the metal rod was pulled from his side. He could visibly see through his torn pants his leg healing in front of his eyes. Clara stopped struggling to escape and watched Jamie with wide open eyes.

Their nerves slowly relaxing, they started to notice again the square around them. The entire Circus was being reassembled piece by piece, as if it had a mind of its own. The plaza was full of men and women, all in robes, waving their sticks around like mad men, directing the grand orchestra of bricks and metal of Picadilly Circus. Then the man standing in front of Jamie held out his stick, bent down, and touched Jamie and Clara’s head, once each, and the memories ended.

Chapter Text

Snapped back to the present, Clara and Jamie shared shocked looks. Clara spoke first. “Oh my god, that is weird to have it come back immediately. Also, it would almost have been better to forget that hour.”

“McGonagall,” or as Jamie and Clara were starting to accept: McGonagall, continued as if everything was normal, not allowing them time to process the new information. “There remains the question of how you would like to proceed. Seeing as you have your letters, I see no problem admitting you to Hogwarts, if you would like to go that route.”

It was Jamie’s time to finally, achingly, buy into the narrative that magic was real. Struggling against his career history in cutting through the lies we tell ourselves to find out how the world truly works, he finally clicked this new reality into place. “But we’re not wizards, right? How could we be wizards?” he wondered aloud, with no conviction.

“There are many uncertain things in this world, but wizards you most certainly are,” McGonagall replied. “The Book and Quill have never made a mistake, and if they say you are wizards it must be true. We normally admit young wizards and witches at the age of 11, and your letters must have been issued as you passed through that age, though in reverse. That puts your current age at a little less than 11, but we could still admit you seeing as your maturity is not that of a 11 year old.”

Jamie looked Clara in the eyes. “Wizarding school? Do we really believe this?”

Clara considered. “It was easy to get caught up and rush along with things, but now that it’s quiet it just seems so… absurd. But then I think about what has happened to us today, and the last ten days…”

“Then what?”

“What about our jobs, and our families?” said Clara, always keeping her practical mindset.

“I suppose we tell them,” Jamie said. “Only our immediate families and your one friend know that we’ve been shrinking over the past week. We can tell them the truth and just tell our extended families that we’ve decided to move to England…”

Clara showed signs of being convinced. “It’s sudden, but that’s not totally implausible that we would move to England – I mean my mom would not be so surprised.”

McGonagall interjected in a huff, “moving to the United Kingdom you mean, as Hogwarts is in Scotland, not England.”

Addressing McGonagall this time, Jamie replied “I still feel like we’re being tricked.”

McGonagall waved her wand, making three sparrows appear which flew in tight circles before landing upon the bench. She picked up a glass from the table and turned it into a rat which scurried away. She took off her cap and pulled a rabbit out of it, which followed the mouse out the door.

Jamie and Clara stared at each other, on the precipice of agreeing but both scared of what that meant.

“I do recommend you get instruction somewhere, if not at Hogwarts,” McGonagall advised. “Magic, uncontrolled, becomes a danger to yourself and others. I could contact a school in America but I cannot guarantee you admission there, as I am only the headmistress of Hogwarts.”

The thinking part of Clara’s brain started to operate, for the first time since appearing in this strange hospital. “Wait, Hogwarts… as in Harry Potter?”

McGonagall looked deflated. “Ah yes, even muggles know the name of Harry Potter these days. Yes, it is that very same.”

“So the Harry Potter books are real?” Jamie’s interest was piqued. “And you’re really the McGonagall, and not an actress?”

McGonagall dismissed him with a wave. “Those books are wildly inaccurate in all but the barest details, more adventure and fancy than fact. But yes, there was a Harry Potter and there was a wizarding war and there was a… Voldemort.” She had hesitated before saying the name, as if she had to prepare herself for a difficult task. “Those were dark times and you would do well to not treat them lightly. We all lost loved ones.”

Jamie to Clara: “Do you remember what happens in those books?”

“Not really, I haven’t read them since I was young.”

“Me too.”

“Well?”

“Then it’s settled. However we do it, we can’t turn back from this.”

Clara and Jamie jumped up from their chairs to dance around and hug each other. “We’re going to Hogwarts!”

Chapter Text

One month later, their affairs in America and London were finally settled. Jamie and Clara had rented a flat in the far North of London, not really London at all, where rent was cheaper. Fortunately they were able to find a place that would let them sign the lease in their own names through email without ever meeting the landlord. They paid for movers to pack up everything back home that they owned and ship it, literally on an ocean liner, in a giant crate. Everything had been arranged by email and telephone. A friend sold their cars.

The hardest part was lying to their parents. They made up a story about having fallen in love with England and, by extreme luck, Clara secured a position that would start in September so there was no time to be flying back and forth and saying goodbye to everybody. For Jamie, he said he wasn’t worried about finding a research position within six months.

When they hung up after talking to Jamie’s parents they felt dirty, and when they hung up an hour later, after talking to Clara’s parents

Somehow none of their parents were not that surprised at their sudden decision to uproot their lives and take an opportunity. Jamie felt good about that – it meant their parents trusted them to make good decisions. And maybe it wasn’t completely out of character for them to suddenly move. Jamie had done it three times, moving across the country for his career, and Clara twice, for medical school and then residency.

When the giant crate arrived they immediately threw away or gave away two thirds of it. It was too hard to explain to the movers what to pack or not, so they had them pack everything. Only when finally in England were they able to throw away anything that wasn’t practical or sentimental, paring down their possessions: Their clothes didn’t fit anymore. Their wedding china was kept. Some of their furniture went into the new flat, but this would be temporary, they knew. Jamie wondered what the neighbors thought of two eleven year olds living alone, or if they even realized. Fortunately they could walk to the grocery store, but every day hearing “and what did your mam send you for today, dearie?” was getting old. With no access to the world of magic and no job, they had nothing to do but enjoy England.

Thankfully, despite being outside of the city proper, they still had access to excellent public transit. If they were in suburban America it would have been impossible to go anywhere; they were thankful for every bus trip even when they had to wait half an hour for it. And getting the train to London was trivial.

Chapter Text

A knock on the door came just after lunch on a rare sunny day in mid-August. It was McGonagall, and seeing her face was a huge relief to Jamie and Clara who had been starting to wonder if they had dreamed the whole thing. They welcomed her in and they sat together at the small dining room table, with tea. After some short pleasantries, McGonagall got to business.

“I have not discussed your attendance with the board and ministry as a whole. If I had discussed this with certain professors, or it got out amongst the board or the ministry in general, it would only be a matter of weeks before the whole school knew about your condition.”

She continued in her curt way of speaking, “however, certain trusted individuals, at Hogwarts and elsewhere, are aware. I am not usually a rule-breaker, but you could say I learned from my predecessor when to keep matters to myself.”

She pulled out a small planner and placed it on the table. A tap with her wand expanded it from an unassuming small book to a massive tome with brown parchment pages. The writing on the pages contained dates, appointments, and notes, but they appeared to be constantly changing and it was difficult for Jamie and Clara to read anything definite. McGonagall quickly consulted it before continuing.

“We do not have American students at Hogwarts. It never happens. So I suggest you make a plausible but simple cover story.”

“But what about our accents?” Clara asked.

“That you should change as well,” McGonagall responded.

Jamie looked uncertain. “It feels kind of weird to be lying to everyone all the time.”

“Do not think that you are the only students with special circumstances,” McGonagall responded. “When you are the head of a magical school, the only wizarding school in Great Britain, it becomes normal to make accommodations. There are several students in your year with much more difficult situations and much more interesting backgrounds. For those students, as well as yourself, the endless gossip would make it difficult for you to focus on your studies. It is better this way.”

Clara started right in, more excited about creating their personal narrative than Jamie, “should we pretend to be brother and sister? Twins even?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, because that is going to get weird when we start making out publicly in our third year. We are married you know!”

Clara had a sad look on her face. “Well, you’re right. But it’s just not going to feel right to not be able to sleep with my new husband every night.”

Jamie paused to glance at McGonagall and, seeing the Headmistress’s mild embarrassment, felt their talk was too frank and changed the subject. “If we get sorted into the same house then we’ll be together all the time anyway.”

Clara nodded her head. “So, what name do you want to take?”

“I shall be… James Coddington the Third!”

“Why the third? Isn’t that just going to invite more questions, like what happened to James Coddington the first and second and why haven’t I ever heard of them?”

“Well, you’ve never heard of them because they’re muggles of course. Plus, this way I get to keep my first name, which is nice.”

“Ok, then I’ll be Clara Paddington. It sounds cute.”

“Yeah but is Paddington a normal name? Or is he just a bear?”

“Well Paddington station has got to be named after a Mr. Paddington right? Britain’s got to be full of Paddingtons.”

Jamie pulled out his phone. “And yes… a quick internet search says that there are only a couple hundred Paddingtons in all of the UK. Is that too rare? Do all the Paddingtons know each other and, like, have a big party once a year?”

“Ok then, not Paddington. One of the most common names in the UK – I’ll be Clara Patel. Or more seriously, Clara Primroyal. Clara Evergrass. Clara…”

Jamie interrupted with a laugh. “This website gives some real English names including Birtwistle, Pennelegion, and Tambling-Goggin! You really can just make up some random syllables and it sounds like an old English name. How about Clara Birgenwopple! Haha!”

Clara laughed but McGonagall did not look amused.

“I’m going with Evergrass because I am going to live my high fantasy dreams and not your Birgenwopple dreams of being a hobbit,” Clara said decisively.

“Careful what you say, you might offend the hobbits.” Jamie joked.

McGonagall finally piped in, “oh do not be concerned, hobbits are not real. Both of those names sound acceptable to me. I agree that you should both claim to be muggle born, not only is it true but it would do a lot to explain your ignorance and not having been seen in wizarding circles. Let’s hear your accents then.”

Jamie and Clara proceeded to have a conversation in an English accent, mimicking what they’d been hearing for the past month. Clara succeeded but Jamie could not manage anything that did not sound comical.

Clara was exasperated since the accent easily to her. “Jamie, no amount of ‘right-ho jolly good sirs’ is going to make you sound British, nobody actually says that.”

Jamie gave up. “Ugh, can I just say that I lived in the US from the ages of four to nine and that is why I have a weak English accent?”

Clara was proud of herself. “Oho, turns out the Coddingtons aren’t such an established, distinguished family after all. Not like the Evergrasses who can trace their ancestry for ten generations!”

McGonagall admonished Clara, “do not get too carried away with pedigree. This is taken seriously amongst wizards and you would do well to not make too bold of claims.” McGonagall quickly checked her oversized magical planner again. “That leaves two matters. First, a wizard, an assistant from the school, will come tomorrow mid-morning to aid you in purchasing your supplies. The school will provide a standard purse, such as we give to those in need, of one hundred galleons apiece. Once you’re at the school you will find that while money may purchase entertainment, you shall not have need of it day to day. You can exchange muggle money for galleons tomorrow, but I’m afraid you’ll find the exchange rate to be quite unfavorable and your personal funds will not get you far.”

Jamie and Clara nodded. They had liquified all their assets in preparation for needing it for the next seven years, but that was turning out to be unnecessary. Jamie asked, “what is the exchange rate exactly?”

“Oh, it’s been years since I’ve been aware of the exact rate. Many of the things you can buy with muggle money you can get with magic anyway, and wizard money is carefully controlled to prevent counterfeiting while muggle money is not. The fact is, there’s not a lot of wizards that would trade their precious galleons for muggle paper and so you’ll pay dearly.”

Jamie turned to Clara. “Ok, well at least we can stash it in the stock market and it should at least double by the time we graduate.”

“Actually we’ll need it for the summers probably, and, like, to buy a scone anywhere in London,” Clara pointed out.

Jamie concurred. “Ok we’ll figure out later how much to keep in our bank accounts and how much to stash for the future.”

“That leaves the last matter,” continued the wizened headmistress, “getting to school. This year the Hogwarts express leaves from London Waterloo at 10 AM sharp on September 3rd. When you go, you shall not call attention to yourselves as wizards and witches. You will find, outside of Saint John’s Church, a Mr. Frindley pretending to pass out advertisement cards. He will explain to you how to get to the platform. I trust you will have no trouble getting to Waterloo?”

“Nope, sounds easy,” said Clara.

“Wait, not King’s Cross?”

“Oh my, no,” McGonagall said, “especially not now that station is overrun with muggles trying to find Platform nine and three quarters. That book has caused no end of trouble and I am not sure why the Ministry allowed it to be published.”

Clara thought and said, “it might help keep wizards secret, since now if somebody starts talking about magic or Harry Potter with muggles around everyone will assume they mean the book.”

McGonagall took the last sip of her tea. “And one last word of advice. When you are at Diagon Alley tomorrow, do not waste your time and money on frivolous things, but take your education seriously. There will be plenty of time for entertainment in the coming years, and you do not have to spend your book money in one day on whizz bangs and ever-frothing malted shakes.”

But the admonition may have had the opposite effect as McGonagall intended, for at the mention of ever-frothing malted shakes the looks of excitement on Clara and Jamie’s faces outshone the sunbeams coming through the window.

Chapter Text

The following afternoon a knock sounded at the door of the flat of a slightly annoyed pair of young, untrained, ten or eleven or maybe thirty year old witch and wizard. Clara opened the door to find a tall, round, and heavily bearded man wearing clothes that were clearly several sizes too small.

“Well I’m here,” the man boomed unnecessarily. “Are yeh ready ta go?” He looked down at the two standing in front of him, who were feeling especially short at the moment.

Jamie and Clara followed him out quickly, since they had been ready for the last two hours and waiting. The man, instead of getting into a car or heading towards the bus station, pulled out a half empty bottle of whiskey.

“Hold on to this,” he said, offering the bottle of whiskey to two eleven year olds.

Jamie and Clara were confused but both started to reach when he pulled it back.

“Wait a second.” He took a huge draught from the bottle. He put the cap back on, then held it out.

Jamie grabbed hold near the base and tried to take it from him, but the man pulled the bottle back.

“What’re you doing?” the man asked. He held out the bottle again. “Just hold on ter it.”

Jamie put one hand on the bottom and Clara gingerly put her fingers on it, not really wanting to touch the thing. Jamie and Clara felt sick as a pull in the navel and twist of the world ended as suddenly as it began. They looked around. Their crushed excitement came back quickly as they realized they were in Diagon Alley.

Chapter Text

Jamie and Clara could not decide what to focus their eyes on – the alley was loud and full of people. It felt more like a fair than a market street. Particolored shops with goods spilling onto the walkways lined both sides and down into the alleys. The bright atmosphere was in total contrast to the bones of the street - the heavy dark wood and stone facades and interiors, with mullioned windows that didn’t quite clearly display what was inside. Vendors with carts yelled out their wares as they passed by, selling trinkets, snacks, street food, or calling shoppers to other stores down the lane.

Jamie and Clara’s reverie was interrupted by their wizard escort. “Here’s yer gold.” He handed them each a small bag. “Well, yeh have yer list, don’t yeh? I’ll be here when yeh need me.” He waved his hand ambiguously down the street, but his meaning became clear as he entered a nearby building with dark windows.

“Huh, The Broken Broomstick,” Jamie said to Clara, reading the sign, “sounds like a pub.”

Clara was still too into the street view to have her vibes crushed by some rude middle aged man. “Ok, kind of rude, but whatever. Let’s enjoy Diagon Alley!”

“The question is, what to do first?”

“Oh my god, I want to buy everything.”

“Want to wander down the street and take it in before we buy anything?”

“Ok, let’s do it, but first, some photos!” Clara said, taking out her cell phone. She took a few snaps before suddenly putting down the camera. Everyone nearby was staring at them like they were being rude. Some had even stopped walking.

“Ok, no photos then...” said Jamie as Clara put her phone away.

They took each other’s hands and joined the fray moving slowly down the street. They passed shop after shop, most almost a hole in the wall but crammed with goods. Most sold wizarding trinkets or artifacts or curios, whatever you want to call them, of uses unknown to Jamie and Clara. There were ice cream and candy shops. Strangely absent were restaurants – there were only taverns and pubs, and few of them at that. In one grouping was a cluster of more practical stores – a home goods store, a kitchen store, one that sold knives only, cauldrons only, a few stores with new clothing and one that sold used – though even these “practical” wares whizzed, banged, popped, and crashed in true wizarding style. Some store names were recognizable even to a muggle: Eeylops Owl Emporium, Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions, and Ollivander’s Wands.

Clara’s eyes opened even wider than before. “Ollivander’s Wands!” she almost yelled. Wizards nearby gave her strange looks, for the second time in less than half an hour.

Jamie noticed the looks. “I’m feeling judged – we’re the only ones wearing these muggle clothes. Want to quickly get a change in Malkin’s and then go to the wand shop?” he offered.

Clara put on a pout, “I don’t know how you can stand to spend another second without a wand, but fine. I do feel like I’m a party pooper at the coolest costume party ever.”

“Also I’m kind of chilled,” Jamie said. “Is it always this cold in London in August?”

“Well you wouldn’t be cold if you had a wand!” Clara responded.

“Or a nice, thick wizard robe.” Jamie countered.

They pushed their way across the street and entered Malkin’s. It was busy and there were several women rushing around to try and corral the waiting wizards and witches while trying to close the sale with their current customer. Robes of all different styles were on display, generally all black except for small patches of red or green or purple. It seemed that colors were only accents in the wizarding world.

“Wow, do you think it’s always this busy?” Jamie asked Clara.

A woman with big frizzy hair and a measuring tape around her neck addressed them. “Oh my! How cute you two are! You must be muggle borns destined for Hogwarts if you don’t know that August is the busiest time of year for Diagon Alley.” She patted Clara on the head rapidly. “Come with me and I’ll get your measurements before you get crushed in the fray.”

Glad to skip the line, for if there was any line and not just chaos they would have certainly been at the back of it, Jamie and Clara followed the witch to the rear of the shop.

“My name is Rosalie. What are your names?” she almost cooed to them like they were babies.

“I’m Clara.”

“I’m Jamie.”

“Ok now stand up here Clara,” the women pointed to a dais which brought Clara at a more easy height for the woman to measure without stooping. The magical tape flipped off her shoulders and quickly measured Clara while the woman jotted down the results on a parchment. As she started to measure Jamie, she asked, “so have you an idea the style you like? We have a dozen new styles for this year and I have samples you can model right now.”

“Well,” Clara asked, “could we know a bit about the prices first?”

“Oh yes, they range from 21 galleons a set for this classic straight style, an extra 3 to 10 galleons for the ones like these with long arms, ruffles, this classic big collar and the like. Of course, all of our robes come with standard weather proofing charms but you can pay extra for…” She was interrupted by the concerned look on Clara’s face. “Well, we also have the Hogwarts standard robes. They never go out of style, but then they never come into style either, hee hee!” Her laugh was high pitched but genuine. “Those are seven galleons apiece, and have the added benefit that they can be ready within twenty minutes because they are alterations and not bespoke.”

“We’ll take three apiece,” said Jamie.

A bit more than twenty minutes later, Jamie and Clara were outside the store awkwardly holding two sets of wizarding robes and their muggle T-shirts, pants, and jackets. They were both proudly wearing their third set of newly purchased robes and feeling cozy.

“Turns out these wizard clothes are pretty warm,” Jamie said.

“Extra warm because I felt too weird going in my underwear alone under this, so I still have my pants on.” Clara said, then looked thoughtful. “Isn’t it kind of weird that she didn’t question that we were here without our parents?”

“There should be plenty of muggle born Hogwarts kids around and I can’t imagine a real eleven year old doing this alone. Can you spot anyone that looks like a new student? Come to speak of it, are there any muggles in this whole street?” Jamie looked around. “They could be wearing wizarding clothes, I guess.” His eyes lit up, “anyway, I don’t know how you can go another second without a wand!” He laughed and dashed towards the wand shop while Clara ran after.

Chapter Text

Clara and Jamie opened the door underneath a large sign painted white on brown wood, Ollivander’s. Inside was empty and felt eerie in contrast to the bustling street and the robe shop. When the door snicked shut behind them, the street noise was almost entirely shut out and it took their eyes a couple of seconds to adjust to the interior lighting. There was only a fifteen foot walk to a small counter, and behind the counter were thousands of small boxes stacked to the ceiling. Narrow corridors with more boxes on both sides led left and right until they disappeared around corners. Neither Jamie nor Clara could see any sign of the proprietor.

“Hello?” Jamie called out. “We would like to buy some wands.”

BLAM! A trapdoor opened in the floor and slammed down in front of them. Jamie and Clara jumped back slightly and then leaned in, curiously. A ladder led down to darkness. After a moment, a woman’s head popped out of the hole. “Just a second, dearies!” She finished climbing up the ladder and sat on the floor to swing her legs out, then closed the trap door as she stood up. She moved behind the counter and placed an extremely dusty box on it, the same small and long size as the ones on the wall behind.

“Are you Mrs. Ollivander?” Clara asked.

“Why yes I am! I’m not the only one, but I am probably the one you’re looking for.” She laughed heartily at her own unfunny joke. Her warm face immediately put Jamie and Clara at ease, after being on edge in the too-quiet shop. “You look about 10 or 11, I’m guessing you’re bound for Hogwarts and need your first wands?”

“Yes,” said Clara, nodding.

“Well let me tell you about wands. Wands are tricky business. Every witch has her own style, and every wand has its own style. When the two match perfectly, then magic flows freely. I would say it’s my job to match the two, but really it’s the wand that chooses the witch.”

“But how do we know our style if we’ve never done magic?” Jamie asked. “We take a personality quiz?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Mrs. Ollivander responded. “When you hold a wand that matches you perfectly, you just know. It feels right.”

She pulled two boxes from behind her then got up on a tall ladder and picked out several more from the same section high up on the shelf. She placed nine boxes on the table. “Ok, we’ll start with you, little girl. Your name is?”

“Clara.”

“Ok, Clara, give it a whirl.”

Mrs. Ollivander opened a box and handed the wand over to Clara. It looked comically long in her 11-year-old-sized hands, whispy and with a bent end. Clara swished it a little, feeling a bit silly and thinking that if her self of one year ago could see herself now, waving this stick and believing in it, she would be shaking her head.

Mrs. Ollivander put the wand away. “Nope, next.” She handed Clara another whispy twig. “Nope, next.” The next one was more rigid and shorter, looking stubby next to the others, and was a dark brown color. “Nope, next.” Clara went through the entire stack, waving around sticks ranging in length from six to twenty-four inches, in all different varieties of wood. Clara started to feel uncertain, like maybe this whole thing was a mistake and she wasn’t a witch at all. It must have shown on her face as Mrs. Ollivander reassured her, “don’t worry, dearie! I’m narrowing down on it.” Mrs. Ollivander climbed the ladder again and pulled three boxes from different parts of the shop, then disappeared for more than two minutes into the back corridors, returning with another box.

Clara opened one, medium length and medium brown, and gasped as the end glowed faintly. “Wow! Is this it?”

“Oh, dearie, a bit more to go. Like I said, when there is a perfect match it just feels right. Did that feel right?”

“Uh, I guess I didn’t feel that much, what am I supposed to feel?”

“You’ll know, dear, you’ll know. Next.”

Clara reached out for the next box but a feeling made her stop her hand. She moved her hand to the right and picked up the one next to it instead, the one from the back corridors. “Oh,” she said quietly, before her hand even touched it. She picked it up and held it in front of her face. “Oh,” she said again. She gaves it a half wave and rainbow colored sparks shot up to the ceiling, temporarily blinding the three of them in the dark shop.

As their eyes started to readjust, Mrs. Ollivander beamed at Clara. “Fourteen inches, Scots elm. On the softer side but a sturdy branch, that one. Core of dragon heartstring. That wand was made in the fifteenth century. That’s neither here nor there, it doesn’t mean it’s necessarily better or worse than any other. But think of the romance of how long it has been waiting to meet you, Clara.”

Clara stared at it, wide-eyed.

Mrs. Ollivander turned to Jamie. “And now for you. What is your name?”

“Jamie.”

“Ok, Jamie. I want you to try this one.” She carefully cleared the counter of all the boxes, save the extremely dusty one that she had brought up from the basement. “Now this wand,” she said as she opened the box carefully, “has a prophecy attached to it. The famous herbologist Charles Undersvelte himself received the prophecy in 1843, that this wand and its master would be united on this very day. Since the wand is here, its master must be here too.” She dropped to almost a whisper and leaned in. “Give it a try.”

Jamie put his hand out towards the wand slowly, feeling the weight of prophecy, of destiny, making his nerves tingle. It looked heavy, of a darker wood than most other wands, and with distinctive knobs in the wood in three places. Could destinies be real? Could it really be that easy, to be handed a purpose for your entire life from the outside, and not have to muddle through and figure it out like the rest of humanity? He took the wand into his hand and felt… nothing.

“Oh well,” said Mrs. Ollivander, putting the wand away. “It’s probably for the best. The rest of the prophecy is rather dark and I think you’ve quite dodged a hex right there.” She turned to Clara, “oh yes, I didn’t offer the wand to you because the prophecy stipulates a boy.” She turned back to the shelves, collected six wands, and placed them on the counter.

Jamie reached up to the counter and took the nearest box since it was hard to reach with his short kid arms. Opening it, he found a brown wand and quickly took it out. He gave it a wave and the whole wand started to glow red. “Oh!”

Mrs. Ollivander rushed around the counter and took the wand from his hand. “Oh no, are you hurt?”

Jamie looked at his hand, confused. “No. Not at all.”

Mrs. Ollivander hesitated, then handed the wand back to Jamie. It immediately glowed red as if it were red hot. “It doesn’t hurt at all?”

Jamie shook his head.

“Curious.” Mrs. Ollivander put the wand back in the box. “Ok, next!”

Jamie tried all the wands on the table without any reaction.

Mrs. Ollivander looked thoughtful and said nothing for almost a minute. Then she got the ladder and pulled a green box from almost the top of the tall shelves. She placed it on the counter in front of Jamie, opening the lid.

Jamie took the wand into his hand. Then he understood what Clara’s “oh” meant. The dark brown wood felt like home. The base of the wand was rigid but the last third supple. He flourished it in a big arc, causing green sparks to drip and then fly off the end as it whipped around.

Mrs. Ollivander looked pleased. “Exactly right. Rock elm, from across the ocean in North America. A bit harder than the more common elms. Fourteen inches, core of unicorn hair. My father made that wand in 1984.” She moved to put away all the boxes of wands that were not selected. “That will be twenty-five galleons apiece.”

Jamie pulled out their money and paid for both of them. He half joking asked Clara under his breath, “how is it that a wand, an ultimate item of power, is cheaper than a set of enchanted wizard robes?” but Mrs. Ollivander overheard.

“For Hogwarts students, your first wand is provided almost for free,” Mrs. Ollivander answered, “especially as you are muggle-born and probably couldn’t afford it. I am glad to help you get your education started properly.” But she warned them, “if you ever need to come back to me for another, the price that day will be another matter entirely, and you’ll be sore you didn’t take better care of it. Don’t abuse those two and they shall be your friends for life.”

Chapter Text

Coming off the high of the wand shop, Jamie and Clara were beaming and chatting about how after a couple of months in isolation, Diagon Alley was the magical wonderland they were looking for. Even if they weren’t supposed to use them for another month, the wands in their pockets made them feel like they were real wizards.

A voice nearby interrupted their conversation, in a slightly louder-than-conversational volume that was intended to be heard. “Ug, there are so many muggleborns this year. You'd think people would wise up and close ranks after the war. It’s such a chore to shop here anymore.”

Jamie and Clara both looked to see three slightly older boys in expensive looking robes. “Come on, let’s get away from here,” Clara said.

Once they were away, Jamie stopped walking to discuss it, clearly shaken out of his happy mood, “but that's not even right, right? Tom riddle, though he was of an ancient family, was a half blood. And that should be public knowledge now. So it's not like it's muggleborns are the ones causing any problems.”

“Whether they supported Voldemort or not they are clearly blood purists, and that is still a problem here,” Clara said.

“Wait,” Jamie realized, “that's assuming the Harry potter series is accurate. McGonagall already said that it has Gryffindor bias, so it’s known to not be fully correct. We should get a history book!”

The two of them walked down the street and entered the first bookshop they saw. There were sets of Hogwarts required textbooks bound in thick brown ribbon, stacked in piles according to year. You could barely see the normal bookshelves behind them. They moved further into the shop to find someone who worked there. Eventually they found an older woman with too many necklaces and a shabby robe.

“Excuse me,” said Jamie, “could you point us to books on the last, uh, wizarding war I guess you would call it? In the 1990s?”

The woman shook her head sadly. “Dark times, dark times. Muggle-borns I take it? Good on you to understand the world you’re coming into. Hogwarts doesn’t teach enough history, that’s for sure. If you two inquisitive children wish, I can give you more on history than just that era. As for the wizarding war, indeed it was one in every sense of the word, including the loss of life. It is a tricky subject. It's a topic that has been written about by many, but you have to know who you can trust to tell it like it was. Fortunately you have me here to help sift through the dreck. Here, take Barthold Pomperchute and Lady Malfoy’s books both, to start.”

“Narcissa Malfoy?” asked Clara. “Can you really trust what she says?”

The woman continued, “Oh yes, my girl, for she turned before the end. And her book is all the more informative as she was right there in He-who-must-not-be-named’s presence when all the major decisions were made.” She took one additional book from the shelf and then walked over to the desk. She started writing out a receipt. “This book will serve you well - it’s a global approach to the history of magic, stuff they don’t teach at Hogwarts but they should. How can you teach a history of magic without ever mentioning the contribution of the centaurs, goblins, and what humans learned from the lesser magical beasts? The Hogwarts library is the third largest in Britain, but most of the books are old rubbish full of wrong information. This will at least start to set you straight.” She put a receipt in front of them. “Total seven galleons, three sickles, including your school books.”

While Clara handled the purse, Jamie took the book and read the title, Magic’s Unknown Origins by Tomasius Glaube. The title didn’t offer many answers, only a promise that the origins were still unknown.

“Don’t forget to take a pack of school books from the stack on your way out,” the woman, said, dismissing them to help another student.

Chapter Text

Back on the lively street, Clara and Jamie continued discussing the wizarding war in excited tones.

“It was so weird to hear her actually say ‘He-who-must-not-be-named,’” Clara said.

“Yeah,” Jamie concurred, “funny that muggles the world over say ‘Voldemort’ without caring, just because it’s easier. Do you think that if she is still afraid to say his name, she thinks he might come back?”

“I don’t want to think about that possibility. We’ve already seen that he would have ready followers.”

Their arms were overloaded with the changes of clothes, the books, and the wand boxes as they continued down the street, marveling as many shops displayed their wares with magical moving advertisements. One shop in particular was over the top with the gaudy decorations reaching to the third story of the building, in all different colors. Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, said the sign in glowing neon. Though, as Jamie had to remind himself, it was not neon – it was magic.

“Oh my god, it’s real. Fred and George were two of my favorite characters, we have to go!” said Clara.

“But look at the line,” Jamie said, dismayed.

The line disappeared around a corner it was so long. The two of them went closer to the entrance to have a look inside. It was beyond expectations. There was so much going on it was hard to tell what was even happening. What was for sale and what was just for show?

A young girl at the front of the line, near the door, started complaining to her parents. “I can’t wait to get inside. We’ve been here almost an hour and I’m freezing!”

“An hour? Ok, definitely count me out,” said Clara.

“Yeah, we’re friggin wizards now and can come back to Diagon Alley whenever we want. We don’t have to wait in line today.” Jamie put his finger up, “I just thought of something weird.”

“What?” asked Clara.

“Did that girl just say she was freezing?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, isn’t she a friggin wizard too?”

Clara gave Jamie a disapproving look. “I think she would contest the friggin part, but yes, and so are her parents it looks like.”

“Ok, that’s it, what’s the point of being a wizard if I ever have to be cold? I’m going to start a list of spells that I should know. Like, how about waving my wand to do the dishes. That has to be number one to learn before we leave school for the summer.”

Clara nods, “makes sense… but you know what that means. We need stationary!”

Jamie, well familiar with Clara’s weakness for stationary, for once agreed to go and buy as much as they needed for the upcoming school year. “And speaking of inconveniences, how are we to carry the rest of our stuff? My arms are already burning under the weight of these books.”

“Well,” Clara responded, “the list mentioned every student should have a trunk. But I can’t imagine dragging a trunk around for the next hour is better than what we’re currently doing.”

“Maybe the trunk is magical,” said Jamie.

The two of them continued down the street, passing another owl shop, a broomstick shop with a dozen young boys crowded around the window, a cauldron shop which they noted to return to later (how is an 11 year old supposed to carry a cauldron around?) and finally a sort of general furniture and home goods store that looked promising for trunks. Upon entering the store, they quickly realized that they couldn’t possibly afford any sort of magical trunk. The shop keeper directed them across the street and five doors down to a thrift shop.

The thrift shop owner, a fat man with red hair who barely fit in the aisles between the mounds of unsorted goods, welcomed them warmly. “I know you have good taste,” he said, “since you came into this shop. And let me tell you that those with good taste know where to satisfy that taste, which is here, at my flavorful shop full of items from all around the world! Or a hundred mile radius of here. I am Rosut and I also have good taste, which you can tell because I taste you well. I mean I like you, and I have good taste.”

Jamie didn’t think the flavor metaphor worked that well as he gazed around at the piles of lamps, dishes, armoires, sinks, hutches, tables, tea sets, and robes.

“What do you think is the difference between a thrift shop and a shop full of magical artifacts?” the man continued. “The prices! And of course our stuff doesn’t have powerful enchantments. If it did, I would sell it to the aforesaid artifact shop for a big bag of galleons.”

Having been mostly ignoring the man’s rambling and focusing on the array of goods on display, Clara turned to the man and said “we need trunks,” though her eyes darting around said that she wished she could buy much more than a trunk. “But how can we carry them? Do you deliver?”

“Oh, do not worry! I know your predicament. You are starting at Hogwarts this year?”

Jamie and Clara both nodded.

“Pick the trunk you like and I shall hover it for you. A temporary hover, but at least it will get you home. This is Rosut’s special service to young Hogwarts students, tell all your friends!”

They spent more than half an hour in the shop and it was difficult to resist buying a large number of magical doo-dads. Every third object they picked up would start glowing, whizzing, humming, or some other interesting behavior, but often the purpose was not clear. A magical lamp was obvious. A leather billfold that made a cracking noise when you opened it didn’t. The furniture, though, was lovely. In a shabby way, that needed restoring, but solid wood and vintage. After some digging they found several trunks and could make their pick of style. They purchased a medium sized trunk with brass latches for Jamie and a slightly larger one with silver latches for Clara. The total was just under three galleons, and they paid an extra five knuts to have them personalized on a small name plate below the front face. They loaded their clothes and books into the trunks, and the shop keeper cast a temporary hover charm on them. They said goodbye to the shop keeper in a way that said, yes, we are not just being polite when we say we will come back some time.

Moving much faster down the street with their hands free, Clara and Jamie went through the rest of their checklist from the acceptance letter. A cauldron, quills, a set of phials, a folding wooden case for potion supplies, a telescope, scales, dragonhide gloves, and several other minor items. Jamie picked up a folding notebook for his “useful spell” journal but couldn’t find a non-quill pen that didn’t require an ink pot. He took out a muggle ballpoint pen and wrote “dishes,” “hover charm,” and “cold protection” on the first page. Clara realized that they were not required to purchase any stationary for school, but loaded up on it anyway. They were a little disappointed to find that they couldn’t afford anything fancy – not an endless ink quill, a self-stirring cauldron, break resistant crystal phials, or anything enchanted. But they completed their list with only spending 170 of the 200 galleons they were given. They decided to get ice creams.

“I guess that’s it,” said Jamie, trying to talk while preventing his giant sundae from dripping out of the tall malt glass. A small man skated around the rim of the glass as he ate, sometimes doing a pirouette.

“What now? I kind of don’t want to go home, even though it’s been over three hours,” said Clara. “Can we just live here for the next month instead of going back to our apartment?”

“We have hardly any more wizard money though,” Jamie reminded her.

“I wonder if we can get jobs, like waiting tables just to pay rent.”

“Maybe if we weren’t looking eleven years old.”

Clara was a little put out by Jamie’s lack of willingness for what she saw as a little bit of exciting risk and adventure, but conceded the point. “Ok, well, should we visit the bank and see how much we can exchange our dollars for galleons? Our bank accounts are pretty fat right now.”

“Yeah.” Jamie agreed.

Chapter Text

Over the next month, in between games, music, video calls back home, and trying to find the best restaurants in their area, Clara and Jamie paged their school books together. The two books on the wizarding war started a lot of arguments as they each picked one to read first. Clara started with Narcissa Malfoy’s book and Jamie took the Pomperchute. Without realizing what they were doing, they each took the side of the book they were reading, and the books disagreed on many points.

After a lot of putting the puzzle pieces together between the two sources, Jamie felt like he was starting to understand. “Well, the fundamental details of the muggle books are true: Godric’s Hollow, the killing curse, horcruxes, Harry Potter and Tom Riddle both being descendents of the Peverell brothers... but it sounds like a lot of the characters were portrayed as caricatures of themselves. Like the Dursleys weren't so comically anti-magic and not so mean as all that, but they didn't really support Harry either, and Arthur Weasley wasn't quite so stupid about muggle stuff. And it's not clear from these books if Harry did assemble the three Deathly Hallows or not, it's only mentioned in one book as a possible rumor, although he definitely has the Peverell cloak of invisibility. But that whole business with the elder wand, which drives a lot of the plot in the muggle versions, is not really in any of these wizard accounts, except again as a rumor where it says it's not possible that HP snapped it in half, since it’s such a powerful artifact.” He became more sober after the excited delivery of his summary. “But the reality of twenty percent of all wizards of age being killed in the span of three years... that's shocking when it's not some fictional book but real people that you're reading about. That's bubonic plague levels of death. Basically every wizard you meet today has dead friends and family and that's gotta mess them up. I guess if we want more details we have to go to the source and ask Harry potter himself.” He gave a little laugh. “I was not being serious about meeting him but think of this – HP is still alive! We literally could ask him ourselves.”

Clara agreed. “Wow, just the fact that Harry’s actually out there somewhere in England, probably within a hundred miles of us, is unfathomable.”

“But so where is Harry potter's book?” asked Jamie, “are there interviews with him?”

“Well,” answered Clara, “if his personality is like in the books it would not be surprising that he never set down his own version. I'm sure he would think nothing of taking all that knowledge to the grave.”

“That’s assuming that something from the muggle books is true though: his personality,” said Jamie.

“Something I found interesting,” continued Clara, “was that whole thing about allegiance of wands being basically unknown until Harry figures it out, and then it becomes a huge plot point. The way this Malfoy book tells it, the problem with the allegiance of Draco and Snape’s wands did become critical at the end, just as told in the books. But if they made that mistake in the nineties, then wand allegiance must not have been a known thing. Though now it’s common knowledge?”

Jamie nodded. “That’s something we could actually try out if we were allowed to do any magic.”

Clara sighed. “Ugh, I know, it’s killing me that I have a wand in the trunk in the bedroom but I can’t even use it yet! I don’t know how I’ll hold out until September.”

“Getting to Hogwarts is going to be so amazing. I don’t even know what I will do first. Think of this: the Chamber of Secrets is real and was opened. Although, tons of ministry people and professors have been down there so there’s probably nothing interesting to see.”

“Hey Jamie,” said Clara, smirking.

“What?”

“Yer a wizzard, Jamie!” said Clara, giving her best Hagrid impersonation.

“Yer a wizzard, Clara!” Jamie gave back.

Chapter Text

The bank was hard to miss, as obnoxiously gilt as it was, along with the ostentatious Gringott’s above the quadruple-door main entrance. Wizards and witches passed in and out rapidly, going about their business. Jamie and Clara entered carefully, doing their best to not be stepped on by the busy people.

The inside was even more ostentatious than the out. The word baroque did not do it justice; every section of wall, pillar, arch, and pilaster was covered in intricate carvings. Some were gold, some silver, and rarely marble or wood. Sitting below this grandeur were two rows of wooden teller desks, perhaps thirty in total, and a goblin sitting at each one. Similar to the robe shop and book shop, there didn’t appear to be a queue and wizards simply pushed their way to the nearest available teller. Jamie and Clara started to fight their way forward, and after some time and effort ended up at the base of one of the desks. The goblin had to lean over to see them, since they were too short. The adult goblins were the same height as their ten year old sized bodies, but the desks were built to bring them eye to eye with adult humans.

“What is your business today?” the goblin asked brusquely, clearly unacquainted with modern standards of customer service.

“Well, uh,” Jamie started, not quite sure how the goblin bank might work, “we would like to exchange some muggle money for galleons – American money that is.”

The goblin responded drily, “the current rate is one galleon for thirteen thousand two hundred and sixty three dollars. How much will you be exchanging?”

Jamie and Clara’s jaws simultaneously dropped and neither of them knew what to say to the goblin. “Did you say thirteen thousand dollars?” Jamie asked.

“Yes, thirteen thousand, two hundred and sixty three. The exchange rate has been increasing by less than one percent per year for decades; it is a standard rate.” The goblin gave them a look like they were being weird for reacting at all to what was quite common knowledge.

Clara turned to Jamie, “so, our entire savings is going to buy us what, a dozen galleons?”

Jamie thought back over the day. “That means we spent today, umm…” He started to do mental math.

Clara came to his line of thinking before he finished calculating. “We paid, maybe, forty thousand dollars for those trunks. Those non-magical trunks we could have bought for what, a couple hundred dollars each in a muggle shop?”

Jamie finished his mental estimates. “We were given two point six million dollars by McGonagall as a charity pittance. We spent two point two million of it, and have about four hundred thousand dollars left.”

“Oh my god, and the stationary!” Clara felt like she had won the lottery and accidentally thrown away the ticket. “And the the most expensive ice cream I’ve ever had.”

“What was it McGonagall said?” Jamie continued, “that muggle money is easily counterfeited and so no wizard wants it, and only galleons have any value?”

“So, are you rethinking getting some wizard job and spending the summer in Diagon Alley?” Clara half teased Jamie, still thinking it was impossible since they were supposed to be eleven and probably wouldn’t be able to do anything of the sort.

Jamie nodded, “wow, we could retire after just working five years in a minimum wage magical job and buy a friggin muggle mansion, or castle, with an attached forest, and never work again.”

“Or our own island?” countered Clara, thinking of the sun after the rainy English weather of the last month and a half.

Jamie’s scientific mind kept trying to make sense of the matter. “I guess the point is, that if a wizard wanted their own island they wouldn’t need to worry about muggle money to get it. But you can only buy wizard stuff with wizard money, so wizards just don’t want muggle money.”

“We’ll need galleons to get us through seven years at Hogwarts,” Clara said, returning from her daydreams to her usual practical self.

Jamie’s eyes lit up as he thought. “But we shouldn’t change our dollars, we should put it in the stock market probably, until we really need it. We won’t hardly touch it at least until the summer.”

Clara turned to the goblin. “Excuse me, mister…”

“Iron-reg”

“Mister Iron-reg. Could you please let us know what our options are. Do you only have bank accounts? Do they have interest? Checking? Is there a wizard stock market?”

Iron-reg was obliging which was surprising after his short manner and insulting tone to start, but apparently he took his job seriously. “At Gringotts we have vaults. No interest. You own the vault after an initial payment, two hundred galleons for minimum security, which,” he smiled his goblin smile, “is still considerable. There is no cap; some vaults are bought for millions. There is no central exchange like muggles have, but investments in business are common enough.”

Realizing that they had no money to even open a wizard bank account, Jamie became more curious in the goblin owned bank. He probably would have pestered the goblin for hours about different investment and financial products, but Clara pulled him away after only learning that loans and venture capital were, in fact, a wizard thing too, but the wizarding world was missing pretty much the entire financial industry.

Leaving the bank, Jamie and Clara felt chillier as the sun had temporarily gone behind a cloud.

“Want to go home?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” Clara nodded.

The two of them led their floating trunks full of school supplies back towards the pub from the beginning of the day. The street felt as festive as ever and their spirits became bright watching the wizards shop, street vendors yell, and children exclaim over entertainment and toys. Jamie felt especially rich knowing they had trunks full of books to devour once they got back to the flat. Clara was feeling like she truly was a young witch, walking down the magical lane with her black robes and wand in her pocket.

They found the big old wizard from the morning quickly enough, though the tavern was so dark inside that they had to go table to table. There was no way to see his face at any distance. He was tipsy and laughing with some other grizzled wizards and witches. He didn’t want to go at first, but on looking at Jamie and Clara’s impatient faces he stood up and threw some coins on the table. They went back out to the street together.

Clara and Jamie were delighted when he led them to the end of the Alley and into none other than the Leaky Cauldron. Clara literally squealed with delight until she caught herself. The inside of the Leaky Cauldron turned out to be like any other several hundred year old pub you might find in London, although it was peopled with shadier looking characters than most. The wizard ushered them through quickly and they barely got a chance to look at the heavy wood bar, low ceiling with thick criss-crossed planks, and patrons shrouded in dark corners. Too soon, they were back out on the street. It was an ordinary-seeming London street. Cars and buses drove by or stopped at the light on the corner. Ruining the wizard vibe, a Starbucks was fifty feet away. The contrast was jarring and they suddenly felt awkward in their black wizard robes while leading floating trunks.

“Whoops, let me fix this,” the wizard said, and pulled out his wand. “Finite incatatum!” he said twice, canceling both hover charms on the trunks. The trunks fell heavily on the sidewalk, thudding and scraping. “Well, here you are. You can get home from here?” he asked.

“What?” Jamie said, incredulous, “from some random street in London? Can’t you teleport us again?”

“Nope, can’t do it,” the wizard responded in his somewhat raspy and deep voice. “The portkey to Diagon Alley was set up but I don’t have any portkey to your flat.”

“Well, whatever,” Jamie said. Adjusting back to the muggle way of thinking, he pulled out his cell phone and checked the map. “We’re maybe forty minutes from home by car,” he told Clara.

“Ok, can we hire a car?” Clara asked the wizard.

“Dunno how the muggle world works,” he responded. He shrugged and started walking away down the street, swaying slightly left and right. When he was halfway down the block he turned to yell at them one last time. “And remember! No magic until yeh get to Hogwarts!” He moved his fist in a way that would probably have been menacing if it wasn’t so slow and uncoordinated. “They’ll come after yeh if yeh do, don’t be messin’ around.”

Clara was aghast. She turned to Jamie, “what about the Statute of Secrecy includes yelling down a public street?” she asked in a huff.

Jamie did an internet search and found they could get a cab all the way home. It took almost half an hour to hail a cab. When they were finally outside their apartment, it was late evening and they were exhausted. The cab driver was polite and jovial, but even he had been rude enough to leave their heavy trunks on the sidewalk and it was left to Jamie and Clara to drag them into the house. They found they couldn’t and resorted to making many trips, almost emptying the trunks before moving them inside.

“Wow, it’s weird being this small,” Jamie remarked. “In my normal body this would have been no problem at all.”

“And how rude was that guy! Just leaving us, two ten year olds, on a street in London, with nothing! And I realized in the cab that he never told us his name.”

“And the cab trip cost us over a hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Yeah! Though I would be more angry if I didn’t have half a million dollars in this little sack!” Clara said as she jangled the small black bag of galleons, sickles, and knuts. She gave Jamie a look, then giggled at the absurdity of galleons.

Jamie couldn’t help but start laughing too, and all the stress wore off.

Chapter Text

Used to postgraduate schooling and self study, both Clara and Jamie managed to skim through their books within a few weeks. Clara found it trivial after the rigor of medical school, and Jamie took the extra effort to start outlining notes on his laptop as he read. The books on potions and herbs were quite dry and difficult to digest without any practical application. The book on charms and transfiguration were more interesting, but after a while it was like reading a cookbook cover to cover. Boring if you didn’t have a kitchen. The books were not nearly as fun without being able to pick up a wand. Jamie tried to discern some fundamental principles of potion and charm making from the books, but didn’t get far. There was no obvious underlying system when comparing the words and wand movement of different charms. Using the internet as a Latin dictionary, it was clear that the spells were, in fact, a weird sort of fake Latin/English hybrid. That meant two hundred miles away in Paris they could be learning totally different spell incantations.

Upon finding out the rules of spells couldn’t be universal, Jamie’s reaction was “oh my god, this is why I hated high school chemistry. It’s memorization without any sort of framework.”

Clara’s reaction was, “whatever, this is exactly like medical school.”

Far from a stodgy month spent indoors, they found plenty of time to hang out in cafés, find the best bakery in the neighborhood, and explore England as far as they could easily get by bus.

One particularly bright afternoon they were sitting in a café relaxing, having left their magic books at home in the interest of The Secret.

Jamie sipped his cocoa, having felt too weird to order coffee since he was supposed to be ten, and ten year olds don’t usually like coffee. Plus he was on vacation and didn’t need constant caffeine. Plus it was extremely difficult to get good coffee; most places had excellent tea and coffee as an afterthought that was slightly better than swill. “Well, we have a week left and no more books to read. We should have bought more books.”

“Can we get back to Diagon Alley?” Clara asked, putting down her Yorkshire tea, which had become her favorite.

“I’m just realizing how isolated we are. We couldn’t send an owl to McGonagall if we wanted to. The best thing I can think of would be to wander London looking for anything magical, and then use whatever wizard we happened across to connect us to the rest of wizarding society.”

“We’re probably surrounded by wizards but with no way to get to them,” Clara wondered.

“Oh yeah,” Jamie said, “I remember in the books they frequently had things hidden so that muggles would look away, but they were obvious to wizards. Or, like, you had to be told first by a secret-keeper?”

“Well it’s only one more week,” said Clara. “Am I even going to sleep this week? I’m way too excited for Hogwarts.”

“It might be our last chance to watch TV until next summer. Want to get a movie?”

“Instead,” said Clara, “let’s walk around the neighborhood and see if we can find any magical stuff.”

They walked for two hours until they went home for dinner, finding nothing magical except a beautiful sunny day with no responsibilities.

Chapter Text

The day finally arrived. September 3rd, a rainy Sunday. Jamie and Clara woke up in a London hotel on the Thames, three quarters of a mile from Waterloo station where they would soon be heading to catch the Hogwarts Express. They cuddled in the morning, acutely aware that they would soon be separated into different beds in order to maintain their fake identities. Due to the rain and just for fun, they ordered room service of a full English breakfast and tea service. It arrived on bright stainless trays and they ate it in bed while watching the early morning Thames water traffic.

Too soon it was time to pack their trunks and leave to be sure they didn’t miss the 10 AM train departure. Over the last two days they had packed and moved all their belongings from their flat to storage and ended their lease. Everything they owned in the world was in the trunks at their feet or in a 5x5x5 foot cube somewhere in North London. Jamie and Clara ceremoniously tucked their wedding bands that they wore as necklaces under their clothes, feeling a sense of loss. Once they walked out the door they would have to pretend to just be friends for nine months. They had packed everything into their trunks including two extra sets of muggle clothes besides the one they wore. They headed out the door towing their trunks.

Clara had searched online and bought two rolling carts that they used to maneuver their trunks into the elevator and out the lobby of the hotel. With the cauldron and other supplies, their trunks easily outweighed themselves by double.

Jamie looked at the dismal sky from underneath the hotel’s porte cochère. “Well, I was hoping for a walk along the Thames to Waterloo, but maybe we should take the Underground. There’s an entrance a block away and we can get off right in Waterloo.”

It took extra time to find the elevator to the Underground, and then they had to take the elevator one by one since their trunks wouldn’t fit at the same time. Twenty minutes later, they were in Waterloo. The underground left them off in a maze of tunnels that connected to other lines.

“What is it, platform 9 ¾?” Jamie wondered aloud.

“Nope, remember, McGonagall said to meet some Mr. Frindley outside of Saint John’s Church. Also, wow,” she said, shaking her head, “good for you that I’m here or you’d just wander the station until you missed the train.”

“So where is Saint John’s Church?” asked Jamie.

“I dunno, pull out your phone.”

Jamie took out his phone, checked the map, and found the church across the street. “Thank God for the internet,” said Jamie.

“You can’t thank him today, we have to be on the train before mass starts at Saint John’s,” Clara said snarkily.

They struggled in the labyrinth to find the elevators and get outside, but eventually they found themselves across the wide street from the church. Cars and lorries drove by rapidly and there was no pedestrian crossing posted. They were forced to walk back towards the station to cross and the return on the other side. Saint John’s was was built in a classic-revival London style, one of the post-war reconstructions when optimism and civic pride resulted in massive investment in civil architecture. Outside of the church it was still raining lightly. There was only one person standing in the small plaza, holding a pack of flyers.

“Do you think that’s him?” Jamie asked Clara.

“Look, his clothes are totally mismatched, in era as well as color, and he’s clearly not handing out any flyers since there’s a the total lack of pedestrians here in the rain. He’s totally a wizard.”

As they approached, it became obvious that his clothes were Victorian or older; he looked as conspicuous as an anime cosplayer.

“Excuse me,” said Clara, “are you Mr. Frindley?”

To Clara’s surprise, the man responded angrily. “What!? This again? Is this some sort of prank? Who is Mr. Frindley?”

“Uhh… nevermind,” said Jamie, and the two of them walked quickly away, still trailing their huge trunks. They took shelter under a small stand of trees set in the plaza where they would be protected from the rain.

They were still wondering what to do when an average looking man in a business suit sidled up to them. “I am Mr. Frindley,” he whispered. “Sorry about the mix up. Especially sorry to two first years.”

Jamie turned to look – the man had a friendly enough round face and a big umbrella held at his side. “So you know how to get to… the train?” he said awkwardly, not having had any spy training except for watching dozens of Hollywood movies.

“The entrance is not through the platform wall anymore, if you’re aware of those books,” the man said, clearly not a fan of a set of children’s books that made him stand out in the rain and apologize to a young wizard and witch. “As you walk down platform 13, in the beginning of the covered section, turn this card over and over in your right hand. Before you reach the end of the platform you’ll find yourself on platform 13 ½ with the Hogwarts Express. If it doesn’t work, try again from the beginning of the platform.” He handed them each a card that fit easily into their small hands.

Jamie took the card and looked at it – it had a complicated design on one side and a stylized Hogwarts logo on the other. “Thanks.”

Clara nodded her thanks as well and they started off, worried because it was already past nine in the morning.

It took them fifteen minutes to return to the station and find platform thirteen, ending up essentially where they had been before being forced to leave to find the church. Platform thirteen looked like any other platform, not magical at all. It was a plain concrete walkway under a huge ironwork covering, under the same roof and parallel to other platforms. The platform extended far, out into the open air, and was wet past the covered section. There was a modern, boxy steel-clad train waiting on one side and a small amount of people on the platform itself.

“Ok, do you want to go first or should I?” asked Jamie.

“Silly, we’ll do it together!” Clara responded.

They started to walk forward, each lugging their huge trunks on rollers with their left hands and spinning the card in their right. Passing the halfway point with no obvious magic happening, Jamie wondered if they had done it wrong.

Then it happened – slowly at first, their vision appeared to be blurry in places, and then doubled. In ten more steps the platform around them resolved into something different. There were no more electronic signs, no more electric compacting trash cans, and the benches were antique looking. Not only that, but a train loomed large in front of them – the Hogwarts Express , according to the name blazoned on every car. The engine was black and red with twin steam pipes coming out of the top. The platform was busy but mostly the train itself was busy with children visible through almost every window. There were families on the platform saying goodbye to their children and a group of friends catching up and slapping each other on the back, some in black wizard robes but many in muggle clothing.

A porter in a sharp red and black suit with brass buttons extended his hand, “may I assist you with your trunks?”

Jamie and Clara smiled at each other and got on the train.

The first thing they noticed on the train was that most were wearing their robes already. The porter had helped them to lift their trunks on to the train but then left to help somebody else. This left them to drag their massive trunks through the narrow train hallway which ran down the center of the train. On each side of the hallway was a row of windowed doors leading to semi private rooms. Each room would seat six or eight depending on how close you were willing to sit.

Jamie and Clara continued walking past full compartments full of chatting and yelling children of all ages. In one car, kids were grouped around what looked like a game board in a briefcase with moving characters and bright sparks that resulted in cries of joy and dismay. Some older children were arguing over an opened school book, wands out as they practiced some spell. Everyone seemed happy to see their friends after the long summer.

They had to lug their trunks through three cars before they found a compartment they could use. The only occupants were two older kids, sitting apart and not talking – fourteen or fifteen years old, third or fourth or fifth year? thought Jamie. One was reading and one was staring out the window.

“Excuse me, can we sit here?” Jamie asked, his voice sounding higher pitched than he would have liked.

The one kid who was reading actually got up to make space to welcome them in. “First years?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie.

“You can change into your robes in the bathroom at the end of the car,” the boy said. “And next time, you can drop your trunk at the end of the platform and they’ll load it for you. Though you won’t see it until you get to your room at Hogwarts.”

“Thanks again,” said Jamie. “I’m Jamie by the way.”

“And I’m Clara,” said Clara.

“Renard,” said the boy.

Throughout this exchange the other boy sat in the corner, looking out the window at the tracks and other platforms and saying nothing. Jamie and Clara rolled their trunks into the cabin, barely maneuvering them around the corner. They took turns changing in the bathroom, which was fortunately the private single-use type and relatively spacious for a train car bathroom. Finally they were settled in their compartment. Renard helped them lift their trunks onto the overhead rack.

As the train started to pull out of the station, Jamie couldn’t help but cry out, “I can’t believe we’re going to HOGWARTS!” Somehow the act of being on the train, leaving the station, surrounded by other children all wearing robes, finally made it all seem real in his mind. He had spent the last three months internally wondering if it was all some sort of messed up dream but never voicing his fears.

Renard laughed, “Hogwarts is a special place. I’m sure you’ll love it there, though I must say, watch out for Professor Ardivat.”

“Ardivat?” asked Clara, “what does he teach?”

“Oh that’s right, you won’t have him first year. He teaches upper level transfiguration,” Renard responded. “He is ruining my chances at high transfiguration OWLs. Maybe I don’t care though,” he finished with a sigh.

“Owls?” said Clara.

“Yeah, Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Don’t worry about that now, you’ll take it after fifth year. I’ll take it this spring.”

They continued to chat with Renard about his favorite classes and teachers, and within thirty minutes they started to see more fields and trees out of the window. As they left London the rain stopped and the sun peeked through the clouds.

The sun changing Clara’s mood, Clara turned to Jamie and spoke in a quieter voice, just to him. “Wow, how is it that we are a witch and wizard? It seems so… magical. I don’t know how to express myself without sounding corny, but it is all so wonderful.”

Jamie nodded, “yes, it is strange and…”

Just then, a pounding sounded on their door. It slid open with a bang and four older boys and two girls crowded in, making the compartment cramped. “Rienzel!” yelled the one in front. The boy who had been sitting by the window jumped up in a flash, a sneer on his face.

“Going back to Hogwarts, Rienzel?” said one of the girls in a mocking tone.

“I thought maybe we wouldn’t see you this year,” chimed in the other girl.

“That would have been nice,” said another one of the boys.

At this provocation, Rienzel grew angry. “My mother —”

“Your mother what?” said a boy.

“Get him!” said the first boy.

After a short scuffle, Rienzel managed to escape and started running away down the corridor. The team of six followed him. Renard ran out the compartment door and down the hallway the other direction. He called back to them on his way out, “I need to get a prefect! Stay here, you don’t need to get involved, there’s nothing you can do as a first year!”

The door slid shut. Suddenly Jamie and Clara were alone. The compartment was quiet but their nerves were electric.

“What was that about?” Clara asked, her voice unsteady.

Jamie put his head in his hands. “I hope Rienzel is ok. That is messed up, they went after him while he was just sitting there!”

“Did you notice?” asked Clara.

“Notice what?” said Jamie.

Clara explained, “those older kids were wearing red and gold – Gryffindor colors. And Rienzel was wearing yellow, Hufflepuff colors. The bullies were Gryffindors.”

“Maybe Rienzel deserved it. I don’t know. It still seems messed up, I don’t care if they’re Gryffindors.” Then Jamie’s eyes widened in realization, “Renard, the one running for a prefect, was wearing green — Slytherin.”

“Strange,” Clara agreed. “Gryffindor bullies and a Slytherin hero.” She mused for a bit and then asked, “what house do you think we’ll be in?”

Jamie felt confident. “Look, we’re a doctor and a scientist. I’m almost certainly going to be in Ravenclaw, so if you also sort into Ravenclaw then we’ll be together.”

“I can’t imagine not being together,” Clara said, worried. “That would mean separate classes, separate dorms, and we would only see each other maybe on weekends!”

“Yes, a weird way to start a marriage, living separately,” Jamie said, “but it’s already been weird, this whole summer.”

“I love you more than ever, Jamie. James Alexander Morneau,” said Clara.

“I love you too, Clara Beatrice Morneau.”

“It’s also going to be weird not sharing a last name. It didn’t even last two months,” Clara said wistfully.

“We still share it, it’s just going to be a secret from certain people for seven years. Our friends and family back in the US still know we are married. Jamie pulled out his cell phone and took some photos out the window of the train at the beautiful countryside. Do you know what, I’m kind of getting tired of James Coddington III. What if I were James Hardiff? I want something practical, that no one would take notice to.”

“Hardiff sounds pretty normal to me.”

“Ok, then that’s settled,” Jamie concluded.

They had to stop talking as they entered a station and stopped, many more students getting on. Looking out the window the sign said Oxford. Jamie wondered aloud how many stops there were; he thought it was a direct trip, but just as Jamie had said that the door of their compartment swished open. Jamie quickly hid his phone in his robes, worried after the bad experience in Diagon Alley. Two girls in standard black wizard robes came in, not old but definitely older than Jamie and Clara’s supposed age. One was taller and had straight black hair without a single strand out of order. The other was a brunette with wild wavy locks and unkempt robes to match. They made a funny pair.

“Sorry, we desperately need to sit here,” said the girl with black hair. “I cannot sit in that cabin with that obnoxious Danny any longer.”

“So obnoxious,” her friend agreed.

“So, are you two first-years?” the first girl continued.

“Yes, we’re first-years,” Clara said. “My name is Clara.”

“Well, let me give you some advice, Clara,” the black haired girl continued, “and don’t get stuck on one boy your first year. Boys change, and you don’t know who’s going to turn out to be a total nitwit, like Danny.”

“Uh, ok,” Clara said, unsure of how to respond because even when she was truly eleven years old she was never the chatty, gossipy, girly type. Continuing her train of thought from before the girls came in, she asked them, “which House are you in?”

“I’m Gryffindor,” the black haired girl said quickly.

“We’re both Gryffindors,” the other girl agreed.

Apparently uninterested in talk of Houses, the two girls turned to have their own loud conversation about boys and girls they knew, catching up on gossip from over the summer, and speculating who would take who to the Halloween ball that year.

More stations passed with fewer and fewer students getting on each time – Lincoln, York, and between York and Newcastle the snack cart came by. The prices were cheap, a few knuts a snack, so they made sure to buy a grand assortment, delighting in chocolate frogs that truly jumped and something like pop rocks but that made your whole mouth sizzle and snap.

Glasgow passed and Jamie and Clara wished they could have their own conversation, but what they wanted to talk about were things that should be kept secret from the other Hogwarts students. They were forced to leave a lot unsaid and discuss their textbooks and classes and the beautiful scenery outside the window. The view slowly transitioned from farm lands to the scruffy rolling hills and forests of Scotland, dotted with lakes. Towards the end of the trip they held each others’ hand, resulting in a few quick stares by the two girls in the cabin.

Too long and also too soon, the train began to slow and they watched the Hogsmeade platform pass slowly by as the long train pulled all the way to the end. They looked out at a small stone building with a ticket and waiting area, and a dense forest beyond in all directions.

Chapter Text

The sun had almost entirely set when the train pulled up to the station and stopped. The brakes screeched loudly and the cloud of steam following the engine appeared to finally catch up and envelope it. The doors opened simultaneously all down the line and kids spilled out onto the platform. Jamie and Clara were in the middle of the crowd. They stepped out to see, surprisingly, mainly forest. The station was a long raised platform that stretched the whole length of the massive train, with a small shelter of cut stone with glass windows, green trim, and a clock tower in the center.

“Firs’ years over here!” came a voice from one end of the platform. Almost all the students moved off in the other direction, years-long friends chatting about their summer breaks, talking loudly and excitedly. “Firs’ years over here!” came the voice again. As the platform cleared, the smallest students were left behind. Most were looking nervous instead of excited and quite awkward in their robes — as if this was their first time wearing them. There were about one hundred in all, and they barely spoke to one another as they grouped together loosely around the source of the voice, an enormous man. The man’s beard alone was longer than some of the children, and wider than them too. Their trunks were taken and stacked at the side of the platform.

“I wish I could grow a beard like that,” Jamie whispered to Clara, but apparently not quietly enough as a boy next to them said, “hah, maybe in thirty years!” Feeling like he would have been the worst spy ever as he was already blowing his cover, Jamie chose to say nothing.

Clara giggled.

The large man continued, “My name is Hagrid.” He paused to beam at all of them. “And I want to welcome all of yeh to Hogwarts, the most wonderful place you could possibly be.”

“Is this Hogwarts or just a dingy forest?” a small voice said. Jamie and Clara couldn’t see who had done it, but it set off some giggles in the crowd.

“Well, you see,” Hagrid tried to start, “well, come with me and we’ll be at Hogwarts quicker than rumstringold sprouts in Spring.” He started walking down off the platform. The children followed him closely. After a five minute walk down a well worn and wide dirt path, the forest opened onto a lake. In the foreground were six long docks with boats on each side, patiently waiting even though they were not fastened. In the distance, across the lake, was Hogwarts in all its glory. It rose majestically above the lake, entirely of gray stone, with towers upon towers reaching high up to the sky and backed by snow capped mountains in the distance. The view was of red and orange light from the setting sun hitting obliquely from the left, highlighting the castle’s facets and features. The lower half was in shadow and as their gaze went down the walls became dark, lit only by thousands of little lights coming from its windows, and all flickering as if candlelit. At the base of the castle the ground sloped steeply to the lake and ended in a pier, boathouse, and quay.

“Well, get on in,” Hagrid gestured to the boats, ruining the moment of awe. For a moment, the students didn’t move, somewhat confused on how to approach the boats and get in without falling into the water. Eventually they moved forward and down the docks. Jamie and Clara went together and had to carefully let themselves down from the dock. Their short legs made it difficult to get into the deep boats. Fortunately, the boats did not rock at all or push away from the dock as their weight transferred into them. They sat down, about six to a boat on three benches, though not all boats were full and some kinds crammed in more than was necessary. In Jamie and Clara’s boat were two tiny boys, small even compared to the other eleven year olds. Jamie reckoned they may or may not be twins. The other two in their boat were a girl and boy who were both sitting as far apart as possible on their bench as if to prevent cooties. Hagrid oversaw the whole ordeal of the children boarding, tossing the timid ones directly into the boats. The whole time he was smiling as if he was proudly watching his own children, or perhaps ducklings he had raised as they took their first swim.

Jamie almost fell back off his bench as the boats lurched forward without warning. They sailed smoothly, without wind or oar, towards the castle the distance. The lake was calm with only small waves breaking the reflection of the castle in the water. Jamie and Clara could hear some students in the other boats talking, but everyone in their boat was silent, in awe as the castle appeared closer and closer. The sun had fully set by this point, and the sheer scale of the castle became apparent as the tiny twinkling lights resolved more clearly into windows with views of rooms and hallways, but they couldn’t quite make out all the features at that distance. Sometimes a shadow would temporarily dim the light in one of the windows, someone passing by inside.

It took a good twenty minutes for them to reach the base of the castle, even going at the sustained clip the boats maintained. As the chilly end-of-summer lake wind blew into his robe, Jamie pulled out a small parchment notebook from a deep pocket and tried to add “wind-proof clothes” to his list of useful spells to learn ASAP. However, his ball point pen wouldn’t write anything. Slightly frustrated, he put the book and pen away as the boats arrived at the shore.

The children got out of the boats as awkwardly as they had gotten in and were met just off the stone piers by another bearded man with olive skin, though the man was of more human-scale proportions than Hagrid. His robes were well finished and spoke of wealth, and his accent was as crisp as his robes. “Welcome, students, to Hogwarts. I am Semari Yugotich, and all of you will see me in the next week for your first lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts. So now is your chance for first impressions – you should have been prepared.” He paused and surveyed the crowd of students, carefully scrutinizing each one before moving on. “You will find that Hogwarts is a place ruled by tradition, as is rightly so. The first such tradition is the Houses, and the Sorting. You will stand outside of the Great Hall and, when your name is called, walk, dignified, to the front of the hall and sit upon the chair, taking the Hat upon your head. The Hat will sort you, and you will join your House. After the sorting there will be some remarks, then dinner, and then you will go to your dorm and sleep early, for your classes start at eight thirty sharp tomorrow.”

Without waiting for questions, he turned on his heel and briskly started walking up the hill towards the castle, the students struggling to follow. The path was packed dirt, not steep but with a few switchbacks, sometimes stone steps, and lit all the way up by torches that barely lit the ground. It was only five minutes to the castle.

Jamie was feeling overwhelmed and nervous, but Clara turned to him and whispered, “wow, this is so cool!” making him immediately feel excitement return – this was Hogwarts!

They moved with the students up towards massive wooden doors which were standing open. Huge stone gargoyles flanked the doors, twice the height of a person. Inside, the entranceway was grand. Not grand in the sense of Louis XIV, there was no gold trimming anywhere, but grand as in solid, massive stone blocks that fit together without mortar, twenty foot vaulted ceilings, and lamps lighting the whole scene. Clara and Jamie were too busy looking up, left, and right to notice the path they took down some hallways to end at a second set of ornate double doors. Unlike the main entrance, these doors were, more practically, only one and a half times the height of a person. The professor raised his hand and the group of students paused, all whispering stopped.

Professor Yugotich opened the door on the right and the dim hallway was suddenly filled with loud sounds of children’s laughter and talking. The students couldn’t quite see through the doorway, but it sounded like a large hall was on the other side. He raised his hand as a signal to someone inside the hall. It took a couple of minutes for the sound coming through the door to mostly die down, and then came a booming woman’s voice, which Jamie and Clara recognized as McGonagall. It was amplified so that it echoed several times and sounded deeper than her normal voice.

“Alyssa Abernathy,” she said. A meek looking girl moved quickly to the front and reached the door.

“Dignified!” Professor Yugotich hissed.

Alyssa slowed her rapid walk and disappeared through the door. It took only fifteen seconds for another booming voice, male, to come through the doorway, “GRIFFINDOR!”

It was almost immediately followed by McGonagall again, “Thomas Chrispike.”

A boy pushed through from the back and went through the door, followed by “Hufflepuff!”

“Mildred Fransmueller”

“Ravenclaw!”

“I think they’re alphabetical so I’m coming up soon – my name is H,” Jamie told Clara and started moving to the front, but stopped when McGonagall’s voice came about thirty seconds later. “John Bardric!”

John was a fatter kid, but also tall. He walked into the hall.

“Griffindor!” came the second voice.

“Clara Evergrass!” was the next name called by McGonagall.

Clara was surprised and confused at first since Jamie had distracted her, but did a little jog to get to the door and started marching through it, nervous and jerky.

Clara passed through the door to sudden light and noise. It was a grand hall with a tall, cathedral-like ceiling and lit by thousands of floating candles. The interior was all gray stone, just like the rest of the castle. Clara had entered from the side of the room. She could feel a thousand eyes on her and quickly scanned left and right to take in the room. Straight ahead was a chair made of squared off wood, with arms, and a middle aged wizard standing next to it holding a huge, wide brimmed, and pointed hat. And next to that was McGonagall, a long piece of parchment in her hand. To Clara’s right was a table placed along the head of the room with older witches and wizards sitting at it, about twenty total. Professors , she thought. To her left, and down two steps which spanned the room, were four long tables packed with students. The tables stretched away from her down the hall. She couldn’t clearly see where the tables ended, they were so long. She remembered that there should be 500-700 students in total, if they were all here right now. Each of the four tables were decorated in colors of the House it represented and had flags hanging from the ceiling above it. Having recently re-read the Harry Potter books, the decorations felt familiar: green and silver for Slytherin, blue and bronze for Ravenclaw, red and gold for Gryffindor, and yellow and black for Hufflepuff. The seats nearest to the front were actually empty except for the first years who had already been sorted and seated. She could see the main entrance was at the back of the hall; the door she had just come through was smaller. She marched forward towards the hat, trying to be as dignified as Yugotich had demanded.

Clara approached the chair and the middle aged wizard holding the hat directed her to face out towards the crowd. Her nerves doubled as she was forced to look out and notice that she wasn’t imagining it, there really were a thousand eyes on her. The man put the hat on her head and it was surprisingly soft and comfortable, though it was a little too large for her. The floppy brim sagged on the sides. She barely had time to wonder if she was supposed to be doing something when she heard the booming male voice from earlier come from directly above her head – it was the voice of the Hat.

“Ravenclaw!”

The table of blue and bronze erupted into cheers and whoops as students stood up to invite her over to their table. The hat was snatched off her head by the man and she walked down the two short steps to the table of waiting students. They beamed and chanted, “Ravenclaw, Ravenclaw!” as they guided her to a seat. She was next to other first year boys and girls who had been just sorted before. The warm welcome made her smile, and her nerves relaxed as the next name was quickly called and the attention shifted off of her. She didn’t even have time to introduce herself to her neighbors before the next wizard was sorted into Slytherin, and cheers came from the table next to hers. She decided to sit quiet for now and watch the rest of the sorting. When the next child was again sorted into Ravenclaw, she joined in the welcome as warmly as she had received it – she was a Ravenclaw!

Back in the dimly lit hallway, unaware of anything except that Clara had been sorted into Ravenclaw, Jamie waited with growing anticipation as the number of students dwindled to under twenty left and he had yet to be called. The feeling he had back in the wand shop came back, of being an imposter and it being a mistake and maybe they would never call his name and he would stand out here awkwardly until he was eventually sent away from Hogwarts forever. At least Clara had been sorted into Ravenclaw – since his analytic brain would almost certainly put him there, they would be together for the next seven years. Nervous, he was paying rapt attention when his name was called.

“James Coddington the Third!” came McGonagall’s voice.

Oops , Jamie thought to himself. He had changed his name on the train but of course nobody knew that except Clara, leaving him stuck as James Coddington III.

He immediately headed out of the door and ran the first few steps before he suddenly remembered “dignified!” and slowed his pace. After having stood out in the hallway for more than forty minutes, he was overwhelmed by the brightness, noise, and general pageantry of the great hall. Compared to when Clara had come out, the hall was noisier and getting rowdy. Not surprising but the expected result of several hundred children being packed together and told to wait patiently for forty minutes. Jamie walked towards McGonagall and the man holding the hat. In his tunnel vision he barely noticed anything else in the room.

The man put the hat squarely on Jamie’s head. Jamie waited, his thoughts not formed into anything in particular, just uncertainty. After a good ten seconds, the hat called out from atop his head.

“Hufflepuff!”

Oh no! Jamie thought. The loser house! And I’m not with Clara! In his confusion, he looked up first for the blue and bronze of the Ravenclaw table to try and find Clara, but he couldn’t see her amongst the students. Turning towards the yellow and black of the Hufflepuffs, the next thought in his head was oh no, they’re going to make me wear yellow for the next seven years . He could see the beaming faces of the Hufflepuff students, cheering him and waving their arms for him to come on over. He felt a bit better to see them; they looked friendly and normal, not particularly loser-ish. The hat was taken off his head and he walked down to meet his new House-mates who patted him on the back and gave him a high-five. Taking his chair, Jamie again tried to look over to the Ravenclaw table but with the Gryffindors in the way, he couldn’t find Clara. He turned back to watch the sorting, knowing that there were not many students left.

Chapter Text

Finally, the door to the outer hallway shut; the last student had been sorted. It had taken almost an hour to sort everyone and you could tell even the older students were getting bored and antsy. McGonagall handed her parchment list of names to the man with the hat who took both items back to the head table while McGonagall turned to address the students. She pointed her wand at her throat and started to speak.

“Welcome students, new and old,” she began, and then waited for the chatting, laughter, and general noise to die down. The students in the back of the hall took the longest to quiet down as they hadn’t even realized the sorting had finished.

“This year marks an important threshold. For most of you, who were born of wizards, your parents lived through terrible times. Our society was shattered while they were in school here, or they arrived while we were picking up the pieces of our society and trying to move forward. It was a time that was almost the end of Hogwarts itself. Yet here we are today, teaching their children with the same care and attention we strove to provide them – though we may have failed in those trying times. The threshold we cross today is that, for the first time since that war, the number of new students surpasses the number from before the war. I am filled with gratitude and peace at this sign that those dark days are fading and being replaced with happier times and new life. For those of you new to Hogwarts, I hope that you come to find it a place of refuge and fond memories, as generations of students have before you, and as I feel myself. We will continue in our tradition to provide a home to those of all backgrounds and histories. If you have magical ability, you will find welcome at Hogwarts.”

After her speech, she paused for thirty seconds, somber with her eyes lowered. It felt like much longer as the weight of her words sunk in. To Jamie and Clara she appeared in prayer, but what religion did wizards have? Eventually she looked up and continued, now with a smile on her face.

“Final reminder – first years shall gather at the back of the hall after the feast. From there you will be led by your prefects to your Houses, and classes are first thing in the morning. Now let the feast begin!” She took her wand away from her throat and waved it in a complicated manner. Neither Jamie nor Clara could tell you what McGonagall did next because they were too distracted by the massive piles of food that appeared on the tables in front of them.

Jamie was relieved to see that none of the food looked like weird multi-eyed and tentacled magical monsters, and nothing was moving or alive. The wizarding world was turning out to be, well, normal in a lot of ways. After being used to the muggle world where there were pho restaurants on every corner, curries and samosas, fragrant vegetables on injera, and ramen being as common as hamburgers, it was almost weird how traditionally English the food was. Potatoes, roast beef, puddings, sausages, peas and carrots, a pie that turned out to be a meat pie, and salads. The variety and sheer weight of the spread was impressive, but nothing on the table would have been out of place in an English household as far as Jamie understood them. Jamie filled his plate with a bit of everything he could reach – and it was all delicious. It was a fairly pedestrian looking shepherd’s pie, yes, but it was the best shepherd’s pie he had ever had in his life. He spent more time talking to his neighbors than eating. His direct neighbors were all wizard-born and showed little interest in Jamie’s muggle history, which Jamie found fortunate in that he didn’t have to make up the family history of the Coddingtons on the spot. The wizard-born kids apparently knew of each other before coming to the school, even if they hadn’t quite met. Their parents had figured out which wizarding families would have children starting that year and made sure to prepare their sons and daughters with knowledge on who to make friends with and who to avoid – living the second or third generation of personal grudges. Some of their parents had attended together and did not easily forget who had been a bully and who had been best in class. None of them claimed to be from a Noble and Most Ancient House, but still felt their families were respectable, established, and above consorting with someone of a family that had debased itself or simply was only a few generations established. With no ancient ties, Jamie wondered if he would be ostracized, but they continued to chat happily with him. The impression was that being muggle born could be forgiven if you understood your place, or maybe it was that the eleven year olds around him didn’t care that much.

Caring less about this kind of social maneuvering, Jamie changed seats to meet some other kids and tried to steer the conversation to his own curiosity – what wizard life was like. “Are there more shopping districts like Diagon Alley?” “Are there wizard cities or villages?” “Can you live wherever you want or are you restricted to maintain The Secret?” “What’s your favorite foods?” “Do people wear robes all the time, even at home?” The answers were varied, but wizard life sounded a little lonely to Jamie. They had the ability to move quickly between their houses and public spaces via floo or broomstick, but people generally associated with a small group of family friends. Instead of literal teleportation uniting Britain into a tight knit community, families were divided by dislike, grudges, and mistrust. Wizards generally lived in small communities scattered throughout the isles, five to thirty households together, with charms to repel muggles. Some people wanted to live in London directly, but the cost or skill required for the kind of enchantments you needed to keep your house hidden in London was outside the reach of the average wizard. Diagon Alley was the largest shopping district, even though it was only several blocks long with a few side streets, but there were other districts in Dublin, Manchester, and Edinburgh. Jamie was surprised that no one knew anything about muggle international borders and politics. For them, what mattered was the loose collection of all the English speaking land under the wizarding political structure and courts based in London. This government was, in some way that the kids couldn’t explain, subservient yet independent to a government based out of Paris, though France also had its own wizarding government equivalent to the one for the UK and Ireland.

After a while, the conversation strayed to topics such as friends, families, rumors about teachers, which classes were the hardest, and who gave the most homework. They told stories about older siblings’ exploits and who’s older brother was the best quidditch player. Jamie was kind of bored by the conversation of bona fide eleven year olds, but was too in awe by being in Hogwarts to complain.

On nearly the other side of the hall, Clara was more interested in making friends than interrogating her neighbors like a lawyer cross-examining a witness. After the last girl was sorted and the feast had begun, she turned to the girl sitting next to her who had been sorted before Clara. “Hi I’m Clara, what’s your name?”

“I’m Alison,” the girl said.

“Did you know you would be in Ravenclaw? I felt like I would be, except of course I didn’t know for sure,” said Clara.

“Oh, I don’t know. My parents are muggles so I don’t know anything about the Houses. But I’m so glad to be in Ravenclaw because I love the colors blue and bronze.”

“I’m muggle born too, but I knew about the houses because I’ve read all the books,” Clara said.

“Wow, you read them all?” said Alison. “After I heard I was accepted I tried to read the first one but it was too hard for me.”

Just like Jamie, Clara was reminded was it was like to be a true eleven year old. “Oh, that’s ok, I’ve heard they’re wrong about a lot of things anyway so it’s probably better you didn’t. So where are you from?”

“I’m from Cornwall, my whole family is there.”

Another girl from across the table butted in, “Cornwall? But I’m from Cornwall!”

“Hmph, as if being from Cornwall is anything special,” said a fourth girl, also across the table. “I am from Hedlyton Copse, a wizarding village,” she continued in a haughty tone.

Clara, trying to be more mature, attempted to save the mood. “So what are your names?” she asked, overly bubbly to compensate for the rude girl from HeDlYtOn CoPSe .

“I’m Betty,” the second girl from Cornwall said.

“My name is Milavicent Artoninian,” the haughty girl said.

“Oh, Milly?” said Betty. “My favorite stuffed bear is called Milly.”

Clara watched as this seriously deflated Milavicent’s pride.

Betty continued. “So, who do you think is the cutest boy in our year?” she asked, a naughty grin on her face. “I saw several hotties, but not anyone from our house.”

A boy sitting next to Betty rolled his eyes, got up, and moved down the bench to join some older boys who were discussing quidditch and who was in the best position to win the Cup after the roster changes that year.

“I was sorted late so I hardly saw anyone,” Alison responded, “but look at the boy at the next table.” She pointed and the four girls looked at the same time. He was a first year at the Gryffindor table with olive skin and dark black hair. His robes were stylish, clearly not the Hogwarts-off-the-rack special from Malkin’s that Clara was sporting.

Betty raised her eyebrows. “Ooh, he is cute, I missed him during the sorting.”

Milavicent rolled her eyes as if to say she was above looking at boys, but she was the one who kept stealing glances at him for the next half hour.

Clara continued chatting with the girls all the way until the end of dinner. The noise of the hall was approaching a din as young students became new friends and older students finished eating and moved on to rowdier and rowdier activities. A BONG sounded throughout the hall. The laughter and happy and sad yells of some children continued, but completely stopped by the time seven more BONGs finished, signaling eight P.M. The clock tower must have been amplified just for that bell, since including the Sorting they had been there several hours without hearing anything.

McGonagall stood at the head of the room, as before, two steps raised above the level of the students. “You are all dismissed, and no dawdling in the corridors,” she said, her voice amplified. “First years remember to meet at the back of the hall.”

Chapter Text

Clara watched Jamie leave and turned back to her own House, joining the three girls she had just been talking with and the other young Ravenclaws. The prefect was a tall girl with long straight hair, impeccably clean and straight robes, and a posture that looked like she had spent years walking around with a stack of books on her head as in some finishing school trope. She walked briskly out the door and to the left as the students followed. She began narrating like a tourist guide as she walked.

“We are now in the main corridor, to the right is the front lawn which leads down to the lake. Ahead on the right are several staircases which lead to classrooms above. Herbology is eventually reached by starting down the hallway to the left. And now we are passing a shortcut to the astronomy tower.”

Clara couldn’t keep track of everything; being inundated with information made the castle feel like a maze. After ten minutes of following the winding path they were taking to the common room, Clara couldn’t have told you how even to get back to the main hall or entrance. They kept going higher and higher, taking staircases seemingly at random and skipping others. Sometimes she would get a glimpse out of some window; most were without panes and only had a wooden shutter, allowing cool and light breezes to blow in. The breezes contrasted with the heat coming off the candles and lamps that lit the halls. Glancing out of windows she passed, Clara couldn’t orient herself with the views she got of halls, towers, and other buildings in the half darkness outside. Once she saw the lake and a reflection of the moon off of the still water.

Finally the prefect led them up a winding stair and stopped before double doors in dark wood, ornate and pointed in the middle to make an arch. “And that brings us to the entrance to the common room. You must give the password each time, and it changes often.” She turned to the door and waited.

Clara strained around the other students to see what was happening, and was startled when the brass knocker shaped like an eagle moved its mouth and started to speak in a monotone:

“Name me the worm that has a foot; the worm that climbs many feet; the worm that towers over a man.”

Clara immediately started trying to think of the answer, hoping to find it before anyone else, and then felt kind of silly and looked around. Almost all of the other students were deep in thought and the prefect was smiling over them all, giving them time and not answering.

Clara went back to pondering… a worm with many feet? Surely it couldn’t be literal. It could be a worm that was many feet long, but even then there was no worm that would climb or tower over a man. Clara started remembering with disgust the one time she had to help remove a tapeworm that had been killed by pills the usual way, but had formed a blockage instead of… could being a parasite be considered as towering over man, that you had conquered man in a way?

“Wormswood?” came a small voice, a boy that Clara couldn’t see.

“Correct” boomed the door, and a click was heard.

The prefect pushed open the right door and went inside, the students quickly following. Clara had just enough time to complain internally about how she didn’t get the riddle because it was kind of a stupid riddle, and then she was through the door and had her breath taken away.

The door opened directly into the Ravenclaw common room. The ornate high ceiling and tapestries wove together in a complex pattern of bronze, gold, and grey of the stone. The circular room was entirely ringed with regularly spaced tall and pointed windows. The doors they had come through matched the shape of the mullioned windows, giving the room a symmetry. The room was set up for study: desks, chairs, and large wooden tables that occupied most of the floor space, though the room only had a few students in it at the moment. The room would have felt cold except for the two large fireplaces and scattered sofas and plush window seats. The rhythmical sounds of many whirrs, pops, and hisses formed an almost musical background. She hadn’t noticed them at first, but looking around Clara could see magical devices everywhere. They ranged from tiny ones on tabletops to human sized contraptions on the floor between tables.

Clara joined the group of students circled around the prefect, but she had missed the first part of what the prefect had been saying.

“…and tomorrow we will go to breakfast as a group, first class is eight thirty. I shall be going to bed presently and I recommend you to do the same, though of course you are free as of this moment.”

Without any signification that she was done, the prefect walked away towards a door at the end of the hall. With the prefect gone, the students slowly became less nervous and more chatty as they got comfortable in the space. Clara went to one of the windows and looked out. She saw again the moon reflecting off of the lake, though she couldn’t discern much else besides the vague outline of the Hogwarts rooftops. She realized they must be at one of the highest points of the castle; she could only see a few other towers as tall. Alison, Betty, and Milly joined her and Milly’s voice broke Clara out of her thoughts.

“So, off to bed? We have to claim ours before the best ones are taken.”

“Ok!” Clara nodded.

She had missed the part that the beds were free to be taken and was glad to have the three girls to lead her on. The four of them passed through another arched doorway and turned left, all the boys turning right. Clara had thought they were already high up, but the climbed and climbed, passing several rooms with four to six beds apiece, partially occupied. Fortunately Milly seemed to know what she was doing.

“Come on, we should hurry if we want to get the best rooms. My mom told me all about it. Some people choose the lowest rooms because you don’t have to climb as many stairs, but they usually have the worst views, smaller windows, and there’s always other students stomping outside of your door.”

They were puffing by the time they reached the higher levels and peeked into a door to find a room with four beds and no one in it. The beds were all four-posters with blue canopies; the blue and bronze theme continued. Clara smiled as they entered and the fireplace burst into a cheery flame. She went to the windows first – they had three large windows that jutted out from the building to provide 180 degree views, with one having a tufted window seat. With the three windows combined, they could see in almost any direction. Two of the windows gave lake views. Milly had been right – this room was excellent. Because the tower narrowed as it went up, the lower rooms generally only looked one direction. They each chose a bed and their names became emblazoned on the silver plaque at the foot as they did so.

“Wow,” said Alison.

“I agree,” said Clara.

The other two didn’t say much, but they appeared equally happy with the choice.

“What time is it anyway?” Clara asked, but nobody had any idea. Clara thought of checking on her mobile but it was in her trunk. Clara peeked out into the hallway and saw several students pass by, all looking busy and like they knew what they were doing. Then an older girl passed by on her way up. She was so quiet that Clara didn’t notice her at first, but she was the only one passing by slow enough for Clara to ask a question without having to yell and feel like she was being a bother.

“Excuse me,” Clara called out.

“Oh yes?” the girl answered dreamily.

“Umm, well, how do we get our trunks, and how do we brush our teeth, and…” Clara made her voice lower, “where is the water closet?”

“Oh, do not worry.” The girl smiled a big, reassuring smile, that lasted a little too long and thereby partially lost its reassuring affect. “Your trunks will be up any moment. The house elves will bring them.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“And the nearest WC is two short staircases up. Otherwise you have to go five down.”

“Ok, thanks again.”

Clara wasn’t sure what else to say, as she was mentally knocked off balance by the girl, but the girl just smiled and continued upwards while Clara turned back into the room to tell the others.

“Girls, she said that house elves will bring our–” Clara started, but was interrupted by the sudden appearance of their trunks out of thin air, accompanied by two foot tall, almost naked, wrinkly and hairless creatures with long ears. Due to their wrinkled and pale skin, they reminded Clara of newborn babies. She was too shocked to say anything, but Milavicent didn’t even react, going to her trunk. Alison was able to get out a “thank you” before the house elves disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

Clara rushed to her trunk laying at the foot of her bed, opening the familiar silver clasps and feeling a wave of relief to find her things intact and untouched. She tried to quickly check her cell for messages but it appeared the battery was dead. Not too perturbed, she grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste and looked up to find the confused face of Milavicent.

“What’s that?” asked Milavicent, her eyebrows raised.

“It’s a toothbrush, you know, for keeping your teeth clean.”

“Oh, is that what muggles use?”

Alison and Betty were paying attention now, curious as to what wizard folk might have that’s better than having to brush your teeth twice a day.

Milavicent pulled out a stick. Clara could see it was a brown stick, bark and all. The three muggle born witches watched carefully as Milly rubbed it around her mouth for just a second or two and was done.

“It’s weird to have you all watch me like I’m some zoo animal.”

“Where do we get that stick?” asked Alison.

“You know, any kind of general store has them. They’re cheap anyway.”

Clara realized they would have no chance to get to a store any time soon, and gathered up Alison and Betty to visit the bathroom together. They found the bathroom two floors up, just as promised, and prepared for bed. When they returned, Milavicent had changed into silk pajamas. They each pulled out their cotton or flannel pajamas and put them on. Clara was inwardly laughing at Jamie for suggesting they wouldn’t need pajamas or any muggle clothes at Hogwarts, since the letter only stated three robes and an overcoat.

They all turned in together, Clara sinking into the soft mattress. She couldn’t sleep at first, her head overflowing with thoughts. She could partially see out a nearby window, at the twinkling lights from candles and fires in the other parts of the castle. She wished Jamie was with her, but as she watched the fire slowly sink down low she drifted off.

Chapter Text

At the back of hall, the approximately one hundred new students that had quietly taken the boats across the lake had changed into a talkative bunch, moving around like a noisy flock of pigeons. Some were wearing pins, ribbons, or scarves in the colors of their new House, presumably given to them to welcome them to their House. Older boys and girls, the Prefects, all sixteen and up, were trying to get them to be sorted by house to be counted. Jamie and Clara took this chance to meet up one final time before parting for the evening.

“Oh Clara!” said Jamie. “I can’t believe we didn’t both make it into Ravenclaw!”

“I’m sad, too,” said Clara. “This means we won’t have classes together, probably, right?”

“Yeah, if HP is accurate in that regard,” said Jamie. “Plus,” Jamie continued, whispering to not accidentally insult anyone, “I’m in Hufflepuff, the loser house!”

“Oh Jamie,” said Clara, grabbing his hand. “Maybe it’s not the loser house. Remember how in those books if you’re smart you’re in Ravenclaw, but if you’re smart AND brave and will accomplish things, you’re in Gryffindor. If you’re ambitious and see nothing wrong with bending the rules, you’re in Slytherin… but actually Slytherin just means you’re evil, because ambitious people who bend the rules are in Gryffindor too.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Jamie, starting to feel better. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see what Hufflepuff really is… or should I say who?” He was interrupted in what he would say next by a call from a prefect, “Hufflepuffs with me!” The prefect strode out the door quickly and the students scrambled to follow.

As Jamie left to go with the Hufflepuffs, Milavicent approached Clara.

“Who was that boy you were talking to?” Milavicent asked.

“Oh, that’s Jamie. I know him from school – my muggle school,” Clara said, hiding the truth from her new friends.

Chapter Text

Jamie marched through the hallways with the other Hufflepuff first years towards the ground floor annex that was Hufflepuff domain, keeping a little distance from the other children. They went down two short flights of stairs and past several store rooms. One room had the door ajar and Jamie could see rows upon rows of barrels. Eventually the prefect opened the door to the Hufflepuff common room by tapping a pattern on a row of barrels in a nondescript basement hallway. The students awkwardly climbed up and disappeared into the barrel, having to crouch even though they were all petite eleven year olds. The prefect noticed that Jamie was keeping apart and, after the other students had crawled in, he stopped Jamie. That left just the two of them in the corridor.

“Is anything the matter?” the prefect asked.

“Uh…” Jamie wasn’t sure how to answer. Then decided to be up front about it. “I guess… I’m not sure I belong in Hufflepuff.”

“The Hat is never wrong,” the prefect said in a consoling tone. “And you’ll find that out in time. For now, remember that you’ll always find a friend in Hufflepuff. My name is Ardwin. Tell you what, let’s talk a week from now, after you’ve been settled and get to know what it is to be Hufflepuff. In my opinion the best House, of course.” He paused and then realized something, “hey, you’re muggle-born right?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie, not sure what he was getting at and wondering if he should be ashamed to be muggle born or something.

“…muggleborns,” Ardwin shook his head in exasperation. “Look, Gryffindor is not automatically the best House, the author of that silly set of novels was a Gryffindor, so of course that’s how it was written. If you want to know the real characteristics by which your House is chosen, then go read Hogwarts, a History.”

Jamie smiled at this probably inadvertent reference to a joke straight from the set of children’s books. “Ok, deal. One week then.” He went through the door into the common room with the others. Or it should be put more accurately, he took fifteen seconds to climb up and crouch so he could start crawling through the barrel.

Inside, it didn’t get any taller. It was a long passageway and after the first three feet wood gave way to packed earth. With no one to follow and the only light a faint glow coming from lamps placed every few feet, Jamie navigated his way through the few turns and a slight upward slope. Finally the ceiling grew taller and, turning around a final bend, he entered the Hufflepuff common room.

The first word that popped into his head was “cozy.” The room was round, with no corners at all except where the wall met the floor. The ceiling was high above but it felt lower due to the flickering copper lamps hanging down at what would be a normal ceiling height. There was not one but five fireplaces crackling merrily. Bookshelves lined almost all the walls, half full with books and half full of plants. Dark and medium brown furniture dotted the room, not in any particular arrangement but with chairs and tables in groups of two, three, or eight at the most. Yellow banners and streamers hung off the lights and the walls. And among all of this, so many students laughing, playing, hugging old friends that they hadn’t seen all summer, and the first years hanging out in an awkward bunch but warming up to the mood.

The older students were passing around huge trays of snacks – the waffle shaped cookies dripping with honey seemed to be the most popular – and butterbeers. However, the prefect brought all the first years together and told them they should get settled in their rooms and sleep without delay, as they all had to be up early the next morning. “Remember above all during your first week, from this day onward you are all Hufflepuffs! Support each other! This Saturday is Hufflepuff lore night – first years better be present.” He called names and passed out room assignments, “Carl! Room twelve. Patricia! Twelve-A. Samantha! Twelve dash two. Markus! Nine. James! Thirteen.”

Hearing his name and number, Jamie followed other students and started towards the back of the hall where several round portals opened onto dirt tunnels that led away to the sleeping areas. He looked around but there were no obvious labels. Confused, he just picked the middle passage and started walking in. Other students seemed to know what they were doing and he tapped the girl’s shoulder in front of him to ask.

“Excuse me,” he said, “how do I find my room?”

She waved a piece of paper that glowed faintly in the dim light of the round corridor, “just look at your sheet!”

“Oh, where did you get that sheet?” he asked.

“Oh, you can have mine; I know where I’m going,” she said warmly, pushing the sheet into his hand and walking quickly away.

He looked down at the sheet. The crazy looping, branching lines on the page were hard to follow. While searching the map for room thirteen he found rooms 12, 12A, and 12-2 and they were nowhere near each other. It took him almost five minutes to pick out room 13 and work out how to get there. Then he started walking.

Chapter Text

Jamie made it to his room without much trouble, though on the way he passed several first-years who were backtracking or totally lost. One kid he stopped and tried to help, telling the kid to go back and take the other branch at the last turning, but as he watched the kid leave it looked like he didn’t make the correct turn.

He stood outside his room, facing a closed, round wooden door. The handle was copper but surprisingly, as he grabbed it, it didn’t feel cool as metal should. He pushed the door open. Inside, he was delighted by what he saw. Six four-poster beds were arranged in a circle, both beds and night stands made of yellow woods, with unmatching patchwork quilts laid on top. Copper lamps, similar to those in the great room but smaller, hung from the ceiling. There were additional lamps on each night stand. It was like staying in your best friend’s grandma’s house. There were even doilies under the night stand lamps. At the foot of one of the beds was Jamie’s trunk, the brass latches matching the room quite nicely. Seeing the trunk felt like meeting a friend, a comforting familiarity after the whirlwind day of new acquaintances and new experiences.

Jamie wasn’t in the room alone for long. Two other first year boys, chatting, came in.

One of the boys walked right up to Jamie and addressed him directly, putting out his hand. “Hello, my name is August Brownlee.”

Jamie awkwardly took the boy’s hand and shook it, taken off guard by how confident and mature the boy seemed. After a day full of nervous and uncertain first years, the boy was unique.

“I’m Jamie. Or James Coddington. The Third,” he quickly added.

The other boy also shook Jamie’s hand, clearly just following August’s lead. “Roc Rodenas.”

“Rock?” Jamie asked. “Cool.”

The boy just nodded, apparently not sure why or if his name was cool.

August had short cropped blond hair and a thin face, and his robes were of excellent quality. He was already wearing yellow piping for Hufflepuff, as if he had known his house in advance. Roc was taller than any of them, but his timidity made him seem shorter. His dark hair contrasted strongly with his green eyes that almost glowed in the dark.

August continued like a businessman making small talk. “Good to meet you, Jamie. Roc and I are from Talwichshireton.”

“Ah, tell-shur-ton? I’m from… Cornwall,” Jamie said, taking a second to remember the story that he and Clara had concocted.

“A muggle born, I take it? Roc and I are wizard born.”

“Where is Talwichshireton?”

“That’s near Norwich. Are you near Penzance? My family owns land in Penzance.”

“No, more north than that.”

“And what does your family do? In the trades?”

“Yes, I guess, or not maybe.” Jamie was unsure of what “in the trades” meant. “My parents own a greengrocer. They sell a lot of fancy imported food.” Jamie watched August’s reaction carefully, but he seemed to not approve or disapprove. “How about you?”

“The Brownlees were the most powerful wizarding family in Scotland until they were forced into exile, along with their allies. But we turned that exile into profit. My ancestors founded Talwichshireton and now own stakes in half of East Anglia. Roc here has his Catalan name from his father, but his mother’s side is the Rookhalls. His older brother is the Rookhall heir, from his uncle.”

August’s eleven year old passion for events that happened in his family hundreds of years ago was new to Jamie. He was going to say something to Roc, who had been mostly talked over by August, but the door opened and another boy’s head poked through.

“Is this 13?”

“Yes this is 13,” August said before anyone else could.

The new boy came in and August had to begin his family history at the beginning. The new boy was a more typical eleven year old, muggle born like Jamie, by the name of Sedgly Fairgrieve. Like a lot of Britain the name sounded funny to Jamie, but it elicited no reaction from the other boys. Before August could extract Sedgly’s entire life and family history, the prefect came by and knocked rapidly.

“Nine P.M! All to bed! All first years to bed!”

Jamie suddenly realized how tired he was and crawled into bed directly in his robes without brushing his teeth, only briefly checking if there was a message from Clara but finding his phone dead. The cozy atmosphere made sleep irresistible.

Chapter Text

In the morning, Jamie was rudely awoken by his roommates, or more specifically, Sedgly. The other two were gone when Jamie opened his curtains.

“Come on, Jamie, we’re going to breakfast in five minutes!”

Jamie rushed to awkwardly change his robes (he still hadn’t entirely figured them out) and pulled his mobile out of his trunk.

Sedgly was impressed, “your parents gave you a mobile?” Then he saw the seventeen inch laptop on the top of the trunk and his eyes went wide. “You got any games on that?”

Ardwin the prefect came in just then to admonish them for being late. “Come on, you two, we’re all going to breakfast together and you don’t want to make everyone wait.” He saw Jamie’s mobile. “Jamie, you might as well leave that behind. No technology works at Hogwarts, there’s too much magic around. You’ll just need your books and parchment for Defense Against the Dark Arts and History of Magic this morning.”

Then he saw Jamie stuffing a ball point pen into the pocket of his robes along with his wand. “That pen won’t work either.”

Jamie was surprised, “why doesn’t it work? It’s such a simple mechanism. If a ball point pen doesn’t work, then what about simple cellular processes keeping me alive?”

“What?”

Jamie realized yet again he needed to act more like an eleven year old.

“I mean, what do I use instead of a pen?”

“A quill. You have a quill right?”

“Yes, I brought it.”

“Like I said, magic and mechanisms don’t like each other, and of course magic wins every time. Be downstairs in one minute.”

Jamie splashed soap and water on his face on his way to the common room. In the daytime, the common room was transformed. At night it felt like it was underground, but now it was brightly lit by high, round windows. Sunlight reflected off of the copper everywhere and made shapes on the walls and floors. The other first years were all waiting and once Jamie arrived they went together to breakfast.

The Great Hall was laden with a multi-course breakfast. Even trying a bit of each item would be too much. Seeing the Great Hall for the first time with the sun up, it felt more like a cathedral than a hall as all the windows were stained glass. Jamie couldn’t see what the images were at that distance. The hall was almost empty compared to the feast the night before. He sat with Sedgly and could barely find room to place his Defense and History books on the table amongst all the dishes, clean and dirty. Hogwarts had served too heavy of a breakfast for Jamie, but he picked out a piece of bacon and complemented it with two toasts with jam. He wished for coffee but couldn’t find it.

Halfway through breakfast, Ardwin rounded the Hufflepuff tables and gave all the first years a schedule on a leaf of parchment, giving the same advice over and over in a bored voice.

“Remember, at breakfast and lunch you are free to come and go, but at dinner you must be seated for service promptly at seven fifteen —and be presentable. Your class this morning is Defense Against the Dark Arts and we’ll leave together in about ten minutes.”

Jaime and Sedgly quickly compared schedules and found they were the same. All the Hufflepuff first years took classes together. With ten minutes to spare, Jamie tried to find Clara at the Ravenclaw tables but didn’t see her. He returned to sit with Sedgly.

Sedgly was jittering like he had too much coffee, but Jamie knew that couldn’t be the case. “So when do we finally have Charms? That’s the one I’m most excited about, it’s like real spells!”

“Looks like tomorrow late afternoon. I can’t wait to cast a spell,” Jamie agreed, “let’s go to Ardwin by the door and be the first into class.”

They joined Ardwin, interrupting the short mental break he was taking, and desperately needed, after herding a bunch of eleven year olds around for the last half day.

Sedgly was the most interested in making conversation, Jamie and Ardwin being more tired. “So what’s your favorite class, Ardwin?”

Ardwin looked down at them both, “well, I’m partial to Transfiguration. Ironic because I get my best grades in Charms.”

“What do you think we’ll do today in Defense? Sling some spells?” Sedgly continued.

“Well, they usually make you do a bunch of reading first, to make sure you’re ready for whatever they’re going to throw at you.”

“Aww, reading, really?”

“Well, you never know. Professor Yugotich changes his classes every year to prevent cheating.”

“That Yugotich guy from last night? I forgot he told us he was the Defense teacher.”

They were joined by a growing crowd of Hufflepuff first years and soon they left the great hall in a chatty bunch. They reminded Jamie of animations of gas getting hotter and evaporating – little particles bouncing around their container.

Chapter Text

Clara woke up early and was pleasantly surprised to find her robes from yesterday cleaned, folded, and set atop her trunk. There were only baths, no showers, so she skipped that for time and just cleaned her face and arms. Apparently wizardfolk only bathed themselves once a week, or did a sort of touch up with magic. Clara accepted it even though it went against her sensibilities. She remembered Jamie’s List of Useful Spells and wondered if he had already added bathtime to it. After a leisurely breakfast with Alison, Betty, and Milavicent, they had an hour free and decided to wander the grounds. As usual, Clara was the most practical. “Let’s find the Charms classroom first, and then wander from there. That way we can’t possibly be late.”

Clara fingered her wand in her pocket as they went through the corridors, frequently asking for directions. Twice they had to backtrack, even though they thought they had been following the instructions they had been given. They entered the grand staircase, a centrally located square room stretching at least a dozen stories with rotating staircases connecting levels like an Escher drawing. There was not a foot of wall not covered with moving portraits, together creating a din of yelling at passing students. Sometimes they gave directions, sometimes gave a welcome or a welcome back. As soon as the overwhelmed first years entered the room, the staircase they needed rotated away. They were left on an isolated platform. With no visible path forward, they had to backtrack and go around. After much ordeal they still reached the entrance to the Charms classroom with more than thirty minutes to spare and went to explore nearby.

The castle felt bright and breezy during the day, and each corridor was uniquely decorated and offered a different view out of its windows. Almost no windows had glass and but the girls kept warm in their robes. It was exhilarating feeling the breeze on their faces as they dashed down narrow corridors lined with suits of armor dappled in sunlight, followed by wide halls with enormous rugs and ancient tapestries depicting battles, followed by dark passages with cases of unknown trinkets or dusty awards. The day was cloudless and it felt auspicious, brightening everyone’s mood.

They entered the Charms classroom and found it featured three rows of heavy wooden tables that gave plenty of workspace. It reminded Clara of a chemistry classroom. At the front was a raised platform and table for the professor with several chalkboards on wheels. Clara couldn’t understand any of the scribbles written on the boards, and wondered which class year they were from. Students were already claiming seats so Clara and Milly took a table near the front. The professor came in before they had time to chat. She was a tall, thin woman with close cropped gray hair that made her appearance stern. She waved her wand and the classroom door slammed shut, then rapped her wand on the table to get their attention. The students quieted down right away.

“Good morning Ravenclaws. Now for your first lesson. When I say, ‘Good morning Ravenclaws’ you say ‘good morning Professor Morsain’”

“Good morning, Professor Morsain,” they all monotoned, not quite in unison.

“Good! Now that I know you’re paying attention, I can begin the true lesson. In this class we will learn charms. What are charms? Well, to start, I am partial to charms for they are the very essence of wand magic. In this class you will learn a whole universe of spells, from the practical to the silly, but it all stems from proper wandwork. Without boring you too much, I will spend five minutes on the basics and then we will get into it.”

At that Clara and Milly exchanged surprised faces – they had started to settle in to an extended, boring lecture but their expectations for the class had suddenly changed from sinking into dullness back to excitement.

Professor Morsain erased a chalkboard with a wave of her wand and started writing on it – also by pointing her wand. The Professor clearly preferred her wand to lifting a finger for anything. “Charms have three main components. First you must make the wand motion precisely . If it is too far wrong, you will get no spell. If close but wrong, you will get a weakened spell. This is a mechanical skill as much as knowledge, and it takes years to develop good wand work. We start today. Second is the incantation. It must be intoned and accented precisely . Third is the intention that you must hold in your mind. It must be specific and precise . Any questions?”

Nobody raised their hand, perhaps because it was still the first five minutes of their first class ever and they were all nervous, and perhaps because they all thought that if they were quiet they might get to cast a spell sooner.

“In the class we will practice – and that means you must read the textbook in your own time. Read the first chapter this week. You are expected to learn, this year, about four fifths of all the spells in your primer. You will be tested, not just now, but on your OWL exams four and a half years from now. So you had better get started.”

“Now students, I have for you this morning something the house elves brewed up special for me. Cold tea.” She smiled. “Each take a cup and saucer from the side board.” While she waited for the students to each pick a cup, she swung another chalkboard into place and cleaned it magically with a dismissive wave. “Today we learn the warming charm. It is not a fire charm, it is not a boiling charm. It is a gentle warming charm. Everyone wands out!”

Clara dug into her pocket for her wand, briefly panicking when she didn’t find it right away. Its smooth wood felt good in her hand, though the fourteen inch length unwieldly compared to her short arm.

“The wand motion is this.” The professor moved her wand making two scallop shapes left, and then two right, before repeating the motion. She drew the motion on the board and it looked like a cartoon mustache. “Now, keep doing that for five minutes and I’ll come around and check.”

Clara tried a few times and then turned to Milly who was focused on her wand work, making neat little movements. Clara tried a few more times, moving her wand left and then right in the double swag shape. Her hand started to ache after only a minute. These were not muscles she was used to using. Maybe a painter would have an easier time at this , she thought, as she painted cartoon mustaches in the air. The teacher was on the other side of the room talking to another student and Clara felt silly continuing to wave her wand. She turned again to Milly and almost started laughing at the look of concentration on Milly’s brow, complete with little sweat beads forming.

“Milly! I think you can take a little break and try again. This isn’t a marathon.”

Milly relaxed her shoulders and her arms slunk against her sides. “I am so glad you said that, I don’t know what kind of zone I was in.”

Clara noticed that Milly’s wand was a bit thicker and longer than Clara’s. The strain had probably been even worse for her —and Clara had given up right away when her arm ached. “Ok Milly, let’s go again.”

They both raised their wands and started making the motion again. They gave up after another thirty seconds and started rubbing their arms, but the professor was coming by and they had to keep going.

“Yes, good, both of you girls are doing ok. Don’t keep your hand so close to your side, stick it out a bit more. No, elbow down.”

Clara stuck out her hand further from her body and soon her shoulder started aching in a new place.

Professor Morsain returned to the front of the class and wrote on the chalkboard: calfacio . “The incantation is calfacio.“ She underlined it. That’s a hard k sound on both of those letter c’s, and the emphasis must be on the antepenultimate syllable. That’s the second to second to last. Cal-FAC-i-o. Put your wands down and repeat after me. Yes, you too, put your wand down. Ok, let’s begin.”

After several minutes of repeating the phrase, she picked up her wand again and smiled mischievously, “and now, we start.” She waved her wand and a large tea pot floated around the room, filling everyone’s cup.

Clara tested it and it was, in fact, cold tea. She and all the other students picked up their wands and started to try the spell. Clara felt excitement bubbling up inside of her. She was finally doing it, she was going to cast a spell and be a real witch. She did the wand motion several times as a practice, and then waved her wand and said over her cup in a definitive voice, “calFACio!”

She beamed and picked up the tea cup and tried it – cold. It was cold. She looked around the room to see everyone else struggling.

Professor Morsain called out over the class, “don’t forget the third ingredient, intention! Imagine a hot cup of tea, not too hot, the perfect temperature to drink. Keep that image in your mind. Imagine the little wisps of steam rising from the cup.”

Clara turned back to her cup and tried again, imagining a hot cup of tea that honestly she could use right then to make herself feel better. Ok, rising steam, emphasis on the FAC… “calFACio!”

That time she had felt something. Was that what magic felt like? She put her finger into the tea. It was cold, but not nearly as cold as it had been. One might call it tepid. She had done it! She had made tepid tea, and she was a real witch! She squealed in delight and then got embarrassed. She turned to Milly to see her progress. Milly was sipping her tea to check the temperature.

“So, how is it?” Clara asked.

“It’s… medium, going on warm.” Milly looked a little disappointed but Clara exclaimed, “Yes, high five!”

Milly gave her a weak high five.

Clara tried her spell several more times, raising the temperature a little each time but not to something she would call pleasant to drink. Clara could hear most other students getting it at least partially, but the boy directly behind her was getting frustrated.

“CalFACI-o, calFACI-o, calFACI-o!” he was yelling while continuously waving his wand.

“Excuse me, but you’re saying it wrong,” Clara said to the boy.

“What? Like you know,” he said defensively.

“It’s not cal-FACI-o, it’s cal-FAC-io. Watch.” Clara waved her wand over her cup, brought the image into her mind, and on the third pass said the incantation, “cal-FAC-io!” Little wisps of steam came rising from her cup, just like in the image Professor Morsain had put into their heads. Clara’s eyebrows raised; she had surprised and impressed herself, but the boy took it as vanity. He turned away and went back to his practice, but this time saying the incantation correctly.

After class, Clara and Milavicent met up with Alison and Betty, all four of them coming out of the classroom walking on clouds.

“What class do we have next?” asked Betty.

Milavicent answered, “Monday is the only day we have a free period. We’re actually off until after lunch.”

“What do we do with our time? Want to head out to the grounds?” said Betty.

Clara gave another suggestion, “or we can keep practicing. Or pick a new spell from the book.”

Alison joined in with Clara, “I don’t know about picking a new spell, but I would love to keep practicing. It’s so exciting to be doing magic.”

They decided to split up – Alison and Clara would go back to the common room to play with spells, and meanwhile exchange everyone’s textbooks to prepare for their afternoon Defense class. Betty and Milavicent would head outdoors.

Chapter Text

After breakfast, Jamie was turned around by the maze of Hogwarts just as bad as Clara. The path the Hufflepuffs took to the Defense classroom was as confusing as any, but fortunately they had a seasoned and trained fifth year to follow. They arrived together and the prefect quickly left for his own class, promising to return afterwards to take them to History of Magic.

The Defense classroom was on a middle floor. Eight narrow windows in a rank down one wall didn’t entirely light the room and the three massive, candle-laden chandeliers were lit, spanning the room front to back. Professor Yugotich was nowhere to be seen, so the students milled in groups amongst the small, individual desks.

Jamie walked to a window and looked outside, hoping to orient himself. It faced an inner courtyard that was entirely new to Jamie and provided no clues. There was a single tree growing that must have not got much sunlight as it was boxed in by grey stone walls several stories tall. He couldn’t see any students outside. Jamie turned back to the classroom as he noticed the students quieting down slowly, thinking the professor had arrived. However, when he turned around there was no professor, but students looking around nervously. It took Jamie a few seconds to figure out why; a creeping cold was moving into the room. As the room got colder, his breath came out in fogs. Students started to move towards the door and Jamie went with them, immediately feeling warmer.

The shadows in the already dim classroom coalesced in the center of the floor and took on an unclear shape, but one with two legs, two arms, and a head. The blackness of the face was impenetrable and featureless. The coldness intensified until the skin on Jamie’s arm began to sting. The students screamed and bolted for the door, only to be stopped by a figure standing there. It was Professor Yugotich brandishing a wand.

He wandwork was tight and controlled as he muttered over and over, “stoechus aurula… stoechus aurula…” The room filled with the smell of lavender and the cold abated. The shadow creature started to move away from the students towards the head of the classroom. As it tried to escape left and right, lavender tendrils herded it back towards the center. As it tried to dive into the shadows behind a bookshelf, a motion of Yugotich’s wand pushed the lavender waves into the space and the shadow creature had to retreat again. Soon Yugotich was standing at the head of the classroom, the lavender waves surrounding him, and the only piece of shadow left was the inside of an open ceramic jar. The creature disappeared inside and the professor stoppered it. He turned to the class, all eyes completely focused on him.

“Students, take your seats.”

The students moved in silence to claim seats.

“Can anyone tell me what creature that was?” Yugotich surveyed the class, giving them time to attempt an answer.

“Nobody?” He paused again. “It was a Maximillian’s Shade. Rare to be seen in wizarding villages and cities, but not uncommon to those who look for it. Also,” he smiled, “not as dangerous as it looks, as long as you have the knowledge.”

“I used a charm – perhaps you all could smell the lavender? It is the most effective but not the only way to deal with such creatures. The wide variety of methods to defeat such beings is what makes them less dangerous, and suitable for a first year’s study. However, if you do nothing, they can be as terrible as any beast. They will remind you that wizards, despite their power, are still mortal beings.”

He descended from the professor’s platform and into the classroom. “When you encountered the creature, everyone in this classroom hesitated. That was a mistake. When the creature materialized you began to run – an excellent choice and often the best defense. However, why did you hesitate?” He paused for dramatic effect and moved among the desks. “Hmm? Why did you hesitate?” His intimidating stare guaranteed no student would answer. “It was a new danger, and it took several minutes for you to even recognize that it was a danger. Does a classroom normally become frosty on a September morning? You should have reacted sooner. You did nothing because you did not know what to do.”

He strode to the front of the classroom and punctuated his words with a snap of his wand on his palm, “I cannot underscore enough that your best defense is knowledge. So take out your books.”

Jamie already had his book on the desk since he hadn’t brought any bookbag to Hogwarts. He dug into his deep robe pockets for his ink, quill, and parchment. The parchment was stiff as he put it on the desk and kept threatening to roll up.

Yugotich continued. “Read pages eighty-six through one-twelve and take notes. Then we will discuss.”

The students, still coming down from the adrenaline of the encounter with the shade, were slow to get started. Eventually they were all quietly reading. Jamie opened his ink bottle and dipped the quill inside. He had only ever seen someone do this in a movie, but the quill made sense enough. It was not literally a quill but a metal prong with wooden handle that felt comfortable in his hand. He began to write on the top of his page, Maximillian’s Shade. The ink flowed smoothly out and he was pleasantly surprised that it required no pressure, which felt pleasant in his hand compared to a ball point pen. When he reached the end he surveyed his page. The writing was large and awkward, and by the time he got to the final e in shade he had already smudged it. He looked around and saw some students with sheets for blotting and some with metal or ceramic hand rockers for the same purpose. He wished he had known to buy one.

Fortunately August was sitting right next to him and, noticing Jamie looking around, gave him a silent glance saying, “what is it?”

“Can I borrow a blotting napkin?” Jamie whispered.

August passed him a little sheet. “It’s called blotting paper,” August hissed back.

Jamie let go of his parchment to take the blotting paper and the parchment turned into a half roll. “Thanks,” Jamie whispered, and then was startled to notice Yugotich staring at him. He turned back to his own page and flattened it out to find it smeared even worse. Giving up on that section, he started to tear off the smudged section but the thick parchment wouldn’t tear at first. Working at it, he finally tore it across but left a misshapen edge. Frustrated, Jamie opened his book, almost knocking his ink pot off the table in the process.

He turned to page eighty six and saw the section header for the Maximillian’s Shade. Starting to read in the quiet of the classroom, he felt his heart slowing to a regular pace. He got through the section quickly and, seeing everyone else still reading, he continued into the next section.

After some time, Professor Yugotich clapped to get their attention. “Time for discussion.”

“Can anyone tell me why it is called the Maximillian’s Shade?” He waited and looked around.

Jamie was mentally checked out of the class discussion, his mind occupied with the next few creatures in the book. However, after an extended, awkward silence where no student raised their hand, he decided to go for it. His hand went up.

“Ah, yes! And your name, boy?”

“Jamie, sir.” He wasn’t sure why he added the “sir.”He had never called anyone sir in his life, but it had seemed appropriate.

“Jamie. Please tell us, what is the origin of the name of the shade?”

“It was named after the dark wizard Maximillian. He was a great inventor of magic, but during a duel he tried to cast an untested spell and it backfired. He was destroyed and the shades created that day.” It was easy to answer when he had literally just read it in the book.

“Correct. And can someone else tell me where the shade lives, what are its habits?” Yugotich passed between the desks but no student raised their hand.

Jamie started to get bored and wished he could just answer the question again, but thought it would probably be obnoxious. He occupied himself by taking notes on the shade, summarizing the key points of the 27 pages in just a few lines. Aspects: cold, prefers northern forests, sometimes indoors, sticks to shadows, doesn’t attack unless provoked, rarely an encounter is fatal. Food: unknown or nothing. How to defeat it: the lavender charm, light charm, sunlight, protection charm, shield charm, area charms for warming, does not pursue if you flee. Easily dispersed but there is no known method to destroy it.

Suddenly Jamie’s paper was snatched from under him. His immediate concern was smudging the fresh ink but then he realized he might be in trouble. He looked up to see Yugotich’s annoyed face.

“And what are we scribbling so furiously?” Yugotich’s face softened as he saw it was class notes. He red the entire page aloud while Jamie’s ears burned red. Jamie stared at his desk trying to pretend he didn’t exist and didn’t even check to see the other students’ reactions.

“Very good,” said Yugotich when he had finished reading the page. “Your handwriting is abysmal but all the information is here. Since we are done with the Maximillian’s Shade, we now move on to the Blue Boblin. Read that entire section, starting on page one-ninety-five.”

The professor strode back up to his desk and sat down, giving them another twenty minutes to read in silence.

Jamie glanced over at August and was glad to see a sympathetic expression. The other students were back to reading or staring into space. Jamie went back to his book, thinking that this class was way too dry for an eleven year old to sit through.

The remaining forty minutes passed slowly; fortunately other students had begun to contribute and Jamie was left alone. He actually enjoyed reading the book and taking notes, but his behind was sore by the end. The wooden chairs in the classroom had no padding. He was glad to see Ardwin’s face at the door when it was time to leave.

Ardwin led them quickly through the corridors, trying to drop them off as soon as possible so that he wouldn’t be late for his own class. Their speed was hampered by Jamie and the other students pestering him with questions along the way.

“He just made us read for the entire hour and a half!” complained one student Jamie didn’t know.

“Well, you forgot the part where he almost killed us first, and then made us read for an hour and a half!” Sedgly added.

August and Roc were there too, but they were not complaining. Perhaps that style of class was what they were expecting, having grown up as wizards.

Eventually Ardwin stopped in the hallway and tried to silence them. “Look, Yugotich is a great professor. He does practical stuff all the time; he even brought a Shade into the classroom so you could experience it first hand. After a semester of Charms you’ll be in better shape to actually do some wandwork in Defense class too. Also – thanks for the tip. I’m pretty sure we’ll be facing that Shade in my OWL class this afternoon and I’ll have a chance to read up on how to beat it.”

Ardwin strode away before another question could be asked, calling over his shoulder, “come on, it’s just two more turns and down this hallway.” After that, Ardwin left them in a corridor, running away as he gestured towards a closed door. “Here’s the classroom, good luck!”

Chapter Text

Awkwardly left without a second class that morning but wanting to get more of a taste of magic, especially the muggle-born Clara, Alison, and Betty, they spent time in the Ravenclaw common room poking through their books and attempting to warm cups of tap water from the bathroom. Soon enough their interest in doing the same spell over and over waned and they fell into conversation and speculation – and roped in any other first year that passed through the common room.

Though it was a natural meeting point, the common room was a busy place and it was quickly obvious that it was not the best place for conversation. Older students’ projects were there and the constant crack, whizz, or flash of tests of strange magic were distracting and made it hard to hear.

Clara watched the sort of Ravenclaw homecoming – it seemed the students hadn’t missed each other so much as missed tinkering with magic; their devices and books were missed more. The first years were mostly left out of this passion of working deeply with magic and Clara had the chance to talk to many more students in her class. Even though they had Charms together it had been rushing about since they arrived on the boats and she hadn’t even said hello to everybody yet.

She met Marius, Sophie, Isabel, Lacey, a blond boy James, Amelia, and was quickly getting the hang of easygoing eleven year old conversation that didn’t demand much – it was easier to fall into a quick friendship than speaking with adults. They were a mix of wizard born and muggle born, probably more than half wizard born, but even the wizard born children felt out of place and confused by much of Hogwarts – they had gotten lost in the corridors just as bad and, in fact, the muggle-born students had one advantage: they had been in school before and generally understood the routine of waking up and going class to class. Apparently the normal UK school system had schedules with big blocks and not every class every day as had been Clara’s experience, so they felt right at home – except now the class was spell-casting.

After ducking an unintentional small wooden projectile from who knows where, Clara herself gave up trying to talk and looked out the windows. Ravenclaw Tower could look out over anywhere, as you went around the common room, and she started to get her bearings for the first time. Where the castle dropped off steeply into the lake it was rocky and impassable. On the other side the slope was gentle as it went several hundred feet before ending in a wall, then another fifty feet to a dense forest, but even that side was rocky and scrubby, not a nice lawn. In fact, the “lawn” as it had been called, that sloped away from the main gate, around, and down to the lake, was a bit grassier but still not a nice lawn. The only nicer lawn was on an interior courtyard she could see, and really the largest interior courtyard, on the forest side of the castle, was packed dirt. There were a few more towers that rose as high as Ravenclaw Tower but the most part the castle was building of rectangular sections that criss-crossed each other, met in strange ways, and left small courtyards of all sizes in the gaps. It was obvious from her vantage point that one floor usually didn’t smoothly meet another because the windows didn’t line up.

Packed dirt roads led away from the castle in several places – from the main gate and turning to the right a bit before entering the forest; a couple more roads could be seen on the left. The sun sparkled off of the lake and so the lake must have been generally on the southern side, the east being the gate and the “lawn,” the north and west sides the scrub leading to the forest.

Well, actually the forest was everywhere. It surrounded the castle except where it had been cut back and obscured any view of the train station or where the roads led – but wait! Beyond the lake there were pointed roofs poking out from the forest, was that Hogsmeade?

Chapter Text

The pack of Hufflepuffs bustled into the classroom for their second class ever, becoming noisier and rowdier the more they became comfortable in the school and around each other. Jamie was grateful the walk had been so long. His aches had subsided and he was ready to sit down again.

The History of Magic classroom was completely different than the last. The room was long and narrow. There were tiered benches on the left and right, looking dangerously high. A banister on each side separated the benches from the middle of the room, which was empty of furniture but not of – a ghost! Jamie was shocked but students separated into the two sides and filed into the seats as if everything was normal, Jamie like a rock in a stream.

Jamie sat down between Roc and Sedgly. He pulled on Roc’s arm to get his attention. “Did you know the professor was a ghost?”

“Oh yeah, everyone knows the Hogwarts history professor is a ghost. He’s been teaching here for a hundred years.”

“Sedgly, did you know?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Jamie sat uncomfortably in his seat, as there were no seat backs, as the professor started to speak.

“Hello everyone, I am Professor Binns. Today we will start with the goblin wars of the eighteenth century. There will be a test in two weeks when we meet on Thursday morning.”

He floated around the classroom and looked at each student.

“I will start by setting the stage. In 1723, Grib Goblab rose to head of the Morag clan under an auspicious sign. Grib was a middle son of Glib Goblab and Gorab Goblab, née Gorbad, two of the most powerful families at the time.”

Jamie was lost already and, looking around, was not alone. He balanced his ink pot and parchment on top of his history book since there was no proper desk surface. He started to listen carefully, quill poised, but having missed the last few minutes of the lecture was more lost than before. He wrote at the top of his page, Goblins. He listened to another five minutes of lecture and took up his quill again. He carefully underscored the word Goblins twice and put his quill down, satisfied.

An hour and a half later, he had filled fifteen inches of parchment with some dates and bullets and class was over.

In the hallway again, the Hufflepuff first years waited around for ten minutes until they realized that Ardwin was not coming. Jamie checked his schedule and they were off until Potions at 1:30 PM, and were supposed to eat in the Great Hall before then.

“Come on, Jamie,” Sedgley called from the other side of the hallway, “let’s get some food. I am starving!” Sedgley, Roc, and August were all in a group and waving Jamie over. Jamie went to join them.

They made it to the Great Hall by noon and found platters of food laid out. Students came in and out as they pleased, their dirty dishes disappearing soon after they left. The four of them sat down and surveyed the spread. They had been served hot shaved beef sandwiches, sausages, bread, cheese, tea, and bowls of fruit. Jamie was extremely happy to fill his belly with the hot sandwich and took a second. Jamie looked around the hall to spot Clara, but she wasn’t at the Ravenclaw table.

Sedgly let out a long sigh, stretching his legs. “What a way to start the school year. I’ve had long classes at my old school but the most was forty minutes. I’ve never sat in a chair for an hour and a half straight until today.”

Jamie chuckled, “you haven’t sat through a movie?”

“Ok, so I have. But Yoda is a million times more interesting than Professor Binns, and theatre chairs aren’t solid wood.”

Jamie put on his Yoda voice, sounding comical since he hadn’t adjusted it for his now tiny vocal chords. “Do not ahead of yourself get, young padawan. Much to learn have you.”

Jamie and Sedgly laughed, while August and Roc watched them in confusion.

“Who is Yoda?” Roc asked.

Sedgly jumped right in to an explanation of the plot of all eight Star Wars movies that lasted through lunch. The four of them left the Great Hall around one, marked by the large clock at the back of the Hall, so they could collect their books for the afternoon Potions class.

Jamie looked longingly out the open front door as they passed. The breeze carried in smells of green and growing summertime. The perfectly sunny day was enticing, but they had no time to go out on the grounds.

After crawling back into the Hufflepuff common room, Jamie stood up. The room was well lit by the sunlight alone, though the sun wasn’t streaming in like it had been in the morning. The windows were apparently facing east. There were students of all ages in groups clustered around a desk or even laying on the floor near the unlit fireplace. Some students, mainly the older ones, were already studying hard despite it being the first day of school.

The four of them went back to their room and Jamie was surprised to find his robes, that he had carelessly discarded that morning, neatly folded on top of his trunk. He made a little embarrassed face and August noticed.

“What’s wrong, Jamie?” August asked.

“I felt bad that some maid apparently cleaned up after me. And probably saw my underwear too.”

“Maid? No, it’s the House Elves that do it. Little creatures.”

Jamie remembered the little elves from the books, Dobby and Kreacher. He thought it was especially cruel that the elf was named “creature” like it was subhuman instead of just being… different. The knowledge that it was a House Elf that neatly folded Jamie’s underwear didn’t make him feel any better.

“Thanks, August. I would be so lost without you and Roc.”

He picked up his robes and realized they had also been cleaned, so he put them into his trunk. He pulled out his Potions book and thought he was ready to leave until he saw the others also getting their weighing scales and small reagent sets. Jaime had to dig his out of the bottom of the trunk where he had wrapped them in clothes to prevent them from breaking. Jamie struggled to fit everything in his arms. The diameter of the cauldron was only about ten centimeters, but being made of solid pewter it was heavy. Uncertain how he was going to take a ten minute walk carrying this thing, he waddled out the door after the others. Their arms loaded, the four left their dormitory and started the process of asking directions to the Potions classroom.

Chapter Text

Jamie, August, Roc, and Sedgly waddled into the Potions room with barely enough time to find seats. It was deep in the castle, below ground level. The air was damp and cold and Jamie was glad to be in robes. After spending a day in the black wizard robes he was starting to appreciate them. If it was warm out, you just had to open the collar and maybe pull up the sleeves. If it was cold, you could wrap it tightly around yourself and even put up the hood. Jamie tightened up his collar and sat down.

The potions room had big tables for each student. The tables were needed to fit their cauldrons, reagents, knives, and ingredients. There was an iron grate that was dirty with ashes, and noticing that his cauldron fit exactly on top, Jamie placed his there. He laid out everything else onto the desk. There were not enough tables for everyone and as the rest of the students arrived most people had to double up. Everyone who came by looked at Jamie’s class things spread across the whole table and moved on, leaving Jamie alone. He straightened his stuff up but it was after most students were present and he ended up with a single table. He felt a little bad at inadvertently being selfish, but also a bit happy that he had the extra room. As Jamie was learning was true to Hogwarts style, the professor didn’t enter until just when the class would begin. He came out of some room behind the classroom, entering right to the head of the class.

The potions master was tall with his most striking feature his medium brown hair. It was long, wavy, and slightly wild but clean. He was stocky with some upper body muscles, like he used to be fit but hadn’t been active for years. He walked calmly and purposefully to stand in front of the professor’s demonstration table and introduced himself as Professor Worhland Connough.

“Since you're all new to potions we're going to spend this class practicing chopping, cutting, grinding, mashing, and safety. I’ve provided matches for your fires since you probably can’t start it yourself yet. Next class we’re going to learn a weak sleeping draught called The Milliner’s Needle. It’s named after a certain unsavory character who would lace his hats with it — but that is History and we are here to learn Potions.

“In potion making, everything matters. Or should I say everything matters sometimes but not everything matters all the time. In some potions certain ingredients must be not only fresh but freshly chopped whereas other ingredients don't matter. In other potions the reagents must be chopped and left to age and air. The sizes of the pieces matters. Sometimes it doesn’t. All the timings and temperatures matter. Except when it doesn’t. What I’m saying is, follow your books carefully until you know the difference.”

He calm voice sounded almost bored to Jamie, but he realized that was incorrect. It was not bored, just rehearsed, like he had delivered the same speech so many times it was perfunctory. Jamie could imagine: another year, another batch of students. He had started to feel that way in graduate school after teaching the same class for three semesters in a row, and that had only been three semesters.

Jamie realized why the professor’s personality felt familiar. Jamie had met late career engineers with the same demeanor, quietly confident in their profession. Jamie had never felt confident because in his brief, just-getting-started career as a scientist he was always doing something new. He thought it would be different to be some power electronics engineer who developed their knowledge in the same field for 40 years until nothing felt new anymore, just another set of requirements. But why was he thinking about power electronics when there was magic to be done? He wand hand was itching to cast a spell, any spell at all, but Charms was Tuesday.

Instead of a spell, they spent the next forty minutes learning the difference between diced, finely chopped, shaved, minced, and which type of mortar to use when grinding to a desired fineness. At least it was hands-on.

Jamie realize there was a theme to his classes that day: they assumed 11-year-olds were mature. First with the long lectures which would be appropriate for a college level, and now giving 11-year-olds an array of knives and telling them to start a fire.

With all the fires lit, the room was warming up and actively chopping raised his body temperature. Jamie loosened his robes to get some air, actually glad that the underground room had been chilly to start. He looked over at Roc and a girl at the next table, both with visible sweat.

The class ended, it felt short. Task after task had flown by and there hadn’t been enough time to do everything properly. Jamie felt his wand thump his leg from his pocket. Still no spell, but he had a promise from Connough to make a real magical potion the next time they met on Wednesday afternoon.

Jamie met up with his roommates outside the door. In just one day they had fallen in to an easy friendship, or maybe it was just easier to talk to someone you barely knew rather than the rest of the class who were still almost total strangers.

Sedgly was so high energy he was vibrating in place. “Wow, classes are over; what should we do next?”

August was ready to move. “Let’s get out of this clammy dungeon. I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like.”

“I’m loving that we finish our classes by three every day,” said Jamie.

“But my old school got out at 3:10, same. What time did yours get out?” Sedgly asked.

“Uhh… it was closer to four,” Jamie made up on the spot.

Roc had been quiet all day, but added “my brother says classes are too long, starting to study at three P.M. isn’t early enough.”

Jamie wondered what it was like for Roc and August, since they had never attended school before, but didn’t ask.

“Let’s go borrow some school brooms and fly over the lake,” August suggested.

They were all excited for the idea and followed August up the stairs, starting to study the last thing any of them wanted.

After dropping their heavy cauldrons and books off at their round room in Hufflepuff, they crawled out of the barrel and followed August through the halls. Apparently he knew the brooms were stored next to a lawn to the side of the school, often used as a practice quidditch pitch.

Jamie was getting used to the great castle’s layout, even if the interior remained a mystery. Coming in the on the boats they saw the front and side of the castle only. The sun was a useful anchor in the sky when you got turned around in the corridors, and apparently the lake was mainly south, though it was hard to describe because the castle didn’t set on a north-south axis, but at an angle. On the south-southeast side, lawns peppered with trees and bushes sloped down to to the lake. On the northern sides there was almost no grass and the ground dropped off rapidly providing no path on foot to the forest and mountains. On the more western sides, where the four of them were, the dense, dark forest stretched outwards to the distant mountains. Its reaching branches looked to Jamie like it threatened to retake the castle grounds, though it had been cleared back several hundred feet.

A large door was propped open, giving a view through stone pillars to a lawn and blue sky. Passing through the door, the outdoor area was revealed to be a square arcade, similar a monastery but only three sided. The fourth side opened up to a massive lawn that sloped off in the distance. The land dropped considerably after some distance giving the view behind the grass the distant mountains, rounded, brown, and snow capped.

There were students, boys and girls, hanging out near a shed holding brooms and standing next to a wooden box with quidditch balls struggling to escape. The quaffle was already out. Their robes were straight black and didn’t reveal their House. As the four Hufflepuffs approached, they were ignored at first until August started to enter the storeroom.

“Hey, kid. You a first year?”

“Yeah,” August answered.

“First years can’t use brooms. You have to have the classes first.”

August scoffed and the look on his face was like he wasn’t used to being told no. “I’ve been flying for years.”

“Go on kid, get lost.”

“Unless you want to see the show.” Another older boy added. “Heather here is going to win us the cup this year, she’s already been approached by the Kenmare Kestrels.”

“Yeah, in two years you’ll be paying to see her play.”

August wouldn’t let his pride down. “Go on then, let’s see.”

Five of the older kids mounted their brooms and took off suddenly, without any preparation and with total confidence. While Roc and August looked on with discerning eyes, Jamie and Sedgly’s eyes were pancakes. Jamie could barely follow the rapid movements, the twists and the turns. He thought he was following one boy but realized that the person he was watching was a girl with her hair in a bun. Even harder was following the quaffle as it was passed back and forth, a tiny red dot at that distance.

They stayed to watch the fliers for half an hour before returning to the Hufflepuff common room to relax before dinner. There they met a big group of first years all discussing the classes, professors, and other school nonsense.

Jamie wasn’t too interested and felt a little overwhelmed having to introduce himself over and over. He walked up the winding tunnels to his shared room, collapsing on the bed with his shoes dangling off the edge. He wondered what to do with his time, but the next thing he knew he was waking up and the sun was low in the sky.

Unsure what time it was, he at least had the presence of mind to remember they needed to be well groomed and “presentable” for dinner, and to be there promptly. After spending fifteen minutes he gave up on being presentable, though at least his hair was neatly combed, and went down to the common room. Fortunately it was full of students which meant he hadn’t missed dinner. There was a big clock he had wished he noticed that morning, which told him he had forty five minutes until dinner, and decided to go down early and try to find Clara. After being used to being connected at any moment by a text or call, he was lonely after not talking to her for an entire day.

Chapter Text

After a quick lunch, the Ravenclaws, slightly closer after having a few hours to actually meet properly, went to their next class together. Clara looked around for Jamie but didn’t see him. She was excited for Defense Against the Dark Arts because it had been her favorite part of the Harry Potter books. She was not disappointed as an evil shade drove them all to the doors and Amelia had to be caught before she hit the floor before being stood back up, waving others off in embarrassment.

Spending the rest of the class paging through her copy of Dark Magic and Evil Beasts, the contents becoming familiar as she had read through it already, she felt a new sense of wonder that the crazy creatures were actually real and she wasn’t just reading a book of folklore. She paid extra attention to the methods of identification and defense.

Chapter Text

Clara went down to dinner a half hour early, hoping to finally see Jamie. There he was, sitting in a chair at the Hufflepuff table closest to the door so that she couldn't possibly miss him when she came in. She rushed up and wanted to hug him but stopped herself and grabbed him by the shoulder, suddenly embarrassed because they were in a public place.

“Clara! I’ve been looking for you all day. Where were you at breakfast and lunch?”

“Oh, I was out of the Great Hall early, before 8, and then I had a free period and we ate lunch early to spend time outside. The weather was perfect. Sometimes you forget that this castle is over a thousand years old, since it feels so alive when it’s full of students and everything is so green and sunny.”

“So how was day one?”

“My Charms class was amazing. You should have seen me, I was just like Hermione. This boy behind me is all like, ‘cal-FACI-o’ and I’m like no, it’s ‘cal-FAC-i-o’ and then cast the spell perfectly!”

“Clara, I haven’t even cast a spell yet. You have to show me that one after dinner.”

“What classes did you have?”

“In the morning in Defense, Yugotich put our lives in danger just to make a point that we need to study hard, and then we just read and discussed for the rest of the class. I honestly got mentally exhausted near the end. How can you make reading about real life magical creatures boring? And following that with History, man, I was done for by the time lunch arrived. It’s been way too long since I’ve been in school and already I’m back in my old habits of hating homework.”

“I had the same Defense class in the afternoon. Complete with the same Shade scare at the beginning. Amelia almost fainted but two students caught her and she got back up right away.”

“Oh and Clara, not sure if you noticed but our mobiles and laptops don’t work in the castle. It’s not such a big deal that we lost all the notes we took over the summer, but we’ve never gone more than five days without texting or calling our parents. We can’t just leave them hanging until December.”

Clara nodded. “I was going through the Charms book this afternoon and already have a good stack of torn parchment sheets. It’s going to be so inefficient to learn without a computer. I’m going to have literal reams of unsearchable notes.”

“I wonder if there’s a spell for that?” Jamie asked rhetorically, and pulled out his little notebook, quill, and ink from his robe pockets. The pockets were so deep that she hadn’t even noticed he was carrying anything. Jamie took the time to write out studying and notes and blew on it gently to make the ink dry faster. “Should I buy a bunch of pencils?” he wondered out loud.

Clara had been wondering about contacting both of their parents. “Well, we should somehow do a quick call or email as soon as we can. We’ll have to ask around, I don’t know how we can leave the school grounds and find cell service.”

“Yeah, if our phones haven’t been bricked.”

They chatted until dinner was about to start. The professors filed in to the head table, wearing formal robes that had additional layers, piping, or colored bands or lapels. The students all sat in their seats and became quiet as 7:15 grew closer. After the rambunctious opening ceremony on the day of the train ride, and a day of yelling and running in the halls without any professor around to give out detentions, Jamie and Clara were surprised to see the students quiet and respectful. Clara searched for her three roommates before dinner and was happy to find they had saved her a seat. Jamie was still seated near the foot of the Hufflepuff table and was slowly surrounded by older students. He thought they might even be seventh years.

The hall was not quiet by any means, full of rustling, fidgeting noises, and whispers, but it was quiet enough to hear a bell in the distance DONG once to signal quarter past the hour. The empty tables suddenly appeared laden with food. The main dish, served in large silver tureens, was a thick beef stew loaded with carrots and large dumplings. There were at least a dozen sides and two kinds of pie for dessert. Clara watched as a girl several feet down the table loaded her plate with pie and didn’t touch the dinner. Not feeling in the mood for something heavy, Clara loaded up on beet salad but tried a bit of every dish.

“What’s this pan with bread and something sticking out? Is that sausage?”

Betty looked shocked that Clara didn’t know. “That’s just regular old Toad-in-the-hole.”

“Ah, right,” Clara said, and decided not to ask any more questions.

Jamie ended up in the middle of several conversations that didn’t include him and wished he was somewhere else. They were talking about professional quidditch and politics of the wizarding world, like these kids had one foot out the door and had no interest in discussing Hogwarts. Noticing that he was listening closely to what they were saying, the boy sitting next to him, towering over Jaime with his curly black hair adding to his height, called him out.

“Hey kid, what’s your name?”

“Jamie.”

“I’m Oscar.”

The three girls that Oscar had been talking with giggled. The girl across from him touched his arm, “come on Oscar, leave him alone.”

Oscar got defensive, “I’m not going to bother him, but he’s just here alone. I thought he needed some Hufflepuff camaraderie.” He turned back to Jamie. “So what year are you? One or two?”

“First year.”

“First day, huh? How did it go?”

“Kind of slow,” Jamie admitted, “I haven’t cast a spell yet.”

Oscar raised his eyebrows in a half-mocking half-serious expression, “haven’t cast a spell yet? We’ll have to fix that, won’t we.” He turned to the girls. “What should we teach him?”

“Oh, I know,” said the girl, “it has to be the ink-finger hex.”

Another girl chimed in, “oooh, yes. Future generations of Hogwarts students need to carry on our legacy. We once shut down an entire exam and got it moved to the next day.”

“Ok,” continued the girl who had suggested the hex. Her voice became low and mischievous. “Listen. My name is Lily Lewis and this is my hex. I invented it.”

She pulled out her wand and Jamie scrambled to do the same. Jamie’s wand felt warm to the touch, which he had never noticed before. Perhaps it was because it had been in his pocket, and it was just body heat.

“Ok, Jamie. Here’s what you do. First you need to gather the spell. Hold out your own palm and imagine it is covered in black ink, while moving your wand in circles above it. The incantation is sepia sordidus.

Jamie held out his palm and copied her movements, muttering sepia sordidus, sepia sordidus .

“Then take that magic and fling it at your unsuspecting target, like SO!” she pointed her wand and fingers at Oscar and he jumped out of his chair.

“No! Not again!” Oscar held his hands far away from his body, trying not to touch anything. He realized that he had just yelled into the quiet and respectful dinner hall and sat down just as quickly as he had stood up. “Someone do the counter jinx. I can’t get my wand out without inking my freshly cleaned robes.”

Lily, the girls, and Jamie were laughing, until Lily looked down at a rapidly spreading black stain on the table. It was emanating from where Jamie’s hand was on the tablecloth. Nobody had been paying attention to Jamie and he had stopped his spell in the middle. Finding he had hexed himself, Jamie was worried but still laughing. He pulled his hands off the table and held them up like Oscar. His fingers were black but the ink was no longer spreading. Lily took only a few seconds to perform the counter jinx on the both of them.

Dinner was ending and the hall was emptying. They all stood up together, Jamie following their lead on leaving their mess on the table to disappear later. As the older students were exiting the hall, leaving Jamie at the door to wait for Clara, Lily called back jokingly, “preserve our legacy Jamie, you’re our only hope!”

Jamie waved to them as Clara came up. They left the hall together and turned away down the corridor. The warm weather and clear skies had lasted into the evening, and they started walking aimlessly through the corridors,. They had no destination, but were glad to be in each other’s company. They talked for hours about everything that had happened, about Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff houses, and people they had met. They made plans to meet for breakfast the next morning.

It was getting late and they stopped walking. They were in a long, tapestried hallway at the foot of a winding stair that wrapped on the inside of a tower. Looking around, neither of them knew where they had ended up. The empty corridor was spooky for just a few seconds until they realized they could hear plenty of students not too far away.

“Come here, Jamie,” Clara said, pulling Jamie’s arm and leading him towards the stairs. Instead of going up the stairs, she pulled him into the dark space beneath them. It was deeper than expected and opened up to a short wooden bench and narrow window. They sat together and Clara pulled Jamie into a long kiss, before settling back. “Oh James, my husband. How did we end up in such a magical place?”

Jamie tried not to laugh at the half pun and ruin the mood.

Clara kissed him again and then giggled. “I’ve never been the bad student. Hiding under stairwells with a boy.”

Clara put her head on Jamie’s shoulder and he wrapped his arm around her. She noticed his hand was black and he had to relate the entire story from dinner. Quietly, they watched out the window together. Something huge flew over the lake, but they couldn’t tell what it was in the darkness.

Chapter Text

Clara woke up on Tuesday well rested. The other girls were already awake and getting ready for the day, washing their faces and brushing their hair. Clara was happy to see no one putting on makeup. She always hated wearing makeup but felt forced into it because everyone else did. She slipped out of bed and into fresh robes, laid out on her trunk just like the day before.

“Where were you last night?” asked Betty.

“I was just wandering the castle, and then looking over my Charms books again,” Clara said, too embarrassed to admit she had spent the evening with a boy.

Alison added, “you missed the most amazing magic. You know those things in the common room? Some sixth and seventh years were showing us, they said they had made them all. There is a basilisk repeller, a soap suds renewer thing for clothes, and a metal button printer but it prints magical buttons, and these goggles that show you how tired someone is just by looking at them. It started when Milly started poking around at the grass lengthener – her arm hair started growing!” She laughed at the memory.

Milly’s cheeks turned red, “well laugh all you want, I know my arms are perfect. Anyway, get your Herbology and Astronomy books because we have a busy morning.”

The four of them went down to the great hall together for breakfast. It was easy to find because of the steady stream of students going from their Houses to the hall. Clara saw Jamie waiting for her when they arrived. “Hey girls, save me a seat,” she said, going over to Jaime.

Jamie and Clara chatted for just five minutes and Jamie left for his own table, this time getting a seat with August, Roc, and Sedgly. He was surprised at how quickly the four of them were forming a group. Thinking back to when he was in middle school, maybe that was typical. August, Roc, and Sedgly excitedly related to him what he had missed in the common room the last evening – a bunch of seventh years were yelled at by the head of house and they had fifty points taken off of Hufflepuff, all for leaving Indelible Ink on a tablecloth that went down to the kitchens and kept spreading and spreading. It was only the second day and Hufflepuff was far behind any other House in points. Jamie faked a laugh and hid his gray-black hand – scrubbing it last night had done nothing, but somehow it had lightened overnight. He hoped it would go away soon, but the phrase “indelible ink” made him wonder if he should seek out the prefect, or maybe the infirmary.

Breakfast was large and heavy as usual; excellent for Jamie for that morning he was hungry. The prior evening had taught him how dependent he was on snacking. Not even sure where to find food after dinner was over, he had woken up hungry. After breakfast, the four boys searched for the prefect Ardwin but couldn’t find him – apparently being led to their class was a first day privilege only. August started the usual practice of asking an older student where to go.

“Excuse me, which way to the Herbology classroom?”

“It’s all the way across the castle. You can cut through the grand stairway, going up two flights and taking the sky walk, then going back down… wait. Forget everything I just said.”

The four boys had looks like a combination of surprise and annoyance.

“For first years, you’re going to want to go to the greenhouses directly. You can go the way I said but honestly just turn right here then turn right at the next wide corridor, the one with the mirrors, and keep trying to go that same direction even though you’ll have to twist and turn a lot. There’s a shortcut through that classroom with the lecterns. You’ll start to see the greenhouses out of windows before you get there.”

Jamie, trying to listen closely to the directions, didn’t notice that Clara had stopped behind him, along with Betty, Milavicent, and Alison.

“Why are you asking for directions to the greenhouses?” Clara asked Jamie directly. “We’re the ones with Herbology this morning.”

August jumped in, always confident, “no, we’re the ones with Herbology.”

When it looked like Clara was going to argue more, Jamie pulled out his schedule. “See, Tuesday, Herbology first thing.”

Clara showed him her schedule, also showing Herbology. “I guess… we both have Herbology? Are there two teachers?”

They turned to ask the older student to explain but he had disappeared. They decided to travel together to the greenhouses, with Clara and Milavicent leading the way. They had a day of getting used to navigating the castle on their own while the four boys had been led around and were disoriented in the first five minutes.

“Didn’t he say to keep going the same direction?” August asked at one point, to which he received four girls rolling their eyes and four girls saying “we are going the same direction.”

They were able to see the greenhouses out the window from a story above it, just like the boy said. They hadn’t changed floors; the grounds were lower on this side of the castle. The lake was not in view so it could be considered the back, and instead of large lawns abutting the walls like on the other three sides. The greenhouses stretched out in two parallel rows, long skinny buildings of glass panes.

Chapter Text

The eight of them arrived at the greenhouses to find both of their Houses waiting outside; they were in the right place. The greenhouse glass was fogged in the chilly morning, but peering through the windows Clara could see rows and rows of perforated metal tables with plants on them, or just dirt, in small pots.

The eight of them stood in a circle, facing each other with the girls on one side and they boys on the other. August fixed his posture by puffing his chest and put out his hand to the center of the circle, to no one in particular, saying "August Brownlee." An awkward ten seconds passed.

Finally, Milavicent took his hand and shook it once and limply before pulling her hand back. "Milavicent Artoninian.” She gestured with her eyes right and left, "and this is Alison Alderwhite, Clara Evergrass, and Beatrice Fletcher.”

"Ah, Artoninian. Of Hedleyton Copse. A respectable family." Milavicent was more angry at the slight to her friends than she was proud to be singled out as "respectable."

"And I've heard of you Brownlees, traitors to the Secret who had to flee Scotland."

August hmphd and raised his chin, walking away towards the rest of the class.

"Well, I'm Jamie. Or James Coddington the Third if we're still being formal."

"And I'm actually Betty; I hate Beatrice. That's only my name when my grandmother is mad at me."

"Roc."

"Excuse me?" Betty asked curiously, "what about rocks?"

"Nah, Roc's my name."

They chatted awkwardly about nothing, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw and Hogwarts and families. Jamie and Clara gave their backstory, that they went to the same primary school. The professor was five minutes late; he came in just as August was fiercely defending the pride of Hufflepuff against some Ravenclaw boys, setting the terms of a bet on who would get the highest grades.

The professor was tall and lanky, wearing faded robes that were, practically for Herbology work, cut short and with the sleeves tied up with bands. There were visible scars on his hairy, bare arms. On his head, his brown hair was short and tousled. "Now class, settle down." he began in a voice that would accept no nonsense. "Follow me into greenhouse three."

Both houses followed him past several long rows of detached greenhouses. Some were choked with plants so that it would be hard to move inside but many were almost empty. Neither Jamie or Clara recognized any of the plants they could see – green and purple vines, short plants in full bloom with many-pointed flowers, trees with small leaves like a bonsai. August and the Ravenclaws settled the terms of their bet in muttered voices on the way. Clara couldn't hear, but it sounded like it included wearing some embarrassing clothing to dinner for a week. They entered one of the nearly empty greenhouses, filled only with thousands of small, empty clay pots. When the class was gathered around, the professor started the lesson.

"I am Professor Longbottom, head of Herbology at Hogwarts. You'll meet my assistants eventually. This greenhouse is for your class for your entire time at Hogwarts, so keep it tidy. We are going to spend the fall and into the winter planting, to harvest in the spring or next fall.” He paused and surveyed the class’s reaction. “The plants we grow are not just for your education, but they go for classes and for medicine at Hogwarts and elsewhere. Wizards are depending on us. At the same time, you must study from your textbook, but I will provide no class time for that.” Again, he waited for that to sink in. His teaching slow but methodical and no word was wasted. “You have a double class because you'll have to make deals on who has to come in late or early for extra hours, maybe even skipping another class, perhaps coming in the middle of the night. Your personal schedule is second in importance, to the plants’ needs. You cannot bend nature to your will; you must learn to understand it, to listen to it, and then it will grow."

He pulled a canvas bag off the table behind him. "Today we're doing something auspicious. I have in my hand seeds of the Rompling Ruststem. They take six years to grow before they can be harvested – we will plant them today and you will tend them carefully every year until your NEWT years... if your plant makes it that far. If you are dedicated to seeing this through. We listen to the plants," he held the bag of seeds to his ear, "and this plant is telling me it needs to be planted and then rest for about two weeks before we tend to it again on exactly the equinox. The plant doesn't care if you have to be in class, or if you have to be at quidditch practice, or if you promised to meet your friend. Or, this year, if you rather you were in bed. You will be here on the equinox which is September 22nd at 12:43 AM."

A loud groan came from the back of the class. Clara was a little shocked; it was only the second time she had heard any student do something disrespectful. Thinking about it, it was only the second day, but the first day felt so formal that she was starting to assume the wizard born children were just more… adult .

Professor Longbottom separated them into groups of four, with two Hufflepuffs and two Ravenclaws in each group. There were a few groups of three Hufflepuffs to one Ravenclaw, as the Hufflepuffs outnumbered them. Clara and Jamie were delighted to be grouped together, which had happened simply because they had been standing next to each other when the groups were formed. Their group included Milavicent and a Hufflepuff girl that Jamie knew by sight but hadn’t learned the girl’s name. The girl’s brown hair circled her face in shiny curls, framing her round face. Clara had the thought that the girl would be beautiful when she grew up. She introduced herself as Hefnia Bogsmidge.

Hefnia was wizard born but apparently not of an important family. Jamie and Clara could tell because Milavicent, normally chatty and seeking to make acquaintances with other wizard born children, showed little interest. Clara felt very American as she became frustrated with Milavicent for being classist, but decided to leave it for later.

It took the entire hour and a half period to get the seeds properly planted. They were given a canvas bag with hairy, black, almond sized seeds inside. The magic seeds were not easy to work with. They didn’t only need to be planted in soil at the proper depth, but a complicated procedure was needed – the first half hour alone was spent on soil preparation. By the end their wands had become involved. Professor Longbottom turned out to be warm and understanding as he moved about the room helping students get their seeds planted properly. It was a surprise to everyone after his brusque introduction. Their group ended up with twenty small, neat pots, well watered and with one seed apiece. Covering their pots with a green gauze, they went to wash their hands.

They waited in line at the sinks, standing in the cool morning with warm, wet earth in between their fingers and under their nails. The professor called out, “and don’t forget your assignment off the chalkboard on your way out.” Clara and Jamie copied it down: reading and eight inches of essay on the Rompling Ruststem. “How much is eight inches?” Jamie wondered, “like a handwritten page? Sounds short.”

As they were leaving, they overheard a conversation between two Hufflepuffs: “did you hear he chopped the head off of Voldemort’s snake with Gryffindor’s sword?”

“This portly, friendly guy? That can’t be true. I heard he’s one of the nicest professors, he’ll always let you hand in your work late if you’re having trouble.”

Clara turned to Jamie, “I was thinking the whole time, is he the Longbottom? How amazing is that? I want to ask him so many questions but I’m worried about being rude.”

“Yeah, I was wondering if that was one of the cases where the fiction books got it wrong, since he was barely mentioned in our two history books on the wizarding war. I so desperately want to ask. But I’m too scared.”

Back in the castle they paused at an intersection and Clara sighed, “I can’t believe we have to be separated until dinner.”

Jamie nodded and touched Clara’s hand. “At least the day feels short when it’s full of classes.”

They parted ways. Clara dashed to catch up with the three Ravenclaw girls on their way to Astronomy, and Jamie headed off alone to Transfiguration, unable to find August, Sedgly, or Roc.

Chapter Text

Clara and her friends started the trip to Astronomy but couldn’t stop discussing Herbology which was still on their minds. They were lost immediately. They knew there was an Astronomy Tower where the classes were held, and you could see it across the castle from their room in the tall Ravenclaw tower. However, they had never been there. Fortunately, they could follow the rest of Ravenclaw House.

“Ew, my hands still have dirt on them even though I scrubbed them twice,” said Milly, looking at her fingernails. “Do we really have to be down that a midnight to tend to some plants? Can I get someone to do it for me?”

“I love the earth,” said Betty, “I could just run my hands through it all day – and the smell, oh!” she inhaled deeply the fragrance of the imaginary dirt she was running her hands through as she walked.

Clara agreed with Betty, “I don’t know about playing with dirt all day, but it was nice to be outside and I always imagined my house with a pretty garden around it. I’m glad we’re learning gardening.”

“It’s not gardening, Clara,” Milly said, “it’s Herbology. It’s supposed to be about useful plants for medicine and stuff, or how to handle the dangerous ones.”

“Well, today felt a lot like gardening,” Clara countered.

They started the climb up the Astronomy Tower. After many flights of stairs that left them winded, they entered a classroom. They had passed several large rooms on the way up, containing walls of charts or scribbled on chalk boards or one that was piled full of ancient looking brass telescopes. The classroom itself was semicircular, taking up half the tower. The professor was already present, an old witch with wild gray hair and robes that were dark navy instead of the usual black. She welcomed them all in and bade them sit at the desks arranged in concentric semicircle. Clara delighted in sitting in a classic wooden school desk with attached chair. She hadn’t seen one since she was little (since the last time she was little, she mentally corrected herself).

The professor introduced herself in a quiet but strong voice as Professor Adelaide Trefoilan. She started taking roll call, which surprised Clara as no other Professor had done it.

“John Adrian... Beatrice Fletcher… Clara Evergrass... Gorfoyle Grint... Katherine Weasley…” Clara’s eyes got wide as the girl next to her, with long red hair and freckles raised her hand at “Katherine Weasley” and said “Katy actually“ before looking bored.

The girl noticed and when Clara didn’t look away right away, challenged her. “Quit staring! What’s your problem?”

Clara couldn’t help but ask. “Sorry, are you related to Ron Weasley?”

“He’s my uncle, sort of, whatever, so what? Leave me alone.”

Her curiosity satisfied, Clara did leave her alone. But she could barely hold in the need to tell Jamie that a Weasley was in her class. And in Ravenclaw, of all things!

After the rolls, the Professor spent the rest of the class lecturing, the first real lecture that Clara had heard. She started discussing the universe, stars, the solar system, and the movements of the planets. Clara wondered what this all had to do with magic, but was deeply interested in the lesson and the time went by quickly. By the end of class she had a small stack of notes all laid out on the desk, and some on the floor next to her, for the ink to dry.

On the way out the door, Milly was again complaining – the Professor had promised late night star and planet viewings as part of the curriculum. “Between this class and Herbology, are we even going to sleep?”

Clara was hardly paying attention – as the class wore on into the late morning, the light fog had lifted, the temperature went up, and the sky became clear. Hungry but with lunch on the way, followed by another long free period before afternoon classes, Clara giggled and dashed down the stairs ahead of everyone.

Chapter Text

While Clara was climbing high up in one of Hogwarts' tallest towers, Jamie found his way to the first year transfiguration classroom. It was an unassuming small room on the ground floor. Jamie had gotten a little lost on the way there, so he knew that just around the corner was an arcaded internal courtyard. It looked inviting with its simple stone benches and lawn, all sunlit, but he had to turn aside or be late for class.

He opened the heavy wooden door and entered to find a small fuzzy being standing on a tall stool at the head of class. Taken aback, Jamie paused, but it waved and squeaked impatiently for him to enter and be seated, so he quickly shut the door and sat at a desk near the back of the room. The creature stood awkwardly on two legs, bent forward slightly like it didn't normally stand that way. Short, dark blue fur covered its teddy bear-like body except for its pale face and hands. Unlike a bear or teddy bear, it had short fingers. It picked up a funny bent wand from the desk and started to gesture and speak in grunts and squeaks. Jamie couldn't understand anything, even if they were quite expressive grunts and squeaks. He looked to the boy and girl Hufflepuff sitting next to him to find their faces a mixture of shock and confusion. He looked around for August, thinking he would understand as a wizard-born, but August was hunched forward and wide-eyed. The creature started tapping on a chalkboard covered in diagrams, pointing at one part and then another, then suddenly pointed at a student in the front and said, "grrr?" The student, a dark haired boy in the "Hogwarts special" robes, stammered out, "uhh, uhhh..." unsure what to say.

BLAM . The door opened and hit the wall. A tall man entered, impeccably dressed with layers of lace poking out of his waistcoat and sleeves, his puffed pants tucked into knee high leather boots and with hair down to his waist. Jamie thought he looked like some Victorian lord until he noticed the piercings all down his right ear and one through his lower lip – maybe a better comparison would be an old-timey pirate? Before Jamie could fully take in this grandiose new character, the man picked up a broom from the corner and yelled "get out, get out you cheeky beast! How many times must I shoo you away?" Using the broom as a rapier, he chased the creature out the door and down the hallway. After several minutes, they could hear from the hallway light feet jogging towards them. He entered and composed himself, cheeks slightly flushed, and began the class without comment.

"I am Edon Thistlethwaithe, Professor of Transfiguration. Do not call me Professor T.” He strode calmly between the desks as he spoke, addressing various students in turn. “Transfiguration is a serious subject, and one of the most dangerous you will learn. Do not attempt self transfiguration before being trained, you will almost certainly end up in the hospital wing if not dead.” He looked around to observe the effect of this pronouncement. “For this year, you shall not practice transfiguration on your own, only with myself or one of the designated fourth or fifth years. There are some in each House, but do not pester them overmuch. You are Hufflepuffs, correct? In your house are Geort and Mary.”

“Now, who can tell me the unbreakable rules of transfiguration?” He paused for long enough for it to become awkward. “That's right, there are none. You will read, even in this textbook,” he picked up a student’s book and held it with two fingers as of it were dirty, “that transfiguration requires similar weights, volumes, shapes. That is not true. The only limit is your imagination... and skill. Behold!”

The professor pulled a small feather from his pocket and pointed his wand at it, concentrating. He yelled from the bottom of his lungs, startling the students, “CAPUT PETASUS!” The feather in his hand was replaced by a sombrero, a full two and a half feet wide. He placed the sombrero on his head and the girl next to Jamie giggled. It clashed horribly with his outfit, not only in style but time period. Jamie couldn't help but laugh too. Professor Thistlethwaithe spun around and slammed his hands on a desk, startling the students again. His spin caused the hat to cocked at a steep angle, covering his left eye. “Transfiguration is serious . There is to be no giggling.”

The class quieted down, but not entirely. Taking off the sombrero, the professor continued. “I am unhappy with the textbook, but I am bound by the ropes of having to prepare you for the OWLs. So we will start today with matchsticks to needles. Who knows, you might actually use this transfiguration twice in your life.” He passed out matchsticks to every student, and then began a long explanation on the fundamentals of transfiguration.

Jamie was transfixed, hearing for the first time a real technical discussion of magic, but couldn’t follow the lecture at all. There was too much jargon and too much assumed knowledge. He got nothing from it but the basics – the image in your mind is more important than the incantation, and the incantation is about the target object. The same incantation works to do matchsticks to needles as nails to needles. Wand work is to simply point or a single tap. Jamie found it interesting how different it was than charms, even though on the surface they appeared the same.

The class got started on their needles, the incantation aciformum , but it was slow going. By the end of the first hour, groans of frustration were coming from every corner. Jamie picked up his matchstick and considered it carefully – was it pointier than before? He listened as Professor Thistlewaithe berated a student for not knowing what a needle was supposed to look like – that it had an eye on one end. The student had proudly announced his victory but it was too large and somehow it had become triangular instead of round, besides missing the eye.

By the end of the hour and a half, Jamie’s matchstick was definitely thinner and pointier on one end. Looking around, his was probably the worst performance of anyone. No one had succeeded, but almost everyone had a skinny, shiny metal rod that was close to being a needle. The girl next to him was playing with hers to inspect it when it snapped in half like it was still wood. She raised her hand to ask for another matchstick but class was over.

“Remember, do not practice without supervision. Your homework for this week is to read the last three chapters in your textbook.”

This was such a weird assignment that Jamie turned to the last three chapters to see what they contained. It was fundamental theory of transfiguration, and by its placement was usually taught at the end of the year. Or, as Jamie knew from being on the professor side of things for a few classes, the last few chapters were usually skipped as the school year ran out of time.

Leaving class, Jamie waited and met with Roc, August, and Sedgley. They started towards the great hall together. August was boasting at his success at transfiguration.

“I almost had it, did you see? The eye just wasn’t opened up.”

“Yeah, I saw,” said Roc, “maybe it was the best in the class.”

“Did you practice before coming to Hogwarts?” asked Sedgley.

“No,” August responded, in a tone that suggested the question was silly.

“But you’ve seen your parents do tranfigurations all the time right?” Sedgley continued, trying to regain his honor and defend his question.

“My parents can get what they need, they don’t have to transfigure it themselves.”

Roc jumped in to help Sedgley, “there’s the Trace, you know. You cannot practice magic before coming to Hogwarts.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” Sedgley conceded.

They arrived at the Great Hall. It was bustling with students, unlike yesterday when they had arrived late. Jamie saw Clara deep in a conversation so exciting that she was standing up and gesturing, so he just went to the Hufflepuff table. That day the spread was soups of at least ten different varieties. Some rich and thick, full of meats, some bean soups, vegetable soups, clear and thick broth. Plates of bread accompanied the soups. Jamie couldn’t decide what to have and tasted a ladleful of each soup. Each was excellent but his favorite was the vegetable soup with a clear broth so full of flavor that he took another ladleful of just the broth alone.

After eating, Jamie found Clara. Clara smiled and told him all about Astronomy. He asked, “so, what do you have next? I have Charms finally, I’m really looking forward to it after you told me all about it. Like you said, waving your wand about and chanting is like doing magic out of some game or movie.”

“It’s Transfiguration next,” said Clara.

Jamie then had to tell her all about the kooky professor and weird animal, and what to expect from the class. “I couldn’t do it, my matchstick was barely pointy.”

Clara was excited for the class, perhaps even more excited than Jamie was for Charms. They made plans to meet outside of the Hufflepuff common room after classes ended and before dinner, which made more sense than Jamie climbing all the stairs to Ravenclaw only to come right back down.

Clara’s transfiguration class started with a lecture and she was disappointed at the lack of little fuzzy beasts. She sat next to Alison and was jealous that Alison found transfiguration really easy. Several students made perfect needles before the class was over, and Clara’s needle was the correct shape but brown-ish. She wondered why Jamie had said it was so hard. Exiting class and meeting up with Milavicent and Betty, they also reported success. Milavicent started to tell stories about her mother. Her mother was a transfiguration expert for the Ministry and so she had seen loads of complicated transfigurations at home. “I knew I could do it before I even picked up the wand.”

Jamie’s Charms class was just as exciting as he hoped, and he had several cups of piping hot tea to round out his afternoon, joking that all he needed was some cookies to go with it. Sedgley was disappointed that his first charm spell was for tea – he wanted to cast fireballs instead.

That evening, after dinner, Clara and Jamie slowly and aimlessly walked the halls again. Their conversation kept returning to Transfiguration and Charms and how exciting it was. Jamie wanted Clara to show him matches to needles, to help him get it, but she reminded him that it was too dangerous. They needed to have supervision.

“Oh, right,” Jamie responded, “and I thought it was History that would do me in.”

Chapter Text

Thursday was the second Defense against the Dark Arts class for Clara, and it made her whole day. They spent the entire period talking about vampires and werewolves. Knowing they were real cemented her impression that she had fallen asleep and awoke into a fantasy world, as if living in a castle and casting spells weren’t enough already. Professor Yugotich drove home the point that they had no hope, as first years, to defeat or even escape either one. He emphasized learning how to identify them when they were trying to pass as human. Vampires were easier, with cold hands, pale skin, and identifiable behavior like avoiding sunlight. He also discussed how most were centuries old and you could pick them out for not following modern norms of etiquette, social cues, or dress. To Clara that described half of wizardom so she wondered how she could tell the difference. Werewolves were said to have enlarged canines even when in human form, and she felt her own canines that stuck out well below the rest of her teeth. What was larger than normal and what was just normal?

Defense was followed by her second Astronomy class, and she reveled in it. They began learning about mapping planetary motions. The neat diagrams in her notes earned her praise from Professor Trefoilan. She spent the class picturing the stars pinned to a sphere with the Earth turning in the middle, and what it would look like to someone standing on Earth. Of course she knew what it would look like – she had seen the night sky before – but she had never watched it for the hours required to see the heavens turn.

She ended the day with Transfiguration and her desk top featured several cute yellow wooden ducks by the time class was over. She wasn’t sure if she was allowed, but she hid one in her pocket to keep in her trunk as a souvenir.

Jamie had his second History and second Charms classes in the morning. The Charms class, where they learned the same itching jinx as Clara’s class, had devolved into dodging behind chairs and trying to shoot each other with the jinx. Somehow the teacher allowed it, saying it was excellent practice, though many of the students just wanted to concentrate and not be jinxed over and over. After that wild class, the Hufflepuffs were free, for their one weekly free period. Since it was still the first week of school and no one wanted to even think about homework, they wandered. They heard the sound of scuffles and students yelling and, following it, turned a corner into a corridor so wide that it was more like a grand ballroom. They had stumbled into a fourth-year dueling club session.

The ceiling was two stories high with tapestried walls punctuated with narrow vertical windows. The center of the floor had a skinny carpet running most of the length of the room, where the duelists were confined under penalty of forfeit. Several dozen students were gathered on the sides to watch and take their turns. Jamie couldn’t even follow the action, the flurry of jinxes, curses, wards, shields, and summoning beasts. Rolls of fire and gusts of wind flew freely. The duels mostly ended in less than a minute, with the next students coming up while the two finished duelists were tended – whether they had boils, burns, were covered in locusts, or fast asleep. The room suffered rapid destruction over and over, but was being continuously repaired by some students on the sides. Jamie and the other three first-years huddled together and stood behind the crowd of fourth-years, using them as shields against being hit. Somehow amongst the flurry of spells flying out of the dueling area, any bystander being hit was rare. Everyone was wands out and the crowd blocked or intercepted wayward spells that came their way. Jamie noticed some professors were in attendance – two he didn’t recognize and Professor Longbottom. Professor Longbottom had taken a flustered looking girl aside and was giving her advice while gesturing wildly. Jamie had never seen the professor so animated and alive; in class he was calm almost the point of being asleep.

Sedgly and August both wanted to join the dueling club – even though they knew less than ten spells between them. They asked but were informed it was for third years and up. As the next pair went up and the sidelines began to fill with former contenders covered in scrapes, bite marks, and with ripped clothes, Jamie couldn’t believe it could be him in just three years. From his first days, struggling to warm up a cup of tea with utmost effort and concentration, he couldn’t imagine himself slinging spells rapid fire. The will of the contenders wore out and they dispersed before any time limit for the class was reached. Jamie went with his roommates to change for dinner and their excited voices discussing the duels reached such a level that they were hushed and given a brief lecture by a Gryffindor prefect. Then the conversation switched to indignation, mainly August’s, about being lectured by a Gryffindor and whether the prefect had any right to reprimand other houses.

Following dinner, Jamie and Clara decided to spend the evening apart for the first, and returned to their respective common rooms. Climbing the stairs to Ravenclaw for the thirteenth time that week, Clara’s legs were burning. She hoped to get a rest on the weekend but reminded herself that the older students didn’t have a problem, so probably she would just build muscle and be fine. Or get a spell for that.

Get a spell for that. She wasn’t there yet, but life seemed so easy, her future so bright, after starting at Hogwarts. The muggle life was a struggle; your entire youth was consumed by the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Clara was lucky – she loved working in medicine, even though the hours and the time and the stress had been several times too much, she had felt happy to be on that path. She had been buoyed up by the belief that, unlike most people who worked jobs that they had to in order to have a nice house and car and eat, she would mainly enjoy her time at work and have more than enough money for a big house, good food, and vacations. Not yet, but within a few years of returning home from their honeymoon, she could start to relax and enjoy life. But all her dreams looked small in hindsight. Since she had magic, even that comfortable “dream life” looked like a struggle. An unnecessary struggle. What kind of a dream life was working all the time so that you could afford vacations? Why not traipse around Europe for years without having to put in the time working first? Yes, it was summarized quite neatly in that one question that consumed muggles: what do you want to be when you grow up? Well, you had better strive for as much money as you can because most people are struggling to get by. For witches the question was different: even if everything went wrong, she would travel Europe or relax in the rolling idyllic hills of Cornwall but just a floo away from wizarding London. Paint, pottery, read, travel. She could even enjoy Hogwarts more because she felt that her grades didn’t matter; she had already been through school once so she had nothing to prove. She was at Hogwarts to learn whatever magic she thought was interesting, and to have adventures.

She returned to her room to dump her books and quills onto her four-poster, but stopped and picked up the Charms book again. “Hey, want to practice Charms?” she asked Alison, who was sitting on her bed reading some note.

Alison looked up a smiled. “Of course!”

Jamie returned to the Hufflepuff common room to find August, Roc, and Sedgley studying together on a set of two tables pushed together under the windows.

“Hey, what’s up?” Jamie asked, wondering if he was missing something important.

“Just studying, like usual,” August responded.

“Usual?”

“We’ve been here every night,” said Roc.

Sedgly added, “I don’t know how I would keep up with classes if we didn’t always study between dinner and bed, there’s hardly any other time to do it.”

Jamie stopped, realized his mouth was embarrassingly open, and closed it. It turned out that these three jokers, these eleven year olds, were studious and hardworking. And Jamie, supposed to be a responsible adult, was the slacker. He fetched his books and joined them. He wanted to practice Transfiguration but he couldn’t find one of the student volunteers that were supposed to supervise. Instead he joined them on History and started to put together his essay on the Goblin Wars.

Chapter Text

Wednesday morning was Clara’s first taste of History, and she hated it. She thought it was a total waste of time and decided to tune out Professor Binns and just start studying from her textbook instead. That was followed by her first Potions class, another bore as they went through the motions of chopping and discussing safety. She ended her day on a high note – her second Charms class. They learned a jinx – the itching jinx. Fortunately they also learned the counter jinx the same day. Clara kept thinking she was itchy all evening, but thought it must be psychosomatic. She hoped she wasn’t permanently itchy after being the target of itching jinxes for over an hour.

Jamie’s Wednesday began with Astronomy, and he was disappointed after having learned introductory astronomy at university. Are we really going to be studying epicycles? And the mansions of the moon? But the lecture covered so much material that he had only vaguely heard of that he was too busy taking notes to be too bothered. This was followed by his second Transfiguration class. By the end of class, he was convinced he was the worst in Hufflepuff. They had been doing a color change of brown wooden ducks to bright yellow. By the end of the period, the room was full of yellow ducks but on Jamie’s desk were only a few mustardy or muddy colored pieces of wood. He sighed and was glad to see Clara before and after eating a lunch of croque monsieurs.

After eating, Jamie and his roommates were blocked from entering Hufflepuff. They could smell it all the way down the hallway – vinegar. Someone had tried to enter and tapped the wrong barrel code, apparently. Unwilling to crawl through several inches of vinegar in robes, they were unable to exchange their books for their afternoon class and showed up to Potions late and without books or cauldrons. As the class was entirely Hufflepuff first years, they weren’t the only ones cauldron-less. Thus, instead of them getting in trouble, the professor scrapped his plan of brewing their first potion and started lecturing about ingredients and their uses. As the professor was going through the list, Jamie got the impression that anything could be a potion ingredient of some use. He thought it would have to be something magical or somehow special or unique or hard to find, but even dried oak leaves were on the list amongst the usual frogs’ eyes and lump-of-fat-from-a-whale’s-stomach.

Jamie met Clara again after dinner. She asked why he smelled faintly of vinegar and he asked why she kept scratching her legs and arms. Sharing the stories of their days, they laughed and the stress of classes melted away. They practiced Charms together and Jamie started to show her the indelible ink charm but remembered they shouldn’t cast it – he had no idea how to turn it off. Jamie had been so busy he forgot about his hand, but Clara noticed that Jamie’s blackened hand was back to normal. He sighed in relief and they turned in early.

Chapter Text

As Friday morning dawned, Jamie was awoken by yelling in the hallway. Groggily through sleepy ears, Jamie came to understand the words that penetrated the thick wooden door and his pulled bed curtains.

A high pitched voice – “I know someone’s been stealing my stuff, look, my very last quill is gone!”

And Ardwin the prefect – “I know, I am taking it seriously. You need to calm down though so I can think.”

The voices became muffled as the yelling stopped and Jamie got out of bed, throwing on a fresh set of robes and getting out his toothbrush. It sounded like magic was being cast. By the time he opened the door and entered the hallway, there was a small audience and everything was being resolved. Jamie joined the five other boys there.

Ardwin was talking to Padraig, a muggle born from rural Ireland and one of the four first-year boys that were in the room just ten feet down the tunnel from Jamie.

Ardwin was explaining, “that proves it, it was abinny gremlins.”

“But why was it just me, did someone put them in my trunk?” came Padraig’s strong Irish accent.

“Well, do you have a piece of silver in your trunk?”

“Silver? Why would I have silver?”

“Keeps the gremlins away, among other things.”

“What silver? Do you all have silver in your trunks?” Padraig asked, looking around at his roommates and everyone watching. He received several nods and shrugs, like it was obvious that you should keep silver in your trunk.

“Well where do I get silver?”

Jamie butted in, “aren’t sickles silver?”

Padraig hit his head in mock punishment, “of course! And I’ve been carrying my coin purse in my robes.”

Ardwin corrected him, “sickles don’t work because of how they’re enchanted. Owl your parents for something.” Sighing loudly and cursing that he didn’t get enough sleep, Ardwin left towards the common room.

Jamie thought carefully – did he have anything silver in his trunk? His scales were brass, buttons were aluminum or plastic. His one piece of jewelry, his wedding ring and its chain, were both gold. He was worried because there was no one to owl for a piece of silver. From what he learned about magic in the past week, probably anything silver would work, even an old silver plated spoon. First years couldn’t go to Hogsmeade and he was stuck at Hogwarts until Christmas.

At breakfast, Jamie told Clara about the abinny gremlins. She was confident she would be ok because her trunk latches were all silver plated. But she was worried for Jamie. They realized how isolated they were in Britain, with no network of family or friends. They couldn’t call, email, text, or use regular post to get a letter to someone back home.

“It's so weird that I haven't checked my email in a week,” said Jamie.

Clara agreed, “we can’t go all the way until Christmas without talking to our families, they are going to worry. We are going to have to arrange something.”

Jamie started thinking out loud. “Even if we get special permission to go to Hogsmeade it’s also magical and won’t have wifi or a phone, so there’s nothing nearby?”

Clara decided to ask her prefect since she usually saw her in the common room late morning. They were interrupted by students yelling and running. It was clearly not wise to teach a bunch of eleven year olds the itching jinx. By Friday some pack of older Slytherins overheard that Matthias – a Gryffindor first year – couldn’t figure out the counter jinx and they had been chasing him around for two days. The end of breakfast turned in to a mini war between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but Jamie and Clara ignored it and parted ways to go to their classes.

Chapter Text

Friday was a full day for both of them. Clara started the day with Potions, excited because they brewed for their first time. They made the Milliner’s Needle sleeping draught, and at the end of the class the professor inspected their potions. Three of the students’ potions he deemed correct and he took three volunteers to taste them. Clara was too afraid to volunteer and was surprised to see Alison with her hand up, though she wasn’t chosen. The volunteers lay on the floor and took a spoonful each, falling asleep within a few seconds. The professor poked them and yelled at them but they did not stir. After a minute, he woke them up using a quick spell. Although she felt a little disappointed in herself for not brewing a correct potion, she smiled when she realized they had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs again.

Jamie’s morning was Defense, learning about vampires and werewolves. He asked a lot of questions because the limitations on vampires didn’t make sense to him. Silver he somehow accepted – it seemed that silver had a lot of magical properties. But being unable to cross running water? What if they just flew up really high? Or somehow went under? Could they get onto a boat on a lake and then start moving down a connected river? Professor Yugotich didn’t have many answers beyond the book contents. Thinking about whether the professor had ever encountered a vampires, Jamie wondered at Yugotich’s past. There was no chance to ask.

Jamie and Clara met at Herbology, this time in their designated greenhouse rather than outside. The day had grown darker but it had not yet started raining. They inspected their rompling ruststems but nothing was visible in the pots yet, they were undisturbed. That class, they performed pruning of hafaxis shepherd’s purse. Jamie was surprised to see Hefnia tasting it. She explained that she grew up using shepherd’s purse when cooking at home, it had a mustardy taste.

Professor Longbottom caught her and gave her a warning – this wasn’t the regular shepherd’s purse but a magical variety. It was used to cure some forms of magical blindness but could also give you terrible indigestion if you ate more than a taste. “There’s several extreme cases a year where some muggle eats too much and they don’t just get indigestion – the ministry has to chase them down with brooms as they float across the English countryside. Untreated, they might come down in a day or two after they pass the air.” Jamie, Clara, and Milavicent giggled while Hefnia’s ears turned red. They pruned their plants poorly, but acceptably, according to the professor. Apparently pruning helped them to produce more the next time they flowered. Class ended and the two Houses parted ways.

In the Ravenclaw common room, Clara was able to find Amelia, the black haired Ravenclaw prefect that was in charge of first-years. She was sitting and reading from a book on a table, her posture perfect as usual. Instead of the usual spread of parchment scraps that accompanied a deep study session, her table was organized into neat stacks with everything at right angles.

“Excuse me,” Clara said, standing next to her.

Amelia looked up, not smiling but neutrally expectant.

“I heard about having silver in your trunk. Is there any way I can go to Hogsmeade or just get off the grounds so that I can try and get some?” Clara didn’t reveal the primary reason for getting out of Hogwarts for a few hours – to contact her parents and friends by email or phone.

Amelia gave the practical answer, “you can send a letter to your parents by owl and they can send it. Do you want me to show you how?”

Clara tried again, “yes, but, I’m muggle born you see, so an owl doesn’t work.”

Amelia was warm in her response, even though it wasn’t what Clara wanted. “Muggles though they may be, they already know about Hogwarts. I can take you to the owlry right now, actually. You’ll have plenty of time to get to the Great Hall after.”

“Oh, ok. No, I think I will go some other time.”

Clara walked away to the dormitory stairs, her inner 29-year-old self thinking that Amelia was kind of funny and warm, though her first impression had been of cold aloofness. Clara exchanged her books for that afternoon’s History of Magic. She wondered if she could skip class and just study, but planned instead to bring extra parchment and sit in the back working on her own.

Chapter Text

Clara related her failure to Jamie over lunch. “She is a super helpful young girl, but that’s not what we need, because of our secret. We have to go to McGonagall.”

Jamie saw Ardwin at the foot of the Great Hall, chatting, and went to ask him directly.

“Hey Ardwin, could you let me know where the Headmistress’s office is?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“Nevermind,” said Jamie nervously and quickly walked away.

Relating his own failure to Clara, he decided to spend the free time he had until his afternoon Astronomy trying to find McGonagall’s office. He decided to ask the nearest painting. Going down the entrance hallway and taking two turns, he found a painting he knew well from passing it frequently – a woman in nineteenth century clothes with a bowl of fruit.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where the Headmistress’s office is?”

The woman looked down her nose at Jamie and judged him up and down, then thankfully responded. “It is on the third floor corridor in the North section.”

Jamie waited for a little more but got nothing, so started walking. It had only been a week, but he thought he could find the north section. He was starting to understand the castle was in about seven main sections that joined each other at right angles, plus tons of smaller sections that could go any way. That simple view didn’t account for the myriad towers, side passages, bridges, and the fact that nothing connected in a logical way, but it was starting to make sense in his mind. There was one bulky mass which ran east-west and was definitely the northernmost. He took several wrong turns and had to ask more portraits. At one point was probably in the north section but on the fourth floor and couldn’t find a single stairway, and at one point was on the third floor of an adjacent section but it didn’t connect through. Eventually he found his way to the correct corridor by entering through a narrow tower stairway from the fourth floor of another part of the castle.

The corridor was twenty feet wide and opulently furnished with carpets and six to twenty foot oil paintings of wars, dragons, fairs, markets, and other medieval scenes. Jamie had seen similar epic paintings in museums, but those didn’t move. Transfixed by watching thousands of actors play out a war in front of him, Jamie didn’t notice the time passing until someone else entered the corridor – professor Ardivat. He knocked and whispered at a statue which then revealed a stairway. He entered, leaving Jamie alone again.

Not wanting to be challenged by Ardivat, Jamie hung back for ten minutes until Ardivat came out again, then approached the statue. He then realized his mistake – he had no idea what sort of spell or pass phrase to give. He tapped it idly with his wand and the stair appeared. He stepped on and started to walk up, but it began to move on its own. After going up only a story, he was at the entrance to McGonagall’s office.

He poked his head in and didn’t see Professor McGonagall, so walked in a few steps. The office was enormous, and ringed with windows to allow sight in all directions. Central was a wide wooden desk; cabinets filled with curios ringed the walls. Above the curios small portraits filled the walls, climbing up to the ceiling. Former headmasters. Jamie wondered which one was Dumbledore. Small stairs led up to lofted areas with more curios and a ten foot telescope with a twenty inch primary mirror, which impressed Jamie. Then he noticed McGonagoll looking out the window only ten feet away and realized he had weirdly creeped up on her without meaning to. “Excuse me, Headmistress.”

McGonagall turned her head, not startled in the slightest.

“Jamie,” she said warmly. “Your timing is opportune. I need to discuss something with you. I was wondering how long you were going to wait in the hallway before coming up.”

So she had known he was there the whole time. Perhaps that was why he didn’t need to give the password.

“Jamie, I’ve received a letter concerning yourself and Clara. It is from MACUSA, the American equivalent to the Ministry of Magic. They have discovered that you are here attending Hogwarts and are demanding that you return home. They claim ‘jurisdiction’ and that we didn’t go through proper channels – as if they own you somehow.” She scoffed. “Do not worry. You do not have to leave Hogwarts, but you should be aware. If you return to America before your seven years are up, they may attempt to detain you.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how to take the news. It was only a week and Hogwarts already felt like home; he couldn’t bear to leave.

“What concerns me, however, is that they know of your and Clara’s situation at all. I told you: Hogwarts accepts all types, and I was selective with who I spoke to even in the Ministry. It stood out to me in the letter from MACUSA that they did not mention your ages, history, or parents. Perhaps that information is not as widely spread, and they believe you to be the typical age for starting magical education.” She paused in thought. “But these overseas matters are for myself to deal with. I want to you feel that you are safe here and can focus on your education.”

“Thanks, Professor, “ said Jamie. He wanted to ask to read the letter but was intimidated in McGonagall’s presence in her own office.

The Headmistress gave Jamie a quick smile, “On to other matters – what brought you to my office?”

Jamie explained about not preparing properly, that they were used to being in constant contact with their families but had been completely cut off and their parents would be worried and start calling the embassy if they just dropped out of existence for three months. Some sort of overseas owls were out of the question since their parents did not know about Hogwarts. They needed an hour of internet access to give excuses why they would be out of touch for three months.

“Internet?”

“It’s a muggle communication network. In practical terms, we need to be in a muggle hotel or café for an hour.”

McGonagall was obliging, but warned them they couldn’t be going out every weekend. She said everything would be arranged for Sunday. Due to their age and lack of knowledge they couldn’t use broomsticks or apparate. This meant a two hour carriage ride to the nearest muggle village. It would be a one-time favor.

Jamie sensed he was dismissed and got up to leave but McGonagall wouldn’t let him go until he took a piece of hard candy from the bowl on her desk, and one for Clara.

Happy to set aside his worries about contacting their parents and somehow getting a piece of silver, Jamie dashed to astronomy in order to not be late. Fortunately getting out of the corridor and back to somewhere he knew was easier than finding the Headmistriss’ office in the first place. By wandering aimlessly he was soon in a hallway he recognized.

Jamie’s astronomy class tried his patience again as he was forced to learn esoteric and overly complicated geometric methods for plotting out star motions. Class was interrupted by the itching jinx twice but Professor Trefoilan turned out to be more than capable of keeping the students focused and the class under control.

The first week of classes complete, Jamie felt free and happy. He went with the rest of the House to drop off his books in the common room but found it a hubbub. That night would be the quidditch team trials. A couple of first years were arguing about how they were going to make the team that year and were being yelled down by older students saying that first years practically never make the team. August smugly sauntered to the dormitory tunnel – Jamie figured August would try out too but thought arguing was beneath his status or something.

Jamie turned the first corner in the tunnels and escaped the din. He remembered that he was supposed to meet with Ardwin the following night, but didn’t know what to say. He planned to visit the library the next day and actually look at Hogwarts, A History.

Chapter Text

That Friday night the whole school was in a riot. Rather than the typical respectful, quiet dinner, the professors gave up on punishing anyone after the first fifteen minutes. Loud boasting and taunts passed between the tables. The worst were Slytherin and Gryffindor, who were fortunately separated by the Hufflepuffs so physical altercations were impossible.

After dinner Jamie talked to Clara about the trip on Sunday morning and gave her the piece of candy, as he had promised, then they went together to the quidditch pitch along with half of the school. The pitch was a long walk through the chilly evening. After a light rain that afternoon the temperature had dropped. Jamie and Clara wrapped their robes tightly around. Flickering flames in foot high lamps showed the way to the pitch, which was a few hundred feet into the forest. Set in a clearing, the wood-frame stands for better view of the flying players rose fifty feet into the air and looked precarious. There were no seats near ground level, as all the action took place on brooms high above. The ground was marked in white chalk. On both ends of the pitch were sets of three rings, the goals.

Clara and Jamie took seats in the stands among the other students, sitting close for warmth. The trials would apparently run into the next day, but those would be closed to protect the houses’ secrecy. That night was a big show. The Gryffindors were up first, the prospective team lined up on the side of the pitch while the team captain, a huge boy with at least twelve stone of muscle with long, brassy hair. After a short speech the entire group took off into the air. They circled the arena a few times and then switched to ducking, diving, and weaving through each other. It was hard to imagine flying that fast without any collisions but within ten minutes they landed. The captain split them into groups and gave them roles in a short scrimmage. There were more players than normally allowed and the field was chaos, but the captain appeared calm as he watched their flight. Finally it happened – a major collision left two students tumbling to the ground. Clara stood up and gasped, but wizards on the ground with their wands out slowed them to land gently. After a half hour and several more minor injuries, the Gryffindors were finished. There was almost a fight as they walked off the field and the Slytherins walked on, but the captains calmed their teams.

The Slytherins took to the air immediately and began similar paces as the last House. Unlike the Gryffindors, there were clear stand outs. Five of the Slytherins were not only more agile, faster, and better at weaving towards the goal, but faster than anyone else in a straight heat. Jamie was impressed but looked around to see most of the students around him, from all different Houses, barely paying attention. Jamie asked the boy next to him, an older boy wearing Gryffindor colors, “hey, aren’t they great? Those five are so good, why is no one paying attention?”

The boy scoffed, “they’re not any good, they’re just riding Lightning 290s that daddy bought for them. It’s the same every year with Slytherin. You can see their handling isn’t up to snuff but with them, whatever you can do to get an advantage is ok in their books.”

Jamie turned back to watch – the display was still impressive to him.

Next was Hufflepuff, and Jamie joined the cheers from the stands as they walked out onto the pitch. He saw August and the two first years among the thirty tryouts. They took off and Jamie was proud to see August keeping up with the best of them, though he had no experience with the game to tell if he was better or worse than other players.

“Clara look, it’s August.” Jamie pointed out.

“Oh yeah, he actually looks pretty good.”

They watched for the thirty minutes; August had been placed as a beater but didn’t handle the ball much because there were so many players on the field.

That left Ravenclaw to take the pitch to the loudest cheers of the night. Clara joined in and soon realized that most weren’t cheering just for Ravenclaw, but for a specific girl who was smiling and waving to the stands, already acting the star. Jamie told her about his day in the practice pitch, that she would likely go pro in two years. Clara stared wistfully at the amount of love and admiration sent to the girl.

As Ravenclaw took to the skies, they had enough experience to start to notice – she was better than anyone else on the field. She had an almost preternatural ability to know where the quaffles and bludgers would be in the next ten seconds, and was already in position. Secure in her qualification for the team, she performed tricks for her adoring fans: at one point taking the quaffle all the way across the field, through ten defenders, passing it to herself, and landing the goal.

The night ended in high energy and the party continued into the common rooms. Clara and Jamie fell asleep instantly, zonking out at midnight, two hours after their usual time.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning arrived to find most of Hogwarts sleeping late. It was difficult for both Clara and Jamie to adjust after their summer schedule of going to bed whenever. “Whenever” was often after two in the morning. Clara only made it to breakfast thanks to Betty, Alison, and Milavicent jumping on her bed when she refused to get up. She was still sitting at the Ravenclaw table when the plates, her cup of tea, fruits, pastries, and even the tablecloth disappeared right on schedule. “But where does it go?” she wondered aloud, and Milavicent had the answer – there were copies of the tables below where the house elves worked, and the contents moved back and forth. Clara nodded sleepily and left the three of them to return to Ravenclaw. She was delayed by the door for five minutes and was frustrated because she had been able to guess fairly quickly the whole week, but eventually made it up the stairs and crawled back into her bed to sleep another hour.

Chapter Text

Jamie completely missed breakfast, rolling out of bed around nine. He had no idea how late it was until he saw the large copper-handed clock in the common room. He walked to the Great Hall anyway and was pleased to find some fruits on the tables so that he wouldn’t have to go hungry. Munching on an apple and staring into the ceiling as it depicted the flat grey stratus clouds outside, he didn’t notice the ghost that floated up through the floor and came to a rest at his side.

“A little bleary-eyed today?”

Jamie was startled and looked down to find the ghost’s face ten inches from his own. He was a portly man in his thirties wearing a habit and with the comical medieval hairstyle where the top of the head is shaved. The man appeared hazy, with muted colors and half transparent.

“Oh! Uhh… a little tired I guess.”

“What is your name, young Hufflepuff?”

“Jamie.”

“I am known as the Fat Friar.”

Jamie’s sleepy brain struggled to find a personable response. “Oh don't worry, you're not so fat. It's really easy to find people much fatter than you.”

“But are they all as jolly as me? Hahaha should I change my name to Medium Friar?” the Friar paused for Jamie’s reaction, which didn’t come. “How are you finding Hogwarts?”

Jamie figured the friar was expecting a glib response, but he decided to be sincere. “Hogwarts is a special place. I can't believe I get to be here.”

The friar nodded in understanding. “Seven years doesn't seem long enough? That's why I'm still here! Hohoho!”

Jamie wondered how long the Friar had been at Hogwarts as a ghost. Friars were rare even today but still wore habits, so it wasn’t clear. “Do you think Hogwarts is a lot different than it was?”

“Things change through the ages, and Hogwarts has had good times and bad through all of that. But the camaraderie of Hufflepuff has stayed true.” The Fat Friar looked up wistfully, then smiled and nudged Jamie with his elbow, though it just felt cold to Jamie. “Hufflepuffs still throw the best parties. That goes all the way back to Helga.”

“Wow you knew Helga Hufflepuff?” Jamie was quiet as his sleeping mind tried to process this. What was it like to see a thousand years of history?

“What is on your mind, quiet Hufflepuff?”

“I was just thinking, even going to another country is a huge cultural change, something you can’t truly understand. No matter how hard you try to imagine or try to write it into fiction, you can only understand it by going there. Over a thousand years you’ve watched your own land become a foreign country as you stayed the same… Do you remember the day that they installed toilets into Hogwarts?”

“Haha! Of all the things you could ask. The toilets have been changed over and over. When they first put them in they smelled so bad people didn't want to use them. And even then there were not enough to go around.”

The Friar began to drift away and into the floor. “Finish your apple before it turns brown. I'll see you around Jamie.”

“Bye mister, uh, Fat Friar.”

As the Friar floated away, Jamie wondered at himself. He was getting used to weird already.

Chapter Text

Clara drifted in and out of sleep, shifting dreamily between imagining she was in a castle in a high tower and half waking to find she was in a castle in a high tower. Eventually she sat up and looked around. The room felt different during the day, empty and quiet. She took the time to notice what she never had before: the details in the carved wooden window frames. The texture of the stone windowsill being smoother than the wall, after hundreds of years of children’s hands touching the same spots. The way the light didn’t brighten the room for one part of the day, but simply came at different angles, through different windows, from sunrise to sunset. The grate was cold and she shivered slightly as she stood up. She put on her robes and relaxed, sitting on the side of her bed in the silence.

Or not silence. She could hear the wind whistling faintly around the tower. And yells of students distantly out on the grounds below. A small breeze touched her cheek – the window nearest her bed didn’t seal properly in the center.

Taking out her books, she placed them lovingly on the bed. In the rush of the week they had been often thrown into her trunk before sleep, an unsuitable method of organization. She paged through them, reading passages that caught her interest. With a week of school behind her, her relationship to the books was completely changed from the time of her first perusal over the summer. Instead of something abstract to the point of nonsense, when she read harborweed it meant something to her. One of the main ingredients of the Milliner’s Needle, but only if harvested during a thunderstorm. She spent the morning alone in the tower, only regretfully leaving for service in the Great Hall just after noon.

In the common room, Clara found it full of excited students of all ages, talking about a big party that was coming that night. Before she even had a chance to ask, a group of older girls invited her.

“Hey you, first year girl. Do you know about the party yet? You really should come. It’s in the basement banquet hall in the north section. It’s easy if you go right out the door and straight down three flights in the tower stairwell.”

Clara affirmed she would be there.

In the Great Hall she found Betty, Milavicent, and Alison discussing the party – what should they wear? Alison and Betty complained that they just had their school robes. Turning to Milavicent as the wizarding expert, Betty asked, “can I wear a dress I brought?“

Milly was aghast, “oh no, you must wear robes. It’s only for Ravenclaw anyway, more like for everyone to get to know the first years than a dance.”

Clara left the girls again after eating to say hello to Jamie. She lamented that they used to wake up together or at the very least text first thing in the morning, but now she had no idea what he had been doing before noon.

“What’s up Jamie?”

“I want to visit the famous library. Want to come?”

Clara agreed, excitedly clapping her hands. “Oh yes, let’s go.”

Jamie watched her being cute but also looking silly, and was filled with a warm feeling.

They left the hall together.

Chapter Text

The weekend let loose something in the students. On the way to the library they were passed several times by groups of crazy kids running in the halls and giggling, playing tag or some other wizarding version, with their wands out. The castle had too many winding corridors to be able to be policed like a regular school hallway, and the children behaved as they wished without supervision.

Clara and Jamie entered the library and the lively atmosphere was suddenly deadened. The door was heavy and blocked out all noise from the hall as it swung shut. The light from the windows was sparse and filtered through gray glass. Though midday, the room was lit by lamps and it took their eyes a minute to adjust.

They stood near the entrance and took it in: row after row of dark brown stained shelves, not overly tall for an adult but much too tall for an eleven year old. The room turned corners and it was impossible to tell how deep it went. In some sections, the books gave way to thick tables of the same wood. The impression of weight was overwhelming. There were no topic or alphabetical labels on the shelves and they did not know where to start.

Fortunately, the librarian approached. He was a tall but skinny man with long black curls to his waist. Though his beard, mustache, and hair were unkempt, his unadorned black robes were well made and well pressed. His initially stern, narrow face opened into a smile as he approached.

“Hello? Can I help you find anything?”

“Nothing, really, just wanted to look around,” said Clara, but Jamie had a specific book he was looking for.

“Actually do you have Hogwarts, a History?”

“Yes, we do indeed. Follow me.”

They followed him through a couple of sections and the librarian pulled out Hogwarts, a History from in between Green Witchcraft and Dealing with Goblins: an Adventurer’s Tale.

“How are the books organized?” asked Jamie.

“They are organized up here,” the librarian said, tapping his skull.

Clara jumped in to help, “but, like, are all the books on potions in one section?”

“Oh no, that wouldn’t make any sense,” the man said, shaking his head.

“Then how do you find any books? Are they catalogued and summarized somewhere?”

“What would be the point of that? That’s why there’s a librarian.”

They left the librarian to sit at one of the big tables. The chairs were so heavy that they were difficult to pull out, but once seated they found the chairs comfortable. Jamie started browsing A History with Clara looking over his shoulder. The type was heavy and uneven, closer to what the Gutenberg Bible looked like than a contemporary book with clean letters.

“Wow,” said Clara, “they really have everything in here. There’s a lot of stuff about the founders but it covers the whole thousand years. Or anyway, up until 1950 or so. When was this published?”

Jamie turned to the first few pages to find the typical copyright or dedication but they were missing. Eventually he found the forward signed by Bathilda Bagshot, 1983. “1983. So the book wouldn’t contain anything about the wizarding wars.”

“Remember Jamie, Bathilda was killed by Nagini so of course she couldn’t update it.”

“Oh.” The weight of her death sunk in deep. It was not just a name in a kids book but a real person. He stopped reading.

Clara stood up. “I’m just going to look around.”

Jamie turned back to his book. The real reason he wanted to check it out was because of Ardwin’s advice. He wanted to know more about Hufflepuff. There was no “Hufflepuff House” section in the contents, but he turned to the section about the founders. After he started reading, he couldn’t put the book down. A lot of the fundamental ideas he had about each House were challenged by what was written there.

It was easy to forget that Helga Hufflepuff, a “plump witch who loved baking” with a silly last name, was one of the greatest witches of her age. Of any age. What witch or wizard alive today could be one of four working together to raise and enchant a building like Hogwarts? She was also known for having created several extremely powerful artifacts. She was a strong leader and didn’t back down before Slytherin. What was the legacy of her House? While Hufflepuff had her preferred students, those who were hardworking and dedicated, she also took in any student that wouldn’t fit into the mold of any house. That was why Hufflepuff had more students, in Jamie’s year at least five extra.

Am I in Hufflepuff because I don’t fit?

Ravenclaw was for smarts, yes, but the book described her preference as wisdom over cleverness. Somehow this had been twisted into the perception that Ravenclaw was book smarts and good grades, but in reality she prized something more philosophical. Gryffindor was for bravery, but what did that mean? You could be a meathead and mean and be “brave.” After you excluded the ten percent of people who were truly timid, what were the criteria for Gryffindor? An ego-centric bravado? Slytherin valued ambition, but not just ambition. Gryffindors were frequently ambitious. Slytherin explicitly prized those who were willing to ignore the rules for their own gain and were resourceful. In other words, dickheads. Jamie had a thought: how childish that the founders all chose students that matched their own personality. Did they never meet someone they admired but were different from themselves? All except Hufflepuff. She allowed that a young witch or wizard could be completely different than herself yet still worthy of being taught.

What is a Hufflepuff? There was discussion of fairness and loyalty, but the number one aspect was working hard prioritized over talent. Bathilda made sure to include a section on top magical theorists from Hufflepuff, to illustrate a point. The list of names and accomplishments took three pages. Magical theory was difficult and required building on those before you; there were years of deep study before you could understand enough to contribute something new. If you are brash, lazy, or looking for a shortcut, you could not become a great theorist. Ravenclaw likes smart and clever, which are also requirements for magical theory, but you can be clever and lazy. Hufflepuff brooks no truck with lazy. Magical theory, ancient magics, ancient runes, and history were all domains dominated by Hufflepuffs. Subjects which require building on a deep knowledge base.

Despite all of this, Jamie couldn’t shake the bad feeling originating in the fact that students were specially selected for the other houses; some students were specially selected in Hufflepuff but if not special they just ended up in Hufflepuff anyway. Hogwarts was the only magic school in Britain, but within the school were three fancy schools and one for the general public? Jamie’s thoughts were interrupted by Clara tapping his shoulder. He realized it had been two hours.

Clara had been throughout the library. Her last two hours started with picking books at random, just to see what was inside. Over half were handwritten, perhaps even unique in the world. Their subjects ranged considerably, from potions to Egyptian runes to a field guide to herbs in Romania. Noticeably lacking was anything you would likely find in a muggle bookstore: languages, politics, self help, religion, fantasy, cookbooks, travel guides, horror, romance, or poetry.

Instead what she found were magics she couldn’t have dreamed up – magics totally unlike anything taught in her classes. Incantations that took twenty pages and probably an hour to recite. Ritual magics. A book on some kind of magical meditation. The power of runes and spells based solely on drawing the correct shapes. An entire book on crafting spells that never made a mention of a wand, which challenged her nascent understanding of magic.

Books ranged in age and condition; she wondered if she touched any books more than five hundred years old. Some were stained, some new and crisp. She found books of vellum and marveled at the texture.

Spending time paging through an ancient handwritten book of charms, she happened upon a spell for gentle warming, to be used in cold weather and when getting out of the bath. Exactly what we needed in Diagon Alley, and this upcoming winter in northern Scotland. She tried to follow the instructions; the page was handwritten and had two diagrams, but eventually she thought she had the incantation down. For charms there are three things, Professor Morsain’s voice said in her head. The incantation, the wandwork, and the intention. So where was the wandwork? She was nervous at trying a spell she just found in a book, especially without the wandwork. She went to find the librarian.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes?” he said, putting the stack of books he was carrying down on a table.

“Could you help me? This book has a neat spell but I don’t quite understand it.” She immediately felt foolish asking. She had all of a week of training, and probably should have gone to Professor Morsain. But the librarian was obliging.

“Allow me to see,” he said, and took the book. After considering it carefully, he returned the book.

“Alas, the wandwork is in Vienna notation.”

“Vienna notation?”

“Yes, it was only briefly in favor in the second half of the seventeenth century. It is obtuse; I doubt anyone at Hogwarts is familiar with it. And I am ashamed to say I do not have a book which describes how to interpret it.”

“Ok,” Clara said, choosing to give up and feeling silly again for taking the librarian’s time.

“But I know of someone who can. They are fortunately in Hogsmeade for at least the year. A warlock named Stanislaus.”

“What’s a warlock?”

“That just means an old, wise wizard. If you meet him just drop my name – Maslin Turnham.”

Clara noted this, not truly planning to ever follow through, and returned the book to the shelf. She was disappointed in her failure and looked around despondently, but another book caught her eye. It was dark purple with gold lettering on the spine, and she could read the title from several feet away, The Mimsy Records. She picked it up and examined it; the cover was blank, just purple cloth. Inside was a handwritten dedication:

We three amies

In honor of our camaraderie

Do present these words of advice

And spells for your enemies

It was signed Garlabell, Foxtrot, and Whiskey, 1832. The following pages included a sketch of three girls that scrunched the words to one side of the page, and a further explanation.

We three friends of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff have included in these pages our best spells and secrets of Hogwarts. They served us well during our seven years and we present them to you, Gabriella of Gryffindor, completing the tetrad. We developed these in our secret club room (not one of the secrets we can divulge, sorry). We will always be your older sisters, even as our life paths divide us now. Much love.

P.S. We are serious about the enemies part. Watch your back in these ever-changing corridors (the spell for watching your back is somewhere in the middle section).

Clara flipped it open to a random page. It described a spell for unknotting yarn and two extra lines for flavor amongst some drawings of flowers in purple and yellow:

You may untangle yarn with a wave of a wand

But untangling friends takes real magic

Kind of corny, but a practical spell for 1832 when the average girl actually worked with yarn. Clara thumbed through the rest of the book. It was mostly charms with a few potions, and each page was messily handwritten and adorned with adorable cartoons, poems, and short comments or little quips of advice. Clara clutched the book to her chest and went to find the librarian – she had to check it out. She was worried, though, because it was unique, handwritten, and 186 years old, maybe she would have to leave it in the library. Nope, she was free to take it after marking her name down in a massive ledger with pages two feet tall and almost as wide.

She had a thought and started flipping back through the ledger rapidly, going back from 2023, 2015, 2010, 2007, 1998, 1995… after that she started turning one page at a time, scanning. And there it was, Hermione Granger, in a neat cursive script. She had checked out Practical Potions and returned it a week later. Turning pages, her name appeared again and again, at least once per week. Clara realized she had stopped breathing and inhaled deeply. Reading that signature felt like reaching through time, almost a personal connection. Calm down, she told herself, this woman is still alive. You could meet her someday. Then her eye caught on Ron Weasley, in handwriting even worse than Jamie’s. He had checked out Winsome Witches and kept it for months. What kind of book was that?

Clara realized how long it had been since she had last spoken to Jamie and a brisk walk later found him at the same table he had been at, engrossed in Hogwarts history. She tapped him on his shoulder.

“Jamie, I want to go take a bath.”

“Ok, I’m going to ask how to check this out and look around the library. I’ll see you later?”

“When you check out, you need to look at the ledger. I found Hermione and Ron’s names in there.”

“The Hermione and Ron?”

“Anyway, there’s a Ravenclaw party tonight, so I probably won’t see you until tomorrow morning when we meet for the carriage ride.”

“Oh,” Jamie’s face drooped. “Anyway, I remembered there’s also a Hufflepuff thing tonight. I don’t think it’s a party though.”

“Ok, see you.”

“Bye…” their hands lingered, touching. Then Clara left the library and there was only Jamie and a couple of sixth or seventh years at the next table.

Walking through the halls back to Ravenclaw, Clara realized she hadn’t told Jamie about the book of charms she had taken. She decided she didn’t want to share. This was a book written by three girls for their first year friend. It was addressed to Gabriella, but she felt like it was written especially for herself.

Chapter Text

Clara left her new book in her trunk and found the baths. Strangely, on Tuesday and Wednesday she was desperate for a bath, but then felt ok later in the week. Apparently you can get used to being dirty.

There were no baths in Ravenclaw tower. They had the frequent small sinks where you could wash your face and hands (and brush your teeth if you were a silly muggle born). There were the toilets which were always oddly placed and rare, as if they were an afterthought. But baths? You had to take your change of clothes and a five minute walk down the hall from Ravenclaw. Perhaps the tower was too skinny to house them; she imagined the baths must be a large complex if they were regularly used by the hundred and fifty students of Ravenclaw. Clara had never seen the baths, and had to follow the prefect’s directions. There was no sign and she slowly pushed open the door on the east side of the hallway hoping it was the girls’ as instructed. She heard girls voices echoing and, assured, entered the door.

Clara was greeted with hot moist air and was thankful she no longer wore glasses, for they would have been instantly steamed. Walking around a short maze of wooden screens that hid the room from the hall, she found herself in a softly lit room with a textured stone floor. It was two stories tall; ten foot wooden walls divided it up but it was open at the ceiling. A group of girls were leaving while brushing their hair, but otherwise it was quiet. As the door thumped shut and the girls’ voices died out, the only noise was the steady drip, drip from a leaky faucet.

A splash made her realize she was mistaken, she was not alone. It was not obvious where it had come from, since all the stall doors she could see were open. She took a fluffy pale green towel and stepped around the room and found it was in several sections; there were probably twenty baths. She picked one at the far end of the room, as far away from the door as she could. She stepped in and shut the door, flipping the latch. Inside was tight but cozy. The porcelain tub outsized a standard tub by double and was surrounded by a wooden slatted platform, and copper pipes ran everywhere. She took off her shoes and stepped onto the wood. It felt soft and warm on her soles. The tub had three knobs and she turned one at random. A blue goop came out into the tub and she quickly shut it off. Her first thought was gross, but then touched it – it felt soapy. She had just dumped a ton of soap into the tub. She tried another knob and hot water flowed from the tap and down the drain. She found a chain hanging over the tub and pulled, sealing the drain.. It was too hot and she adjusted with some cold, then climbed in.

Immediately relaxed, she forgot about bathing. Laying back, she could see a patch of gray sky through one of the windows and watched the clouds move. The sounds of someone else getting out the bath and leaving took her out of her reverie, and she bathed herself before laying back again.

She awoke with a start and drained the bath, rinsing herself again. The texture of the fresh robes on her skin was glorious. She loved the house elves for all they did. Returning to Ravenclaw, she saw on the clock that she had been gone an hour. Alison, Milavicent, and Betty were in the common room and greeted Clara. She joined them for several round of pocket-grump, a wizard game of collecting tokens using small figurines of knights, bishops, lords, and serfs. It was complicated but Clara loved how the cute soldiers always saluted her when she told them where to move. Milavicent had been sweeping the board and just as Clara thought she had a chance of winning one round it was time for dinner.

Chapter Text

Jamie left the library, Hogwarts history in hand, to return to the Hufflepuff common room and meet Ardwin as planned. Before he reached the barrels, he ran into Ardwin in the hallway by chance.

“Jamie! Perfect timing. I’m busy preparing for Hufflepuff Lore Night tonight, but I didn’t forget about you. Let’s just talk in the corridor.”

Jamie was glad they weren’t in the common room and he could express himself to only Ardwin’s ears. They stood next to a window with a northern view of the rugged landscape. The sill was low so the view was impressive. It was impossible to be at Hogwarts and forget that you were in an ancient castle; it constantly reminded you.

“So Jamie, what do you think about Hufflepuff? I see you’ve made friends already.”

Jamie thought a bit before responding, slightly nervous. “Yeah, I am having a great time here, but I still don’t know what to think. I read some of Hogwarts, A History as you said, and I guess it gave me a lot to think about. But I still don’t know, what is Hufflepuff anyway? They’re the best friends of any house? That is not as cool as being known as the smartest, brave leaders, or successful and ruthless. Hufflepuff never wins the House Cup.”

“It’s true that Hufflepuff almost never wins the House Cup, but it’s because it’s a silly contest that doesn’t matter. Does winning the Cup mean you learned more in school, or were a better student? No, it’s usually won by scheming and insincere behavior towards the professors. It’s not well known amongst students, but McGonagall and those in the Department of Magical Education know it well: Hufflepuff House has the best grade average and highest number of Outstanding level OWLs. Why? It’s because we help each other, stay focused on what is important, and don’t get distracted by things that don’t matter. Friends, family, raising each other up, these are the things that matter.”

“But what about the fact that students are specially selected for the other houses, but students that don’t fit anywhere end up in Hufflepuff?” Jamie paused, unsure, but decided it would be better to just express his fears: “What if I’m just an ordinary guy who doesn’t fit anywhere?”

“If students were specially selected, do you think the four houses would be about equally sized every year? The hat puts you where you best belong among the four choices. There are geniuses and nitwits in all four houses.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s a lot about personality. Heh, like the definition of Slytherin is that you’re willing to lie, cheat, and steal for your own gain? Sounds miserable to be surrounded by people like that.”

“Slytherin is not some sort of demon House as you might think. Even in the wizarding war there were plenty of blood purists in every House – except for Hufflepuff that is.”

“Why not Hufflepuff?”

“I have wondered the same, but perhaps it’s the Hat’s emphasis on fairness that keeps them out. See? Hufflepuff is just as selective as any House.”

“Ok.” Jamie looked down and thought deeply.

“All right, I have to leave, sorry I couldn’t give you more time. Come find me whenever you want – and spend time with your friends!”

Ardwin speed walked away and Jamie sat down on the sill for a bit to think. He was gazing out the window without looking when his attention was piqued by movement in the rocks and scrub outside. He looked carefully and recognized August, Roc, and Sedgley picking their way along the cliffs and yelling about something. He was surprised he could see them so clearly; his vision was slightly better than when he wore glasses.

Spend time with your friends. Jamie smiled. Ok! I have no idea what nonsense they’re getting into, but I’ll pretend I believe in fate for a minute and go.

Chapter Text

Jamie easily got to the first floor but couldn’t find a door on that side of the castle, so he dropped six feet out of a window. He carefully meandered to the where the hill became steep, going around larger boulders and bushes. He could hear voices and followed them to the Hufflepuffs.

“Jamie!” said Sedgley.

“I saw you guys out the window and came out. What’s up?”

“It’s Hufflepuff Lore Night,” Sedgley explained without explaining.

August filled in. “Legend has it that if you meet a badger on Hufflepuff Lore Night, it will… well, it’s not clear.”

“Give you magic powers?” offered Sedgley.

“You already have magic powers, you dope,” said Roc.

“All right, I’m in,” said Jamie.

They spread across the hill and moved quietly and cautiously, looking for badgers. Jamie wondered what a badger looked like. Didn’t they live in burrows? And were nocturnal? Then he should be looking for a hidden hole that could be a den. He started to feel the effort was pointless, but he enjoyed being outside with everyone.

After half an hour, their energy was still high. “Come on guys,” August cajoled them, “we have to find it before dinner.”

They quickened their pace, now picking their way carefully down. The castle was halfway hidden from view by the crest of the hill. The sun was low but it wouldn’t set for another three hours; this far north the summer days were endless.

Jamie thought he heard it first, and started moving towards the shuffling noise of a small animal in dried leaves. The others quickly picked up and followed his gaze. He couldn’t see anything.

He moved closer, trying to be quiet, and then saw it. A chipmunk. It climbed up on top of a small rock and looked around.

“It’s just a chipmunk–” Jamie was saying when the chipmunk was suddenly no more. Something fast and black had taken it – a cat?

Jamie, Roc, Sedgley, and August watched in horror as a fat badger, black with white stripes on its face, long claws, and the size of a small dog, devoured the chipmunk over the next five minutes.

“Can we go now?” asked Jamie.

“We need to introduce ourselves,” said August. “We have met a badger on the Night of Hufflepuff Lore.”

They grouped together and introduced themselves to the badger from ten feet distance, each bowing in turn. The badger stopped eating and watched them, holding the remains of the chipmunk in its claws. They waited and Jamie would have sworn it gave a small bow in return before it bounded off. They decided to not follow it.

Hufflepuff Lore Night is off to a good start, Jamie thought as they tromped inside to dinner.

Chapter Text

The Ravenclaw house party was not held in Ravenclaw Tower and most of the first-years felt out of place as the only ones that did not have sharp party robes with extra piping and tassels or other features. Well, Milavicent had hers in good form; it looked like it had been just pressed and Clara wondered if it was enchanted or if she had gotten the House Elves to do it.

Only hors d’oeuvres were served and champagne and the “party” was mainly conversation which naturally sorted by year and by friend group. Clara finally learned all of the first-years’ names as, mid-evening, they were paraded out one by one and announced, to light clapping.

She enjoyed it – it seemed that Ravenclaw house were masters of understated elegance which she greatly preferred to the ostentatious Slytherins or brash Gryffindors.

Chapter Text

“Hufflepuff Lore Night” turned out to be a party in the common room where they were visited by badgers (older students in costume) wildly careening around the room, cajoling them all into dance. This was followed by stories of the origin of Hufflepuff House, legends of Helga Hufflepuff that were too wild to be believable, and tales of the lives of accomplished Hufflepuffs. The party was high energy and Jamie feared for the furniture and copper lamps. The attendance dropped with age, but boys and girls of all years stomped and swung themselves about to live drums and horns. After midnight and soaked through with sweat, Jamie didn’t want to get under his sheets. He cracked the window and stayed up another hour, talking calmly with his bunk mates about their families and transfiguration of all things. He fell asleep on top of the covers.

Chapter Text

On Sunday morning, Clara was stopped in the common room by a phrase she never expected to hear. “Excuse me, where is the campus chapel?” a first year girl that Clara knew, Monica, was asking the prefect. “There is no chapel, but follow me,” was the matter-of-fact response. Clara continued on to breakfast, not finding out the conclusion of that story.

Clara and Jamie met outside of the Great Hall after breakfast. The cloudy weather had broken and it was cool but clear, a beautiful September day in Scotland. They had received notes on Friday about where to catch the carriage, outside of the main entrance at 10 AM. Jamie was excited to leave and had pre-packed everything he might need: muggle clothes underneath his robes, his mobile, his laptop, and chargers, all wrapped in a sweater to hide them from other students (he had no backpack or bag). Clara stopped him from going straight to the gate.

“Jamie, no, you need to bathe first. I can smell you from here.”

Jamie, slightly embarrassed, asked, “where do I do that?” He realized how weird it was that he hadn’t even heard of the baths or where they may be located.

Clara explained that Hogwarts provided towels and soap so all he needed was his change of clothes, and that she found baths next to the Ravenclaw tower. Jamie went back to the Hufflepuff common room and dumped his things on the bed, finding August there.

“Hey August, where’s the baths?”

August raised his eyebrow, “you mean you haven’t used them yet?”

Fortunately Jamie didn't have to leave Hufflepuff to find the baths, as they were tucked into the dormitory area down one of the meandering tunnels. Twenty minutes later Jamie was clean, in fresh robes, and inside the main entrance to Hogwarts trying to figure out how to get outside. He was facing two firmly shut wooden doors, fifteen feet tall and ten feet wide each. The door was made of planks so wide it looked like entire trees had been strapped together with iron bands. He pushed and pulled and made no headway.

“Jamie! Over here.”

He saw Clara waving him over. He followed her out a small side door that was more human sized. They passed through stone, turning frequently and navigating through several doors and iron grates. It amounted to a tunnel through the fifteen foot thick walls. Outside, they had full view of the main entrance for the first time. They never had a reason to be outside on this side of the castle, with the boathouse and lake far around on their left, the lawns and path to the lake closer on their left, and the quidditch practice pitch on the other side. It was the best access to the Forbidden Forest, but there was no reason to go because that was forbidden.

Stepping through the last few decorative gray stone archways and between massive columns, they stepped on to a rocky drive. It stretched downhill to the external walls and a gate at the edge of the forest. They continued down the hill but stopped on a small rise before the road continued even steeper down. Looking back at the castle, Clara was moved. With sunlight at a low angle emphasizing relief, the castle was picturesque in a way she hadn’t seen since the first night on the boats. It was her first time seeing it fully in daylight. From this vantage point, the towers appeared to rise in successive, ever taller layers, the main masses filling in the space between. Whoever designed the castle had planned it to be beautiful and impressive from this exact spot. She could pick out the top of Ravenclaw tower but wasn’t sure which was the astronomy tower. She wondered at the secrets of the castle – she thought she had been all over the castle but there was no way she had entered even ten percent of it.

Far away to the north they could pick out Hagrid walking across the lawn to his hut, seeing him for the first time since the train platform. They continued along the rocky path at a slight grade towards the forest. They were probably twenty minutes early, but with no way to easily tell time they kept walking. They could see a carriage waiting in a stony circle just inside the gate.

Approaching, they saw the carriage was simple with an open top and made of polished and lacquered black wood. Two brown horses were harnessed in tandem, waiting patiently and happily as they chewed on something. The passenger area was two cushioned benches facing each other. Sitting high above the passengers was the driver’s box, considerably less comfortable looking and occupied by a hunched over man with long greasy hair that obscured his face.

“Excuse me,” Clara asked gently, “are you the one taking us to the muggle village?”

“Ay, that be me,” the man responded, shifting his body to sit more upright. His robes sitting more naturally made it clear he was skinny and tall, perhaps seven foot. At his full height, while wearing a tall cap and sitting on the box, he towered comically over the carriage.

Unsure what to do next and with no guidance from the driver, Jamie clambered up with difficulty, using a step hanging down, and found a latch that opened a small door in the side. Helping Clara up, they sat down. Aware that they were supposed to be at most friends, they sat facing each other, Clara facing forwards and Jamie facing backwards while sitting directly beneath the driver. They started off through the open wrought iron gate and into the forest. Excitement was high as it was their first carriage ride ever and first time into the “forbidden” forest.

Chapter Text

The forest was varied and they did not get bored, constantly presented with new sights. There were quiet sunny meadows surrounded by trees, dense wooded areas with undergrowth that would prevent any passage, streams burbling towards the loch adjacent the castle, and dark and foreboding thickets. They rode for five minutes in silence as they watched broad branched trees presiding over sun dappled purple flowers. As they rose up hills they would catch brief glimpses over tree tops and wondered at the secrets hidden in the extensive forest before it ended at the distant mountains.

The path never branched until finally, after an hour, they exited the forest onto heath. The dirt path split into two directions. Looking into the distance left and right, Jamie and Clara wondered how far this village could be. The bouncing benches were uncomfortable after the first short section and they had constantly shifted positions over the last half hour. The driver took the right hand path and continued on.

With a less featured landscape and tired of her conversation with Jamie, stilted and checked due to the driver overhearing, Clara decided to try and break him out of his silence.

“Hello, Mr. Driver. We were wondering, what is the name of the muggle village and how far is it?”

He shifted his weight from one side to the other instead of responding, and Clara had enough time to wonder if he would just ignore them before he turned in the seat to address them. “We’re a little over halfway now… Muirferm. That’s the name of the town.”

“Well, I’m Clara and this is Jamie.”

“Ay know yer names. McGonagall told me. First years, right?”

“Yes, we just started.”

“So what makes you so special that you’re going out to Muirferm?”

Clara couldn’t think of a quick plausible lie, so told the half truth. “We can’t send owls to our parents. We just need to let them we’re ok until we see them at Christmas.”

“Hmph, don’t see the need, you children today are spoiled with your floo network and owl post.”

“Floo and owls are recent?”

“Yes miss, back when I joined as coachman, it was always me’n’Matty drivin letters up to Hogsmeade and beyond. ‘Course, Matty’s been dead now for… eighty-six years.”

Jamie joined the conversation, “but you only look like you’re, what fifty?”

“Fifty? Hoo! It’s been a long time since I’ve been fifty.”

Clara asked, “does that make you one of the oldest wizards alive?”

“Naw, I don’t reckon. Still got another fifty in me, I suppose.”

“Hold up, you’re saying that wizards usually live hundreds of years?”

“Naw! Not hundreds. Except for a few, that is. And I don’t care to learn their secrets.”

“But you’re a wizard, why are you just a coachman? Wouldn’t you rather, I don’t know, be sipping prosecco on the mediterranean?”

“Times sure have changed if a London youth such as yourself is talkin’ ‘bout sippin’ prosecco. I was a London youth too, muggle born I think, grew up in the work house.”

Jamie and Clara looked at each other in wonder. Jamie had to ask the coachman again, “exactly how long do wizards live?”

“Well, from what I know, one hundred and forty? Sixty? Probably the Ministry keeps track of such things.”

Jamie looked at Clara again. Clara looked back. “We’ll live another hundred and fifty years?”

“We’ll live to see 2170?”

“But… does that mean all the witches and wizards we see, at Diagon Alley, and our professors, are most of them born in the late Victorian, or early 20^th century?”

“Before cars, electricity, planes?”

“That does go a long way to explain their out of date clothing.”

“I feel like a Lord of the Rings elf, just watching the masses of humanity grow and die while I remain. Kind of goes a long way to explain their total detachment to muggle concerns.”

“That’s too dark, Jamie.”

They were quiet for ten minutes as they tried to process, reforming their entire worldview. Then Jamie’s mouth wouldn’t stop running. “So… one hundred students a year at Hogwarts, times 160 years of people, gives sixteen thousand wizards in England, Scotland, and Ireland. That’s a low number.”

Clara’s was quiet as her brain tried to reprocess everything she knew to fit in this new knowledge, and she just stared across the rolling moors. She was jarred back to the present by seeing sunlight glint off a car driving in the distance, reminding her of the muggle world. “Jamie,” Clara said, her eyes wet, “we’ll see our parents, all our friends, die, and we’ll still live another hundred years.”

They were quiet again.

“The curse of being a muggle born wizard,” Jamie said softly.

Chapter Text

As they crested a hill, the wind picked up and they wrapped their robes closer around themselves, but they didn’t have long before they reached a T intersection where the dirt road joined tar. The coachman held the carriage for a minute as a silver sedan appeared above a hill, approached at high speed, and zoomed past. The rumbling noise and wind were obnoxious to the three open air travelers who had spent the morning only hearing the clop of horses’ hooves and the creak of wood against wood. The road clear, the coachman turned right. The carriage’s wooden wheels, perfect for dirt and grass, rolled awkwardly on the pavement and clattered at the slightest pebble. Jamie and Clara took this paved road as their queue to de-robe, revealing their muggle clothes underneath. They were immediately cooler and wished they could have kept their robes on. The coachman didn’t change, maybe it wouldn’t be so weird because people would think it was a uniform?

In another fifteen minutes they could see Muirferm nestled in between four hills, gaining a full view as they descended into town. It was built around the intersection of skinny two-lane highways, all one and two-story stone buildings lining the streets. Beyond the town a large stand of trees climbed the hills. The steeple of a church dominated the town center, its pale stone standing three times as tall as any building and distinct from the darker stone of the rest. They clattered down the street passing shops, a mixture of practical stores and more tourist sounding shops, antiques and restaurant signs promising traditional Scottish fare. The stone buildings were old looking and quaint, little alleys leading from the main road offered views of backyard gardens and land put to practical use, the homes of people used to providing for themselves and not the constant shipment of products and out of season vegetables from overseas that you would get in contemporary London. They were let off the coach in the town center in front of the church, the coachman leaving to tend to the horses outside of town and grumbling that he used to be able to hand them off to be fed and watered but now there wasn’t even space to tie them.

Looking around, Clara spotted a post office, café, and something that was probably a hotel since it said rooms for rent even though it was only a small two-story stone building with tiny shuttered windows facing the street. They decided to try the café. They had only been at Hogwarts for a week but they had the perception of traveling through time; they had lived in a castle and now here they were in a perfectly ordinary café with the wifi password on the wall and offering lattés, chai, scones, and for some reason Indian roti.

The woman behind the counter held the only two customers in conversation, all three of them women in their thirties, “…and it was getting dark and the rain had started and I almost twisted my ankle twice on some rocks – I almost cried when I got to the bothy!”

One of the sitting women cackled, “and after the worst third date ever, did he at least take better care of you until breakfast?”

“Oh yes, he was a good boy.” She finally turned to the two young children waiting patiently, “and what will you be having?”

Jamie asked her if they had outlets and they were directed to the seats near the window. Just to be polite they ordered black tea for Clara and chai for Jamie, and two scones. There were only two outlets so, as they sat down, Jamie pulled out his laptop and Clara her cell phone.

“Fingers crossed that they still work and haven’t been permanently ruined…”

After a minute of battery charging, they all came online. Jamie checked his email to find two from his mother asking why he wasn’t answering his phone and if everything was ok. Clara’s phone was quiet for ten minutes and then started dinging once per second with each missed message finally arriving. After an obnoxious minute and an apologetic face to the three women in the café, it had finally received everything. She scrolled through her messages and started furiously typing replies to several friends.

Not wanting to be overheard, Clara waited a half hour for her mobile to charge and then stepped outside to ring her mother, giving the outlet to Jamie for his mobile. It was six AM back home, but her mother picked up after a few rings. “Clara! Is everything ok?”

Clara proceeded to lie to her mother for ten minutes straight about new coworkers, how her new job was going, adapting to the British health care system, and that the cell coverage and internet were spotty so they might not be able to receive calls. But she told her mom if she left messages they could respond eventually. Clara hung up and started crying softly. Jamie saw her through the window and left his laptop to join her outside. “Jamie, I have never lied to my parents so much. They always supported me and I can’t do it.”

“But what are we supposed to do? We send MACUSA representatives to explain everything? I don’t have ideas, we went through this already last summer.”

“They should come here, Jamie. That’s the only way.”

Jamie thought about it. They had decided against it in the summer as impractical, but clearly being out of contact for another three months was not going to fly. “You’re right. It should be easy to get them here, they’ve been wanting to come anyway. They’ll come right away if we invite them.”

“And then we figure out what to say to McGonagall. But regular muggle borns all let their parents in on The Secret, so why not ours? It should work out.”

“Ok, do you want to call your mom back? Let’s just schedule it now because there’s no way to get a message out at all, since owls don’t connect to the muggle post so we can mail letters overseas.”

“Excuse me,” a deep voice said, startling them both. A man in loose black sweatpants and a black jacket was standing five feet away. His dress as well as his three-month-long unkempt beard made him appear like a confused tramp, but his intelligent brown eyes surveyed them both. He looked forty but who could be sure now that they knew how long wizards lived? “You may wish to keep your voices down in muggle territory.”

Jamie and Clara relaxed slightly – he was a wizard of some sort. But did that make him less or more threatening?

“Sorry,” said Jamie. He still didn’t feel like an official wizard and deferred to the man’s authority on what wizards and witches should be doing when standing outside of a café in Muirferm.

“A young witch and wizard? You are students of Hogwarts?” he continued.

“Yes, we just started,” Clara answered, and provided an excuse for them being in Muirferm. “We just need to tell our parents not to expect our calls; we didn’t know that nothing worked at Hogwarts.”

“How generous of Hogwarts to allow you to go.” His voice was calm and smooth, like he had all the time in the world. “Out of curiosity, what Houses were you sorted into?”

“I’m Ravenclaw and Jamie here is in Hufflepuff.”

At the mention of Hufflepuff a strange look crossed the man’s face but immediately disappeared – was it pain, or anger? “Excellent Houses both, I’m sure.” He seemed to be considering something, then spoke again. “Not soon, but we will likely meet again…” He immediately backtracked to explain himself, “you know how small the wizarding world is.” He tipped his hat, a somewhat comical action since it was not a nice hat. “My name is Cadmar. Nice to meet you, Jamie and…?”

“Uh, Clara,” said Clara.

“I have a piece of information for two muggle-born children finding their way in the wizarding world. You can indeed send post by owl to anywhere in the world. You simply write C/O FEO under the name and must put the address in the silly way muggles do, and it will change to muggle post in the Ministry to get where it is going. FEO, that is Foreign Exchange Office. Foreign, of course, being also your neighbor who is a muggle.” Every time he said the word muggle he sneered, and it soured Clara and Jamie.

“Oh, thanks,” said Jamie. Cadmar was helpful but his demeanor was unsettling, so Jamie wasn’t sure how to act. “And does it work in reverse?”

“For the reverse, it must be addressed to ’Ministry FEO, London’ and just have the name on top. Once the owl has it in London you only need the name, you know. None of this silly muggle business of having to keep track of where everyone is just to send them a letter.”

Cadmar continued down the street and disappeared into the hotel. Clara called her mother back and, as they thought, her mother was excited to be booking a flight to Scotland with her father for the end of September. Clara didn’t know where to send them so told them to be in Muirferm, having to spell the name of the town twice. Jamie called his parents afterwards and they also agreed to meet in Muirferm, and planned to book flights together.

Before they left the café, Jamie pulled up Google Maps. There was Muirferm, not even labeled on the map unless you zoomed in almost all the way, and he followed the highway up. The dirt road was not marked but was visible on the satellite view. Scrolling around, the Forbidden Forest had nothing special about it and where Hogwarts should be were tiny, almost nothing gray specks with a label stating “Castle Dunmar (ruins).” A quick internet search showed a two sentence Wikipedia article and a few boring photos of dirt, heath, and the loch in the background.

Their business at the café completed, they walked across the street to a small store. Walking inside, it was a combination small grocery, clothing, soaps, dishes, basically everything store. Clara wanted a fully mechanical watch that might actually work at Hogwarts, but they only had digital watches, and Clara didn’t like the selection of over-the-shoulder bags or backpacks. “They all look so modern and incongruous with Hog… the school. Let’s try the antique shop? You need something silver anyway.”

In the antique shop they still didn’t find a mechanical watch, but Jamie purchased a slightly tarnished silver plated figurine of a bagpipe player in a kilt and a faded brown leather satchel. Clara found a dark green canvas satchel that she fell in love with immediately, but almost didn’t buy it because it was the color of the wrong House. She decided to get it anyway. Hungry, they finished their trip to Muirferm in the one touristy restaurant, drinking a fish soup called Cullen skink and splitting a Scotch pie. Feeling like they were on a Scottish vacation, they stepped out onto the street.

They walked back towards the intersection, taking in the quiet town. They hadn’t seen a single car pass since they left the restaurant, but they could hear voices from inside the houses – happy, arguing, normal life. The town was peaceful and they could understand why someone would choose to live there despite it being so remote. Turning left at the intersection, they caught the smell of manure coming in on the wind from distant farm fields. Eventually they found the coachman again and Jamie realized how weird it was that they never got his name. Sad to be leaving their day trip adventure behind but anxious to get back to Hogwarts, they boarded the carriage – more adeptly this time. Twenty minutes later they were donning their robes while the carriage paused at the head of the dirt road, and returned to the Hogwarts gate by late afternoon.

Sunday night was for the homework they had neglected all weekend, while their friends relaxed or found entertainment around the castle. Clara was about to slip into bed when she noticed her sheets were fresh, and took the time to bathe a second time before sleeping. Clean sheets, a clean Clara, and clean pajamas made for a deep slumber. Jamie crashed into his pillow as usual, hardly noticing how fresh it smelled, but slept just as deeply.

Chapter Text

During the second week, the atmosphere of the castle changed. At first it was almost a festival atmosphere, with everyone greeting old friends and being welcomed; the second week was past that. Breakfast Monday morning set the tone: oatmeal and unsweet scones. Clara protested, and was met with, “well you can't expect a feast everyday, that would be a huge waste” and “haha, imagine, we would be as fat as Americans!” In addition, the pace of classes picked up – though that wasn’t hard since the first week had been so slow.

Clara’s Monday morning Charms featured not one but two new spells, a spell to clear bad odors and a mysterious knocking charm that made it sound like someone was at the door. The room was full of earthenware pots full of absentitia, a magical herb that had some sort of medicinal use but smelled horribly of rotten eggs. If students didn’t keep casting the clean air charm, the room was quickly overwhelmed. Doors stood around purposelessly, knocking and pounding until opened, only to be shut again for another try at the charm. Clara was surprised to find she was able to cast them both by the end of class (with difficulty).

She used her free morning period to study in the library but ended up spending half the time paging through the ledger and looking for famous names she knew, touching the page gingerly whenever she happened upon another Hermione Granger.

She ended the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts – no big scares since the first day, but the class got more interesting as they learned more and could have real discussions. It was still dry but she was holding on to the prefect’s promise, passed through Jamie, that they would have heavy hands-on work once they had a basis of knowledge.

Jamie’s Monday started badly, with exhaustion, but downing three cups of tea at breakfast, which wasn’t served every day. He felt great all through the early Defense Against the Dark Arts and took Clara’s advice on using History of Magic as a self-study period. He was able to finish his essay due Thursday on the Ministry response to the Goblin Wars (with a short discussion on why it turned out so badly). He received odd looks from Roc sitting next to him through the whole class, but he explained everything afterwards.

“Look, it’s pointless to take notes, it’s impossible to follow Professor Binn’s lectures without already having, like, six years of schooling on the stuff. So I’m working on my essays. By the way – what did he talk about today and what is the assignment?”

Roc was on board to work through class the next period, alongside Jamie, but they spent five minutes debating on who they could reliably ask for a three minute recap and next homework from that following lecture.

Potions ended his day, and it was the feather in his wizard cap. It was a complicated Potion of Suggestion. The drinker would be encouraged to agree with whatever you said over the next half hour. Jamie wondered at the ethics of teaching this to 11 year olds, but was proud that his potion was deemed by Professor Connough as the third best in the class, and was one of those used in a demonstration.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday Jamie arrived early at Transfiguration, hoping to get the professor’s help for a few minutes, but Professor Thistlethwaithe appeared to be battling with a broom. It was trying to sweep the room and the professor was wrestling it to try and get it out the door – and losing. The broom was too strong.

“You cad! You cur!” came the professor’s voice. The broom kept on sweeping.

Professor Thistlethwaithe pulled out his wand and pointed it at the broom, “ruere!”

The broom broke into thousands of pieces, leaving a fine dust in the air.

As the professor straightened his jackets, Jamie had to ask. “Umm… Professor Thistlethwaithe, why did you blow up that broom?”

“Oh, Jamie, didn’t see you there.” The professor wiped his brow and leaned on his desk. “I am finally rid of that mischevious broom. It wasn’t supposed to be an enchanted broom, it just sort of started sweeping one day. But it does a horrible job. It actually makes the place dirtier. Especially when you children track mud in, it just pushes the mud around. Glad to finally be rid of it.”

Students started to enter and Jamie realized his lost his chance to ask questions and took his seat instead.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday evening Clara told Jamie she wanted to spend the evening in Ravenclaw with the girls, but actually stuffed The Mimsy Records into her robes and slipped out of the common room. It was easy to find a private room in the oversized castle – a few turns, two stairwells, and she wasn’t sure where she was anymore, in an empty corridor. Picking a door at random she found a dirty closet, but her second try landed her in a dusty room with chairs arranged in a circle. There were some footprints and a few of the chairs had been wiped clean recently, but otherwise the room looked untouched for an age. She peered out the windows to get her bearings and saw only the stone of other sections of the castle. She took a comfortable seat and pulled out her book, starting from the beginning this time.

Hmm… bibatrimentum, a spell to get the last drops of ink out of a bottle, even if its dry. Well, I don’t have an almost empty inkpot to try, Clara thought. The next page was adstringartus, with a cartoon of a boy hanging upside down, his robes over his head, and his legs wrapped around and around each other in a way that was not possible with intact bones. For Bullies was written across the top of the page. For bullies? That’s too extreme. Next page. The next page showed a crowd of black formless specters hanging behind a girl in a way that looked frightening, but the girl was holding a wand, she was the caster. It was not clear to Clara what the specters were doing. Tueor umbravi was the incantation, and the description of the wand work was “sort of like scattering corn for chickens”. Clara remembered that “tuer” was French for “to kill”. Were these really spells made by school age girls?

Finally she found a spell to practice, conjectus. According to the book it should neatly stack your books and school supplies, and with a twist of the wrist at the end would also pack them into your bag for you. She didn’t have her school bag, but Clara had The Mimsy Records to practice with. She was about to say the spell but hesitated. The Mimsy Records was too precious to practice with. Fortunately, on a chair across the room were several brown books. She opened them and was surprised to find what would have not been surprising at all if this was a normal school and not a thousand year old castle-cum-wizard-school in Scotland: English dictionaries from the 1960s.

She scattered them across several chairs, practiced the wand motion first, and then pictured in her mind the books neatly stacked. “Conjectus.” The books moved a little and one fell from the chair to the floor. Just as frustrating as Charms class, she thought. She gave up after half an hour, feeling mentally exhausted. She had managed to get the books to fly around, mostly colliding in midair, but no neat stack of books.

Having no idea of the time, she went back to Ravenclaw and found it was still over an hour until dinner. Betty, Milavicent, and Alison were sitting in hard chairs with their books out on the table in front of them, by a window. Clara went up to them but instead of sitting at the table, plopped down onto a poufy chair, her legs across the arms. She looked out the window, the sun still high in the sky in the long Scottish summer, and relaxed.

Chapter Text

By Wednesday, Clara started to notice that Alison was frequently exhausted. They usually went to bed and woke up around the same time, so she was concerned. She was alone with Alison after lunch as they wasted some time near the Charms classroom. They walked a cloister-like peristyle around a sunny courtyard. She changed the subject from Charms to ask: “Alison – are you ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“You look exhausted… is it homesickness?”

“It’s just…”

Clara was starting to regret she asked, maybe the question she thought was lighthearted was too personal, but forged ahead since she had already started. “You aren’t sleeping well?”

“I have never slept well,” Alison said, eyes down, like it was something embarrassing. “It’s not Hogwarts. I’ve never done well in school because of it.”

“Oh…”

“I just wake up sometimes like I can’t breathe – but then I’m ok!” she quickly added to reassure Clara. “I fall right back asleep.”

Clara had expected to just give a nice pat on the head to make Alison feel less anxious, but this was different. To Clara, with a few years of muggle doctoring behind her, the problem sounded obvious. But she wanted to make sure. Full steam ahead, you went this far already…

“Alison, could I… see up your nose for a second?”

Alison gave her a funny look, but then giggled and agreed. They stopped walking while Clara pulled her nostrils open to get a clear view. It was definitely sleep apnea caused by a deviated septum. Poor girl had been living like this her whole life? But what to say without revealing her true past?

“Oh… it looks like your nose is blocked. Maybe that’s why. I had an uncle like that, that’s how I thought to look,” Clara lied. Lying was becoming too easy.

“Well, ok.” Alison looked unsure what to do with the information.

“You should go to the campus doctor.”

“Oh no, it’s not serious, and I don’t want to bother anyone.”

Clara was a little frustrated – she had met too many people who went to the doctor too late or were strangely afraid. “But that’s what they’re there for. At least you can just talk and maybe do nothing.”

“No, that’s ok,” Alison said with an air of finality.

Clara decided to secretly visit the campus doctor when she had a chance and find out if there was a magical solution instead of the usual muggle surgery. If it was just the wave of a wand, why should Alison suffer pointlessly? Resolving this, her expression changed back from a look of determination to the relaxed and carefree attitude of being with a close friend. “Anyway, we should go to Charms – it’s my favorite class so I don’t mind being a little early!”

They headed off together to learn corona restis, a spell which coiled rope, and coloris which shot a harmless colored jet out of the wand end. You could change the color by how you envisioned it when casting. Most of the class found the spell itself simple, but getting the color you wanted was trying. Many of the students ended class feeling frustrated.

Chapter Text

The week felt like it passed quickly to both Jamie and Clara; they were so busy with classes and studying that it was Thursday before they had time to relax and talk to each other. They met after lunch, Jamie rushing away from a pack of ten Hufflepuff boys that all loudly and messily ate together to meet Clara before she could get out of the Great Hall front door.

“Clara!”

Clara stopped; she had been in a hurry.

“Where are you off to so fast? I feel like we’ve barely had a conversation since Sunday.”

“Sorry, I’m going to the doctor – don’t look at me all worried, it’s not for me. I want to try and help Alison but she is resisting.”

“Ah.” Jamie knew well how Clara felt about people who didn’t go to the doctor when they needed to… or went to the doctor when there was no need. “I have free period this afternoon and was thinking of going down to the lake for the first time – want to join?”

Clara agreed to meet him right after her last class, Transfiguration.

Jamie returned to the Hufflepuff table to a few curious and teasing looks from the young boys, but no one said anything. The conversation was two staunch muggle-born fans of WWE shocked and complaining that there was no magic equivalent the greatest muggle institution ever created. After describing in wild gestures what it was, they discussed the feasibility of forming their own group and what it would look like with magic added. Jamie tuned out at the point where the WWE fans learned that giants were real and the ensuing excited yelling.

August called him over – “hey Jamie, we’re going to the upper level Defense classroom; I heard from Robert that the fourth years faced boggarts today and we can get a peek.”

“They’re supposed to turn into your worst nightmare,” Sedgley added with excitement, but then shrugged, “I don’t know what mine could possibly be.”

The four of them left the Great Hall together. August knew the classroom was around the second floor of the building that held the Ravenclaw tower and they started off to look based on those imprecise directions.

Chapter Text

In contrast to Jamie’s wandering, Clara easily found the clinic. It was across the castle, near the lawns and the path to the quidditch pitch, and on the first floor with no stairs between it and the Great Hall. The quickest way from Ravenclaw Tower was to cross the training grounds courtyard. The courtyard was empty even at that hour because the packed earth was dusty and there was no shade or benches at all. It was what had been muster grounds when the castle needed that kind of thing. When she got back inside she was near the Hospital Wing, as she learned for the first time upon going there. It had several large signs pointing the way as you approached, the only directional markers in all of Hogwarts, and eight foot double doors that stood open. Hospital Wing was clearly emblazoned above the frame.

Clara entered to find a room that was oversized for the small desk and wooden chairs. Three students were waiting in chairs, one girl with a face entirely purple and puffed out cheeks, a boy staring at his own outstretched blackened hand, and a third boy with nothing obviously wrong. A middle aged woman wearing an unadorned medium blue dress and blue apron on top sat behind the desk, copying something from one book to another. She had a tightly wrapped blue cap that concealed her hair. Her eyes crinkled at the sight of Clara.

“Hello, dearie, what can I help you with?” the woman asked in a surprisingly gravelly voice.

Clara approached the desk. “Actually… I’m here for my friend. I was hoping to talk to the doctor… with a bit of privacy,” she finished, glancing at the three students in chairs.

“Madam Pierce is a healer, not a doctor, but have a seat. It’s probably going to be twenty minutes.”

As she left to sit, Clara glanced down and saw the woman was doing some sort of inventory with the ledger she was copying from. Twenty minutes saw the purple faced girl be called, enter, and not return. Then the boy with the black hand was called and didn’t return. Finally the boy with nothing visibly wrong entered and Clara was alone. When he came out Clara was called in. Through the second set of doors she found another oversized room with twenty beds and white folding visibility screens between each of them. The ceiling was impractically vaulted and twenty feet high, with the room lit by clerestory windows that offered no view outside. Hallways led off in several directions and two sets of stairs disappeared into the wall on the left and right on the far side of the room. The purple girl was sitting up in bed and looking better, but the black handed boy was laying face down, unmoving, his hand fully submerged in a bucket of yellowish liquid.

Madam Pierce met Clara immediately at the entrance. She was tall and skinny with a severe face and her brown hair in a tight bun, but a warm voice as she spoke. Clara appreciated that the woman probably loved her job. “I am actually worried about my friend,” Clara began. She proceeded to explain about Alison’s deviated septum, careful to whisper her name so that the other students wouldn’t know.

“And so you want me to help her when she wouldn’t come here herself?”

“Well, I think she just thinks it’s not that bad and she should just live with it, but I thought, with magic and all, probably you can just wave your wand and make it go away? So why shouldn’t she get it fixed?”

“I see. It’s not as easy as that, there is a spell but also a magic bean I need which sits in the nose for a week – which I don’t usually keep. I can send for the bean and have it in a few days. But if Alison won’t agree to do it, then what am I to do? I cannot force her.”

“Could you send her a letter and ask her to come? And don’t say it’s me. Maybe it will be obvious that it was me, but I am kind of embarrassed. I want her to be healthy, but I don’t want her to get mad at me for getting involved in her private stuff.”

Madam Pierce sighed. “Since it is for a good reason I will send your requested letter. Then I will need to evaluate her myself. You may be right or wrong, but if she comes here I can find out the true reason for her being unable to sleep. I hope you don’t make it a habit and in the future convince your friends to come of their own accord.”

“Thank you Madam,” Clara said sincerely as she left. She made it to Transfiguration with plenty of time to spare.

Chapter Text

After Clara’s Transfiguration lesson, Jamie and Clara met outside the Great Hall. Jamie ended up waiting for twenty minutes. Without mobiles to coordinate they had just vaguely agreed to meet after class; Clara had been held up talking to Professor. They exited the castle through the main gate, their second time through it. Ahead and to the left was the scrubby, partly rocky cleared land that led to the edge of the Forbidden Forest. They saw a lone tree to the right and wondered if it was the whomping willow. If you went straight and slightly downhill and then turned to the right, you could curve around and come out to the “lawns” that led gently down to the lake. The lawn turned out to be four to ten inch grasses and the rare shrub on ground that had been mostly cleared of rocks. They meandered to the waters edge, their shoes dirtied and the ends of their robes wet from the long grass.

Jamie described his class-free afternoon. “We tried to find this boggart in one of the Defense classrooms. We entered and it immediately became some sort of evil life sucking cloud and we had to book it. There were no other students or professors around so it was probably kind of dumb to go in there; we wouldn’t know how to handle it. Also I have no idea which of our fears it was supposed to be. It was just a sort of dark cloud that slowly became larger and it slowly felt more… weird to be around it. Like you lost all motivation. Roc was the only one who kept his mind enough to shove us all and got us to leave before anything really happened.”

Clara just shook her head. “Jamie, you’ve had less than two weeks of magic training, maybe you shouldn’t be messing with stuff you don’t understand?”

They wandered a bit, avoiding the dozen other students that were out there. Eventually their conversation wore out and they found rocky seats next to the still lake, Clara with her Transfiguration book out and Jamie with his History of Magic, trying to take clear notes with his ink pot in the grass and using the textbook as a hard surface to write on. They were worried about wasting all of the hours before dinner.

After a while, Jamie looked up from his book to stare wistfully out across the lake. Finally he spoke. “Clara, how did you find Charms yesterday?”

Clara smiled. “I love Charms; I think it might be my favorite class.”

“Oh… you found the spells easy?”

“Oh yeah. I think I’m a bit better than average. Some students couldn’t get their colors to come out right, but it wasn’t too big of a deal for me, it was just hard to concentrate in the busy classroom, especially with getting slapped in the face with ropes every so often.”

“Ah, well…”

“Just say what’s on your mind. You never talk about things straight, Jamie.”

“To be honest, I was by far the worst in the class… but I mostly got it by the end. I was able to get the colors right easily, but my color jet was so weak and small. And my ropes usually half coiled and then gave up.”

“Oh. Maybe you need more practice? We can do it together.”

“I know you’re trying to help, but I just feel insulted. I just need more practice? I’m used to being near the top of the class!”

“Sorry.”

“Anyway, I want to not think about it and just enjoy the day. I just wanted to know that you weren’t also having trouble.”

“I’m bored with my Tranfiguration book anyway. Here, I’ll take this long grass from the water and see if it works.” She plucked a stem from the water’s edge that was even taller than herself and laid it on the grass.

She stood still, wand out, focused. “Corona restis.” The grass turned into a few neat coils, not as many as a rope because of it’s shorter length.

Jamie felt pride at seeing her do the spell so easily. “It’s funny how there’s kind of an illogical logic to magic. It’s not a rope but it still works as long as it’s skinny and flexible enough?”

“Ok, your turn.”

Jamie straightened the grass, held out his wand, concentrated, and said, “corona restis.” The grass turned once, not quite completing a single large loop.

Clara straightened it for him so he could try again, and gave him some quick advice – what she was picturing in her mind when she performed the spell. “Remember wand, incantation, intention. I think your circular wand motion could be a little smaller and more circular? At least that’s how I do it.”

After a half hour it started to drizzle. They stood up amidst pieces of turned and bent grass and ran for the castle, their textbooks shoved under their robes and hoods up to keep the rain off. Jamie felt elated as he ran – he had made real progress in just that half hour. Maybe he did just need a little more practice. Through the door and under the shelter of the stone, they dripped onto the floor.

“I’m going to add insta-dry clothes to my list of useful spells I would really like to know,” Jamie said as they parted ways to change before dinner.

Chapter Text

Friday morning dawned too early, as usual, and Jamie rolled out of bed groggily. His right foot tangled in the sheets and he fell to the floor with a thud, which set off August and Sedgly laughing.

“Got to put your best foot forward,” said August, “which apparently for you is your right foot.”

The four of them had gotten into a routine already, waking up together and washing up for the day. It was August who was the most organized and always reminded them what classes they had and what books to take while the rest of them groggily complied. They went down to breakfast together and to their first class together and, more often than not, ended up studying together in the common room between dinner and bed. Jamie was grateful for their companionship and for giving some regularity to his life. When left to his own devices he knew how it turned out – staying up until three in the morning when he was passionately working on something, and then sleeping until noon, or being zonked then going to bed early and getting up at five completely energized, that is until he crashed in the afternoon.

By the end of the second week he was spending more time with the four of them than with Clara. He saw Clara all the time, especially because they were bound to cross paths almost every meal and in Herbology, but it started to feel like when they were first dating. For the past few years he and Clara had spent all their time together and she had been the center of everything he did, compared to when they first dated and she was his weekend relief and outlet to de-stress. After two weeks at Hogwarts, his focus had turned to the study of magic and Hogwarts life. He felt kind of sad at the thought, but also happy that he had found friends at Hogwarts. It had been a definite worry, especially because of the age difference. Over the summer he had imagined the possibility of him hanging out with professors all the time just because he would relate to them more easily, but the professors felt foreign to him in a way he hadn’t expected. They came from a different culture and were mostly older than his grandmother, though they didn’t look it. But these young boys he got along with easily and immediately – apparently he was still a boy at heart who enjoyed games and goofing off as much as any eleven year old. Though sometimes it was too silly even for him.

Chapter Text

Friday started with Potions for Clara and Defense for Jamie. Jamie was also looking forward to their combined Herbology after lunch but that was almost derailed by Jamie and the gang encountering a boy on the way between their noon meal and the greenhouses, still smelling of baked fish and bread. The four of them paused, finding a boy covered in cobwebs, dirty, with muddy knees, and soot on his face.

They stood in shock and it was Sedgly who said, “what happened to you?”

After a second Jamie recognized Markus. “Markus? You missed Defense this morning?” Markus was a Hufflepuff first year that slept far in the tunnels from Jamie so he didn’t know him well. Despite seeing him for hours each day he almost didn’t recognize him.

Markus stared at them and then started weeping. “Oh thank God, Hufflepuffs, Roc, August, Jamie, and…”

“Sedgly,” offered Sedgly.

“I thought I would never see daylight again. I don’t even know where I am.”

“Markus,” said Jamie, “you’re on a first floor corridor close to the greenhouses. Hufflepuff is across the castle that way. Or, uh, since it’s Friday actually I think you have to turn here and then go down that hallway… or was it something to do with the moon…”

Markus just stared and then collapsed on the floor, his legs folded beneath him.

The four of them picked up Markus. August and Roc being the biggest they went under his arms and took most of the weight. They started towards Hufflepuff and got more of the story in between sobs.

“This morning I got up late and so was asking the portraits for directions, and this knight was so helpful I thought, and he kept going portrait to portrait and updating me as I went along, and then he said there was a shortcut since I was late and I was in some dark narrow hallways and there was no light but I was following his voice and then, guys, I swear, I was in some sort of dungeon and there were cages and everything and water dripping and the air was so gross, and the voice was gone.”

August shook his head, “I would say the portrait was playing a trick but that sounds nastier than a trick. Why would you trust a portrait that much anyway?”

Sedgly was taken aback. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t you trust the portraits, they’ve always helped me out.”

August was confused, “there are portraits of bad people, you know, or just portraits that go bad, and anyway none of them have good memories or good information. They’re as likely to steer you wrong as help you.”

“But,” continued Sedgly, “I thought they were put there to help us! Because the castle is a maze!” The look on Markus’ face showed that Sedgly was speaking for them both.

August shook his head again, “it’s just a portrait. Who knows when it was hung anyway? No wizard would trust a portrait with anything important.

At that, Sedgly was quiet.

“No wizard-born, who knows about wizard portraits, you mean to say,” filled in Jamie. “Because we’re all wizards here. I at least thought their memories were good, like an imprint of who the person was at the time the portrait was painted.”

August continued, “even if the painter is a really good wizard and the subject is a really good wizard, the portrait is only so-so. Notice how most just kind of sit there and sometimes scratch their nose? No person could stand the boredom. My family’s house has portraits of nine generations and the older ones can’t even speak in sentences anymore.”

At that point they had reached Hufflepuff and took Markus directly to the nearest washrooms where he cleaned his face and arms. After spending thirty minutes with Markus to calm him down, they left him in Hufflepuff to change and bathe and told him they would get the homework for him from Herbology and give his excuses. Markus wouldn’t let them leave until they agreed to come back for him to go together to Astronomy.

They were late to Herbology but Professor Longbottom forgave them as they breathlessly told the story of Markus. The class was a blast as they giggled and chased tiny lizards around the greenhouse. They were supposed to be planted face down but if they ever saw light they made a mad dash to escape. The instant the students opened their light birch boxes the greenhouse became chaos, despite warning by the Professor. Gleefully exhausted, the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs parted ways to History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Chapter Text

Clara went back to Ravenclaw after her classes and became mesmerized in what some older students were doing in a corner of the common room. She had initially approached because she was curious at the group of fifth through seventh years gasping, aww-ing, and excitedly exclaiming, “you must be tricking us!” The students were grouped around a frankly chubby brown haired girl performing wand work over a desk.

A boy was challenging her. “Yeah you’ve showed us the same one three times now, but to prove it’s not a trick combine something arbitrary that we suggest. Like the 6-Count Laugh and the Molten Rope and the…”

“Gribo’s Duck!”

“Yeah! Gribo’s Duck!”

The girl had an indignant look on her face, “ok! Ok! I’ll do it, just give me a second.”

“See? There is some trick, like she enchanted the metal bar in advance.”

But the girl was quiet and concentrating, and over the next thirty seconds the whole group quieted down in anticipation.

“Lancrerurrmurbrashushushorotiotiotiotiotio… mum,” the girl said in a strong but quiet voice, while her wand work was intricate and varied and the chunk of metal on the table in front of her seemed to melt, grow spikes that disappeared, and move around, not sure what it wanted to do until the final, “mum.” Then it sprang into place as a metal duck with sinewy structure and the appearance that it was made of coiled rope. It took three steps cautiously, looked up at the expectant crowd, and said, “wak wak wak wak wak.”

The whole group broke into extreme giddyness. Those who couldn’t contain themselves whooped and danced around.

“I told you,” said the girl calmly to the few that could hear her, “it’s a straightforward combination of Varl’s Laws with the Sixth Performant Principle. I thought of it when I was reading a biography of Varl the Mad the other week.

Clara smiled and wondered what was going on in the other common rooms on a Friday night.

Meanwhile in Gryffindor, no studying was possible over the din of “chug chug chug!” in a fruit tonic drinking contest to settle a bet, screaming and tables crashing to the ground in a fight of Wizarding Chicken with wands out, and a group of boys who were either practicing for an acapella competition or perhaps for the nearest Irish pub.

Meanwhile in Slytherin, all was calm. This was the end of the second week and all the students either found their place in their cliques, and each clique knew its territory in the common room, or they had found no place in any clique and they knew to stay in the dorms or outside of Slytherin as much as possible. Some were studying, others were discussing the latest news of both the wizarding and muggle worlds, new referendums that had just come out of the Paris Wizarding Council, and the recent drastic changes in world economics.

Meanwhile in Hufflepulff, after a disastrous week of Tranfiguration class for Jamie, he took his Friday afternoon to seek out the prefect tutors. He felt frustrated that he was not allowed to practice transfiguration on his own, but thought it might actually be better this way, to get real instruction from an expert. However, he was to be disappointed. He found Geort easily enough, one of the two assigned transfiguration tutors in Hufflepuff, but Geort was stressed from his own NEWT level studies to give any attention to Jamie. “Look, I am here to make sure you don’t do anything dangerous while you practice. You have the incantation and the method, so what can I do anyway? Now let me get back to my Advanced Charms and I’ll keep an eye on you.”

Jamie decided to focus on the new transfiguration they had learned on Wednesday, changing a metal cup to glass. He had borrowed several cups from Professor Thistlethwaithe and laid them on the table in front of him. He concentrated, picturing that the metal cup in front of him was glass and holding out his wand at the ready.

“So are you going to do it or aren’t you?” came Geort’s voice. Turns out Geort had been paying attention and had gotten bored watching Jamie stare at a cup for several minutes.

“It didn’t work in class so I was concentrating extra hard,” was Jamie’s reply in defense. His concentration broken, he just went for it. “Vitrea vitreum.” He tapped the cup with his wand.

It rocked in place, definitely more than the little tap should have caused, but remained metal.

“Yeah you’re in trouble kid,” said Geort, turning back to his book and scribbling a note onto some parchment.

Jamie kept going for the next hour and had succeeded in making his three metal cups into some form of part-metal part glass. He knew because he found them to be brittle as one cup fell off the table and shattered. He was disheartened but satisfied that he had made progress beyond how he was in class on Wednesday.

“So Geort, you have time this weekend? I need to get more cups from the professor.”

Geort sighed. “I’ll be here, studying like usual, probably both afternoons. The NEWT life.”

Jamie left to change for dinner even though he still had several hours. He had no idea where Roc, Sedgley, and August were since they had parted ways after the noon meal and they weren’t studying in the common room like usual. He decided he was tired of studying magic…

Did I just think the thought “I am tired of studying magic?”

Jamie had to sit down and put his face in his hands. It was only two weeks of classes and already the excitement, awe, and wonder that he had felt during the summer felt like a weird memory that didn’t make sense. Magic was hard and he was starting to understand why people didn’t just go around using it for every minor daily task. Although, the way the older students just made magic happen without thought made him both jealous and calmer, knowing that would be his future too. Students didn’t fail out of Hogwarts for being too bad at magic, did they? Maybe they did but no one ever talked about it because it was an embarrassment.

He had been thinking of heading out of Hufflepuff and hoping to run into some friend, but he decided to stay in. He surveyed his textbooks at the top of his trunk and started to feel better. Defense against the Dark Arts, History of Magic, Potions, and Astronomy he was doing great and found those classes easy. Herbology was medium; he knew he could do the work but he hadn’t had the passion to devour the textbook like he did for Defense. It was just Transfiguration and Charms – he didn’t understand why spells just didn’t work for him like other students. He took his Charms book and sat down at the table across from Geort, who raised his eyebrows at the weak color jets he was producing. Come to think of it, there was one spell that had worked first time. It was sepia sordidus, the ink finger curse. But he didn’t want to practice that one since he didn’t know the counter curse. He gave up with still some time before dinner and took a walk aimlessly around corridors he half recognized and some he didn’t. Between the walk and seeing August and the gang at dinner, his spirits were brightened by the time he went to bed.

Chapter Text

That weekend was gray skies and light rain that wouldn’t let up. Cooler weather set in that was predicted to last the week. Clara worried how much time they would have before the long Scottish winter would set in and keep its grip until May, and convinced Jamie and the girls to spend some time outdoors during breaks in the drizzle. Jamie was worried that they were going to miss their first broom lesson before he was reminded they still had a week to go. Hearing there were quidditch practices despite the weather, they went to the quidditch pitch for an hour to watch the Hufflepuff team tear around the stadium. Jamie didn’t want to leave and Clara had to pull him away as the water started soaking her skin through her robes.

Clara walked briskly back towards the castle and, though she understood what Jamie was getting at, she was more concerned with being warm and dry. She wasn’t engaging with what Jamie was saying, causing Jamie to become more emphatic. He couldn’t stop talking. “Clara it’s amazing, you don’t really appreciate how bonkers it is to watch someone fly around so freely unless you really stop to think. How often in old literature and philosophy have people dreamed of flying free like a bird?”

After that, Clara and Jamie fetched their books to study together. They went to the Great Hall first but it felt too open and odd to be there not at meal times. They went to the library but it was full of students due to the weather cancelling most other plans. There were plenty of empty seats but they wanted more quiet and privacy to speak freely. They tried a few doors randomly but all of the empty classrooms they found were cold, with a damp that set in the bones, and they couldn’t figure out how to get the fireplaces lit. Clara wasn’t sure they should light them without permission anyway; most didn’t even have wood nearby and it was unclear if they were ever used. (Jamie added “light a fire” to his list of useful spells to find out.) They gave up and parted ways.

Jamie ended up feeling cozy in the Hufflepuff common room, though wishing he could find tea or preferably a latté. Clara found the Ravenclaw common room bright and lively but a chill draught made it hard to sit for too long. Soon she ended up with Alison and Betty in their sleeping quarters, sharing the one small desk as they sat each on a different kind of chair – Clara in one of the two puffy armchairs, Alison in the window seat, and Betty on her trunk. They were restless at first to be cooped up indoors, but it turned out a slow weekend was exactly what they needed to feel fresh on Monday morning.

Chapter Text

The week stayed chilly as promised, but the rain abated on Monday afternoon and didn’t return even though the clouds lasted a couple more days. On Monday both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw cast their first spell in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Afterwards everyone agreed that Yugotich truly shined as one of the best professors despite his severity in manner. Jamie got to experience it first thing Monday morning. Clara had to wait until the end of the day, but the hype passed between houses during the noontime meal didn’t disappoint.

Professor Yugotich, always eager to underscore the factual part of his lessons with advice such as “keep your wits about you”, ”always be alert because early detection is the key to overcoming the worst”, and the constant exhortation that ”knowledge is the best weapon”, started class with the announcement that they would face an unknown creature of evil. That was how he phrased it, “creature of evil,” and the students, their imaginations ripe from weeks of reading about the nastiest and trickiest monsters, were not sure they wanted to face anything. The professor drilled them in the charm ignus salverum which produced a small, dim, green-blue flame or light that hovered around in front of the caster. It had a use to produce clearheadedness, but also they were told it had a special use against the creature they would face. The students that mastered the spell first were sent, one by one, through the door at the back of the hall. It was impossible to see where they were going or what was happening as they turned a corner directly.

It wasn’t Jamie’s turn until towards the end of class. No student had returned after passing through the door; an hour of watching his classmates and friends slowly disappear and never return added to the nerves of all the students who remained. How far did he trust Professor Yugotich? He wouldn’t send them into real danger, would he?

Jamie went through the door and paused, but Yugotich quickly shut it behind him and he was left in semi-darkness. There were no windows, but a faint light was coming from an unknown direction. After his eyes adjusted, he could continue on through the stone corridor. He tread carefully, unsure when the creature might appear and in what form and from what direction. As he went on, the corridor felt chillier and chillier. No, that wasn’t right, it was just getting more damp. And there was a smell, like a muddy smell. The sound of a frog peeping made him jump, but he relaxed as the peeping continued. Why was there a frog? His foot touched something soft, and he looked down to find himself standing on a mossy mound of soft earth, with puddles of water all around. He looked up and froze – the corridor was gone.

He looked forward, left, right, and backwards. He was no longer in Hogwarts, but lost and alone in a dark marsh, lit only by the moon and stars. The moon was full and he had just enough light to pick his way forward.

“Coloris,” he said with conviction, and a blue-white jet shot out of his wand in front of him. It didn’t work as well as a flashlight but it clearly lit the ground in front of him and just ahead. Unfortunately, with the small cone of light he felt more blinded than without it and stopped the spell. He had to wait for his eyes to adjust again.

He had a good sense of direction and knew exactly which way was forward, though looking around he couldn’t see the end of the marsh in any direction. His light had temporarily silenced the marsh but as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again the peeps, croaks, and buzzes returned. He started forward, trying to head in a constant direction despite being forced to pick his way among the more solid parts of ground.

A few minutes later a light flashed and he looked carefully, startled. It was a wink at first and then steady. A blue-green light hovered over the marsh, misty and unformed. Was he supposed to head towards it, or follow Yugotich’s advice that running away was usually the best choice? He decided to follow.

He stumbled at first but then realized he was onto firmer ground. He could move faster and easier. Had the light helped him? He continued onwards, even though the light drifted more and more left, always out of reach, he started to trust it more as he no longer had to pick his way through puddles and tall grasses. His yelped as his foot suddenly sank up to his knee in wet. He had to sit back on the muddy earth to get it out before he could stand up again. The light was gone.

He shook his head. How long had he been in this marsh? Where was he even going? What was he doing again? He had been in Defense class, but somehow that hadn’t felt important, just walking through the swamp was all that had been on his mind. The light appeared again and his fears went away. Just follow the light, so easy.

Wait. Why did we learn a spell if we don’t need to use it? The logical part of his brain pushed that thought into his consciousness. But what if it scares away the light that I need to follow to get out of here?

He shook his head like shaking off dust and cast the spell, “ignus salverum.” Immediately his mind felt like a fog was clearing, and a clear line of reasoning immediately came to mind. He wasn’t quite sure what they were, but he had heard vague legends about will-o’-the’wisps. None of the stories were good. Didn’t they lead people to their deaths? He looked down at his own ignus salverum; it looked very much like the light he had been following. As he watched its almost formless misty shape, it stretched and elongated and then snapped back. As it drifted around him, the elongations seemed to all be pointing the same way. Was this the light he was supposed to follow? He started again.

This time it was with difficulty. It was hard to follow the vague directions of the spell and he got wet again several times, but it was only five minutes before he could clearly see a stone path. Stepping onto the firm ground felt good and it was only a few more steps before the marsh faded and he found himself again in a dark but ordinary Hogwarts corridor. A door with light streaming around the jam was ahead. He opened it to find a bright hallway with windows overlooking the forest, and an older witch standing there to greet him.

“I am Professor Nervia, I’m helping Professor Yugotich today. Welcome back, I’m glad you found your way out of the marsh. Wasn’t that a neat little spell? I developed it myself. It’s like having a little vacation spot right in your own home!” She laughed lightly but Jamie was nervous, wet, and muddy. He was still mentally adjusting from being lost in a swamp.

“How long was I in there?”

“Oh about forty minutes,” she said, “about average, I would say. I’m still waiting on several students that started before you.”

“Ok,” was Jamie’s lackluster reply. But as his body warmed and he came alive as he heard the noises of students talking and laughing somewhere nearby. “Ok! Yes, that was awesome, actually. So much better than sitting in lecture. I didn’t even know magic could do that. What was the creature’s name?”

“First you should know that you are free to go now, and if you run you’ll only be a little late for your next class. For the answer to your question, check your Defense book, page 1211, for the ignus fatuus or the foolish fire. It’s also known as a will-o’-the-wisp or jack o’lantern. Not to be confused with the hinkypunk, its slightly nastier cousin that is native only to England.”

“And the spell? Was I right that it guided me out?”

“The spell’s main purpose is to say ‘Hello Mr. Foolish Fire, don’t mind me, I’m your friend.’ The other effects are secondary. Now run along to your class,” she finished, dismissing him.

Jamie thanked her and left. He paused outside of History of Magic and took deep breaths. Watching some students out on the grounds between the castle and the forest, his felt his head finally clearing. It was hard to shake the feeling of being stuck in that marsh, nerves on high alert. He entered History to find Professor Binns droning on to the two thirds of the class that were in attendance. He didn’t acknowledge Jamie at all as Jamie took his seat and got to work.

Chapter Text

Settling in to routine, Clara’s week passed by quickly. It was not monotony, it was the regularity of class, study time, and mealtimes that provided a comfort and stability for her mind to put aside all concerns and focus on the study of magic. Petty cares were forgotten as her mind bloomed outwards to fill the universe. Which is probably why the late night scuffles woke her up.

Hogwarts was not a quiet place. Sometimes it was difficult to tell what was truly alive and what was just magical. The students’ pets, magical creatures found in all places that had either been smuggled in or escaped from the older students’ Care of Magical Creatures class, paintings that spoke in whispers to each other through the night, brooms that swept the hallways on their own, transfigured wooden and metal and glass birds or mice, that one armchair in the common room that would walk to where you asked it to go and who knows what it did to amuse itself when it was alone, and she swore the suits of armor sometimes relaxed on one leg or leaned against the wall when they thought no one was looking.

But after a while, you learned what noises were expected at 2 AM. What were the regular bangs, pops, scrapes, tings of metal or glass, long howls and hoots and yips from the direction of the forest, and what was not normal. And the deep shuffling noises coming from the Ravenclaw Tower stairwell were not normal.

Clara sat up in bed and looked around the moonlit dormitory – she was the only one awake. She sat there for a few minutes while the sounds continued, and then decided she had to investigate. She was nervous but not scared enough to think she should awaken the others. Or that is to say, she was more worried about being rude than she was of whatever was in the hallway. She told herself it was not likely to be a beast waiting to attack her and she was being silly; her rationalizations to herself brought her as far as the door. She opened it.

The shuffles came from below, just around the bend. Peering carefully around the corner, she relaxed.

“Libby, why are you carrying your mattress down the stairs?”

Libby, a half Indian girl with exceptionally long and shiny hair that made Clara jealous, yelped in surprise. “Clara…” was all she got out before the tears started streaming down her face.

Clara stepped down to meet her. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a practical tone.

Libby had to calm down before responding. “I don’t want to say, but I just need to get rid of this mattress. You can go back to bed.”

“But where are you taking it?”

“Just… if it doesn’t fit into the fireplace, I’ll find some place, don’t worry about me.”

“Uh, I think I do have to worry if you’re going to shove your mattress into the fireplace. I’m pretty sure you’re going to set the common room on fire. Look, I don’t understand, but I’ll help you move it anyway, just let’s not try and burn it.” Clara was thinking about how ridiculous this was, and resolved to help her quickly and tell the prefect about it in the morning.

She went to grab the end of the mattress but pulled her hand back in surprise, it was wet. She smelled her hand, and was honestly relieved that it was the familiar smell from a bathroom and not something else it could have been for an 11 year old girl.

“So you wet the bed, it’s not a big deal. I bet they can clean it up with magic real quick. I can call the prefect.”

“No! Please, I don’t want anyone to know. I will never live it down, I will have to leave Hogwarts forever, I can’t take the teasing and stares!” Libby was desperate.

“Look, we can’t burn your mattress. And what were you planning to say when Isabelle and, uh, that other girl in your room wake up and find your bed missing? Blame it on the creeping catswotch?”

“Well, yeah, something like that.”

“I don’t know about the other prefects, but I trust Amelia at least. Don’t you? I think she wouldn’t tell. And she would know what to do.”

Libby sat down the stairs and the mattress sagged against the wall. She said nothing.

Clara tiptoed around her and down the stairs to Amelia’s single room, knocking lightly. There was no answer after a minute of knocks and hissing, “Amelia!” through the keyhole. What could she do? She opened the door gently and peered into the dark room. “Amelia! We need your help!”

There was only a deep breath of partially interrupted sleep as her answer, and then silence. Clara entered the room and found Amelia asleep, the covers half off. Her face, normally so focused and alert during the day, was tranquil and free of creases. Clara shook her shoulder gently, “Hey Amelia. We need your help.”

Clara was surprised at how much shaking and prodding it took before Amelia’s eyes groggily opened and focused. Clara had never thought of herself as a light sleeper, but she doubted she would have slept through the first knock. “Amelia. It’s Clara. We need your help.”

“Clara?” Amelia sat up slowly and made a motion like she was reaching for glasses but stopped as she became more alert. “What’s up?”

Clara was glad that Amelia wasn’t angry. It could have gone badly. “Libby wet the bed and we don’t know what to do. Can you help?”

“Oh, ok” was Amelia’s response, understanding. Amelia threw some witch robes over her black silk pajamas and tucked her feet into the flats at the foot of the bed. Her motions, so rigid, exacting, and calculated during the day, were loose and casual. It was strange to see Amelia in such an informal and private setting behaving so relaxed and normal, like a warm and caring older sister. None of the first years, pushed to describe Amelia, would have used the terms warm or caring – and definitely not relaxed.

Walking out into the winding Tower stairs, Clara was suddenly aware of her own childish, patterned pajamas and how it was the first time she had ventured out of her room while wearing them. The stairs and hallways, even though separated for girls, had felt too public. They went up the stairs together and found Libby in the same position, sitting on the stairs with her arms wrapped around herself and waiting.

Libby’s face was wet as she described to Amelia how she had tried to get rid of her mattress, and please oh please oh please don’t let anyone know.

“Don’t worry Libby,” said Amelia calmly, as if getting up at 2 AM to deal with children was perfectly normal, “let me tell you, you aren’t the only one to wet the bed. It’s pretty common. Usually it’s wizard born kids. Their first time away from home ever, first time in school ever, something like that causes a lot of stress. Obviously I won’t tell you who, but there are two in your year.”

Libby had a surprised look and Clara started trying to mentally guess who else she knew had wet the bed.

“The difference is that wizard born children don’t try to burn their beds, instead they know of a little trick.” Amelia raised her voice above a whisper for the first time, but still not loudly. “Marietta!”

CRACK.

Clara’s nerves jumped at the sudden noise but calmed when she realized it was the sudden appearance of a house elf. It was her second time seeing one, and she had the same impression. Wrinkly, bald, like a weird baby but with long droopy ears and long hair sticking out of them. Barefoot, with toes too big. At over half of Clara’s height, Marietta was taller than Clara expected.

Marietta bowed lightly to the three of them.

“Marietta, please take this mattress to be cleaned and give Libby a new one. She may also need some clothes cleaned.”

Marietta bowed again, took hold of a corner of the mattress, and with another CRACK the elf and mattress were gone.

Amelia took Libby upstairs to wash up and make sure the new mattress was in place. Clara returned to her own room. The latch clicked softly as she shut the heavy door. Everyone was still asleep. She crawled into bed and had trouble falling asleep so she watched out the window. It was impossible to fully close the curtains so she had a view of the rolling clouds. She was glad to see gaps in the clouds that had hung as featureless gray for days.

Suddenly sitting up, fully awake, she was horrified to realize she had touched that mattress and gone to bed without washing her hands.

Chapter Text

In Tuesday’s Charms, Jamie wasted ten minutes before he embarrassingly realized he was mixing up two spells, refugio and refulgo. Refulgo wasn’t even a charm, it was a transfiguration incantation to coat something in metal, also useful to heal cracks or scratches in anything metal. Frustrated, he decided to get a Latin primer in the hope that actually understanding what the words meant would help in their memorization. Instead of a random string of syllables, it was pretty easy to remember that coloris shot colors out of your wand. Unfortunately, he could count on one hand the number of spells they learned that also made sense in English.

He was busy that afternoon, informally tutoring a group of three other first years in History of Magic. He was feeling good to be the relied-upon expert for once instead of the dunce like he was in Charms. He managed to stop in the library just long enough to find the, somehow, only three books on Latin they had: a dictionary, a simple grammar book that looked like the first in a series, and a book that was discussing the names of magical spells. The magical one turned out to be the most useless and he left it in the library along with the grammar book.

At dinner, he asked Clara if her Latin from medical school came as any use. “No,” was the answer. Clara admitted that, despite knowing several hundred Latin words, and probably more because of how English is forty percent French which is Latin-based, she was just as lost as Jamie. Jamie wondered if a biologist or zoologist might have better luck since they learned more useful words.

After dinner they lingered in the Great Hall to go over the book together, looking up spells they had learned. Corona restis. Corona meant crown, or maybe its translation as garland made more sense? Restis was straightforward – rope. So to coil a rope. A stretch but ok. Ruere, literally to break, that was simple. Refugio, to run away, refulgo, to glitter or shine. Jamie felt silly at mixing them up, since thinking about it deeper it was maybe like refuge, a place to flee to? And refulgent was an obscure but not unknown English word that meant to shine. Re, meaning back, and fulgo apparently meaning to emit light or something, so refulgo, to shine light back at you, like glitter or shiny metal. Ok, this was making some sort of sense. He never would have made the connection between “to flee” and “refuge” if he hadn’t looked it up, so he was feeling pleased with himself to thinking to get the dictionary.

Clara, with a little more familiarity with Latin, realized something. Most of the spells were not conjugated properly. And some had dubious translations. Some words didn’t appear in the dictionary, and looked suspiciously English. Were they just a mix of English and Latin with bad grammar?

When it was her turn, Clara took the book and looked up tueor. It didn’t mean “to kill,” like the French tuer. It meant to watch over or protect. She thought again about attempting to cast tueor umbravi from the Mimsy girls, and wondered what it would really do.

“So if you can mix together Latin with incorrect grammar with bits of English,” Jamie pondered, “why are so many spells in Latin at all? Why not just make them be in English, or how about nonsense syllables?”

“Well,” said Clara, “Latin was the de facto language of all scholars in the middle ages. Maybe the spells we are learning were invented that long ago.”

Jamie chuckled, “you just used some Latin yourself.”

“Also Jamie, obviously magic existed even before Latin. Remember Ollivander’s? Wands since 300 or 400 B.C. or whatever it was? Also, there was magic in ancient Egypt, we learned that already. And I feel certain that witches in China, Japan, and India have tons of magic spells that aren’t Latin. Latin is probably confined to western Europe. Honestly Jamie, you’re only confused because you’re looking too narrowly.”

“So that means… the incantations don’t matter? They could be any language or even a fake language? So why is it so important to get the pronunciation and emphasis correct in Charms class?”

Clara shrugged. That one was not so easily answered. Fortunately they were at a wizard school and decided to ask Professor Morsain when they saw her next.

Clara looked up at the sky – or anyway as it was visible on the ceiling of the Great Hall. The sun was almost set. That meant it was extremely late and they should be getting to bed. Jamie was annoyed at himself for not leaving enough time to prepare for his early morning Astronomy class, but decided he didn’t really care since they were still learning how to use tables to calculate the positions of constellations. Jamie thought it was a waste of time since it took twenty minutes to get one, approximate, answer. The same thing could be found in ten seconds using the free software Stellarium which implemented the actually accurate equations that they should have been learning.

They had discussed this several times: Clara was enjoying the freedom from computer screens and the return to the tactile feeling of learning from her early childhood. Jamie just wanted an indexed search of the library and felt that his learning speed was being hindered. But it always returned to Clara pointing out that without constant texts and calls and looking at dumb stuff on the internet, they were probably more productive than ever – and happier.

Chapter Text

Clara desperately ran out of the classroom after Astronomy on Tuesday late morning. She had drunk too much tea at breakfast. Unsure where to find any bathroom in the Astronomy tower, she jogged down unknown hallways past closed and open doors and regretted not just going to the second floor bathrooms near the Great Hall. Finally she found a boys’ room by the smell wafting out of the open, unlabeled doorway. There was no one in sight, and no girls’ room in sight, so she dashed in. A couple minutes later she was peering out to make sure the hallway was still empty, looking left and right. It was so quiet that she could hear distant birds on the grounds. She took one step into the hallway when a deep man’s voice came from directly behind her.

“Oh my? A girl in the boys’ lavatory?”

“Holy shit!” was Clara’s inadvertent response. She recovered her composure and turned to see the pale, translucent version of a tall man in a thick wool jacket, vest, and broad brimmed hat – a ghost.

“Tsk tsk,” the ghost said, floating away, “You are a first year? What a naughty tongue you have.” The ghost continued down the hallway as Clara stood frozen and mortified.

Slowly recovering, she walked down two flights and found the Great Hall.

Laughing and chatting with Milavicent, Alison, and Betty over shepherd’s pie, she was surprised when an owl dropped a letter into her lap. Usually letters were only delivered at breakfast. She wondered if it was from her parents but quickly noticed that it couldn’t be; it was too thin. She opened it to find a handwritten single line:

For using the boy's bathroom and foul language, ten points from Ravenclaw

- S. McNaith

Clara tried to quickly stuff the letter into her robes but Betty had already seen.

“Clara! Using a boy’s bathroom? I didn’t know you had it in you!” She laughed.

Clara looked down, a little embarrassed but smiling, “I just really had to go, you know.”

The girls laughed together and dismissed the letter.

That day in Transfiguration, they learned a spell which allowed you to rearrange letters – any written or printed letters. Clara first thought this would be one of the best daily-use spells they ever learned, but then realized you couldn’t actually use it to fix spelling mistakes. You couldn’t add or remove letters, just rearrange them. And you couldn’t throw away letters to the side of the page, the words had to be in the same place with the same width and height. Was the only use of this spell pranks?

There were stacks of old wooden or metal signs for them to practice on, and they took turns trying to think of the cleverest way to rearrange the letters, but it was difficult. “Padrouin Court” said the wooden sign that Clara had picked out of the pile after a few tries on other signs. She thought a long time before coming up with Pin Act Door Ruu. Nonsense. She threw it back in the pile and was shocked to see William, an English boy she always thought was silly and not very bright, form the sign into Du A Corruption. Still nonsense, but how had he managed to figure out “corruption” was in there? She carefully worked it through – it was true. It fit.

A group of girls clustered around the next set of desks were giggling and laughing so loudly that it drew Clara’s attention – they were of course making lewd phrases out of words they had written onto pages. Released from the burden of street signs they were trying to rearrange things like “ugly purple peepee” into other words, but not having a lot of success. Clara rolled her eyes. Funny that the spell worked on cursive writing. How did it know what was writing and what was not? She was ready to leave when Professor Thistlethwaith announced the end of class, and announced twenty points from Ravenclaw when he found lewd words on a lot of the signage he collected at the front of class. It was not a good day for Ravenclaw, and this was reflected on the students’ faces when they arrived at dinner to find the House had dropped significantly behind the others in House Points. Instead of closely following Slytherin and Gryffindor, they were barely above Hufflepuff. A small uproar was brewing and Clara shrunk as if to hide under the table, but the outrage passed quickly and by the end of dinner no one in Ravenclaw seemed to care.

Chapter Text

Wednesday, Jamie woke to a disastrous realization. We forgot to talk to McGonagall about our parents visiting. He ran down to breakfast and nervously wrung his hands as he waited for Clara. He could only imagine McGonagall being angry and denying them to go back to Muirferm and whatever else repercussions for spilling The Secret to their parents.

Pulling Clara away from the other Ravenclaws as they entered the Great Hall, he explained to her what was wrong. It was still well before their first class, so she took several pieces of toast and followed Jamie out the door.

They arrived at the Headmistress’ office quickly this time, having found it once before. The way was shut, and the only thing to greet them was a stone statue of a bird and not the winding stair. There was no knocker. They stood there feeling silly.

“Umm… Headmistress McGonagall,” Clara addressed the statue. “We would like to talk just a second, about our parents.”

There was no response or change; the hallway was quiet except for Clara’s munching on toast. They were discussing leaving and going to class when the potions professor Connough came down the corridor.

“Hello Professor,” said Clara politely, when it was obvious he was just going to walk past them.

“Good morning, students,” he said and gave a wave and half smile that quickly disappeared. He stood in front of the statue which promptly rotated to become the stairs to the Headmistress’s office. He stood on the stairs and they carried him upwards.

Jamie felt defeated. “We don’t even know what time it is. We might have plenty of time before class or we might be late already.”

“Well I just have History this morning, so I don’t care. I would rather wait and get this over with.”

“I have Astronomy, which you know is my favorite class,” he said sarcastically. “Heh, how did we become jaded delinquent students already, and we’ve only been here three weeks.”

Their conversation carried them for another ten minutes until Professor Connough came down the stairs. When he was around the corner they jumped onto the stairs but the stairs refused to rotate and carry them up, so they ran up the winding flight. Their short legs meant each step felt tall and they were a little winded at the top. They knocked on the Headmistress’ door and it opened promptly but slowly, weighty and important.

McGonagall stood waiting inside, halfway between her desk and the door. She had a stern look that made Jamie’s fears all the worse, but gestured to welcome them in anyway.

“What is so urgent this morning, children?” she asked.

Clara did all the talking. “Good morning, Headmistress. We, uh, have a problem.”

McGonagall waited for her to continue.

Clara started speaking rapidly, as if to get the whole story out before she could be interrupted with a rejection or dismissal. “You see, it’s been really difficult for us, telling our parents that we are doing some career, but actually we used to talk every week at least by video chat and it’s hard to lie, and even though we figured out how to send letters, you know, it’s not the same, and it’s 2023 out there even though it’s all old timey in here they won’t get it and they’re worried about us and you see the other muggle born children get to tell their parents all about magic so can’t we just tell them about magic?”

McGonagall was about to comment but Clara cut in, “oh and they’re going to be here in Muirferm in a week and we can’t do magic outside of Hogwarts but I was hoping you could show them some magic or whatever like you would have done in the hospital that day you met us.”

Jamie nodded and smiled to show he agreed.

McGonagall raised her eyebrows. “Certainly it is true that the parents of muggle born children are usually told where their children will be for the next seven years, but they would never set foot on campus.”

“Yes of course not on campus,” Clara said, “but in Muirferm just because it’s easy for us all to get there on a Saturday or whatever.”

McGonagall was quiet as she thought, putting Clara and Jamie on edge in anticipation. Finally she spoke. “Do not worry, I support your request. I am merely thinking on how to make it happen. The Ministry and MACUSA will need to be informed, and it is important that I speak to the right people to avoid difficulties.”

Jamie felt a huge wave of relief. Clara’s nerves hadn’t been wound as tight, but she relaxed and smiled at the thought of how they would meet their parents in just a few days’ time. She wondered what she should say first.

They spent a short while in McGonagall’s office before she dismissed them to not be late for class. Her office was one of the few places that had a clock, and it had many. What were they all for when one clock was enough?

Soon after the meeting with McGonagall, Clara met her friends in class.

“What was that all about? Jamie looked like he had just let blast-ended skrewts loose in the Hospital Wing!” said Betty, jokingly referencing an episode they had heard about at the beginning of the year which had resulted in rumors of expulsion (but actually the student in question had just spent three days at St. Mungo’s).

“Oh that’s just Jamie, he gets overexcited sometimes,” said Clara, feeling bad about making Jamie sound crazy but unable to think of a plausible excuse in the moment.

She pulled out History of Magic and started reading some sections that would be useful for the essay due next week, ignoring Professor Binns. Then she paused as she had a thought.

“Hey Milly,” she whispered to the bench in front of her.

“What?” Milavicent whispered back.

“What do you know about World War II?”

“World what?”

“World War II.”

“A world war? What does that mean? Who would the world go to war against? The moon?”

“No, it was all of Europe, Russia, Japan, and the US all at war at the same time. Tens of millions of people died. London was bombed out! You know that?”

“No… was that a long time ago? I think I would have heard of it if London was bombed. I was just there last summer.”

“It was, like, 1940 to 1945.”

“Ooo, you mean like during Grindelwald’s time?”

“Who is Grindelwald?” was Clara’s response.

But the answer was interrupted by several students shushing them. Their whispering had gotten louder and louder until it was no longer whispering. Professor Binns had kept lecturing the entire time, not even noticing. Class passed by quickly for Clara and she proudly dotted the last period on her essay just a few minutes before Binns finished talking and dismissed them.

Chapter Text

That Thursday, Jamie and Clara stayed up late in the library revising for Herbology. Professor Longbottom’s class was difficult because of his high standards. He assigned long essays every week and gave quizzes that were not allotted enough class time to let you think; you had to know the material well enough to just write down the answers. Longbottom treated them as if they were all going for careers in Herbology. On top of that, he didn't dedicate any class time to covering the written material. Class was fun because it was all digging in earth and working with strange magical plants, but that meant extra time revising on evenings and weekends.

There was a clear divide between wizard born kids and muggle borns; the former already knew half of the plants they had been working with. “Obviously” green hornwrack had no magical properties unless it was harvested when it was covered with dew, “just like the story of Prince Cap-Au-Feu.” Apparently a children’s book.

Hence, Jamie preferred studying with Clara rather than August and Roc. Besides being pedantic, those two also didn’t take it seriously because they weren’t that interested in Herbology. In fact, Roc had just casually failed the first two quizzes and always handed in short essays that barely made the cut. Jamie was shocked and confused until it was explained to him that nothing matters for your grade except the exams a long way off in May, and even then it didn’t really matter until you got to fifth year OWLs.

Even if the grades didn’t matter, Jamie didn’t like failing. With everything new and zero basis for any of his subjects he would sometimes get back to the common room well after 10 PM when most first years were already retired in their dormitories. One day he was rushing through to bed but stopped when he heard the sound of soft sniffles. A boy was in the corner of the common room in the most comfortable chair, but he was not alone. One of the other prefects, Abby Norsworthy, was sitting with him and her hand resting on his shoulder. Jamie paused and listened.

“I know everything seems strange,” the prefect was saying, “but don't worry. Soon you'll see us Hufflepuffs as your family just as much as your family back home.”

“But I don't want a new family!” the boy protested, “I just want to hang with my brothers and see my mom.”

When he heard the boy’s voice, he finally recognized him. It was Selby Satinwood, a wizard-born kid from one of the smallest wizarding villages. Jamie couldn’t remember the name, except the kid telling him that the name meant something-brook in some older language.

Come to think of it, Jamie was surprised he hadn't seen more examples of home sickness. Over half of the kids were wizard born, and they literally never left home until they went to Hogwarts. They never even left the house to go to school. Even muggle born children probably never spent more than a week away from their parents, and now here they were with the added stress of being in a foreign culture.

Since it looked like Abby had it handled, Jamie quietly went off to the dorm tunnels. As it was late, the tunnels were cozily lit with dim orange flickering light. Long shadows were cast by the intermittent lamps, and, alone, he wondered several times what could be hidden in those shadows. Maybe he had his own form of minor homesickness. What was he even doing, walking through some earthen tunnel well past his bedtime, wearing full length black robes, like this was a normal every day thing to be doing? Well, it was normal for some people.

Chapter Text

Friday classes ended with a literal bang that Jamie felt rock the Astronomy Tower. Clara didn’t notice anything across the castle in the History of Magic classroom, totally focused on her reading, but her class was abuzz. The students shared glances as if to say, “what was that? Should we be doing something?” When no yelling or running or announcements came, they had to sit through the rest of class before the rumor mill was able to pass its messages through the corridors.

The long game of telephone started with dark wizard attacks, trolls, transfiguration mishaps that resulted in two dead students (who had been in love and died with their hands locked together), but by dinner the rumors sorted themselves out into an approximation of the truth. It was the “ten-ton-transfiguration” inadvertently cast on a section of an interior wall, dropping it through two levels of basement before it came to a rest. The castle didn’t mind the loss of a five foot section of some interior wall. The students, some fifth year Gryffindors, were being appropriately punished. What their punishment might be was still uncertain to Clara or Jamie as all the stories they heard were too gruesome to be believed.

After dinner Jamie was feeling beat and wanted to relax in the common room before maybe going walking on the grounds. He had the thought that his wanting to relax was not normal 11-year-old behavior. Pretty much all of the first years had dashed off with high energy after stuffing their faces with boiled cod and vegetables (it tasted way better than it sounds), so Jamie was alone in a corridor, headed to the front gate, when he heard a soft chirrup chirrup.

He turned to look but didn’t see anything there. He was in a hallway with several display cases of mismatched items – trinkets mainly, some ornate cases that maybe were snuffboxes, bracelets, figures, some awards or plaques. He was familiar with this hallway from his time searching for something silver to stuff in his trunk. Most things in the cabinets were gold. He started walking again when movement caught his eye, near the floor. Peering closer, it was a little metal beetle with tiny emeralds on its back. It started walking slowly and chirruped again.

He poked it and then picked it up, unafraid. It was cold and heavy, definitely metal. He had gotten so used to everything in the castle just being alive-but-not-really-alive that he was only curious. He wondered if these kinds of things were transfigured or enchanted by some student then forgotten, maybe even hundreds of years ago. Or did they slowly come to life, being surrounded by magic, as people said the castle had done? Though, except for the moving staircases, Jamie had found no evidence of the castle making decisions. He yelped and dropped the bug when it spoke, “hello young student.”

Transfigured objects suddenly speaking was not the usual experience, but what could Jamie say was “usual” when his experience was only a few weeks? He cautiously responded, “hello… bug.”

The bug took a while in responding and Jamie wondered if he had imagined it.

“I am glad to see so many bright young faces this year. One of the largest classes, I presume?”

“Uh… yes. That was what McGonagall said at the start of the year. I mean Headmistress McGonagall.”

“And what house are you in?”

“Hufflepuff,” Jamie answered, surprised at how comfortable he felt saying it after the anxiety of first being sorted.

“Ah, Hufflepuff. I know Hufflepuff. The tunnel where inevitably your shoes get dirty, but the trick is to keep your hands clean even though you have to stoop.”

“Yeah that’s right. How do you know Hufflepuff if you live in this hallway of display cases?”

“I used to reside in Hufflepuff,” was the straightforward response.

“Huh,” said Jamie. He wanted to end the conversation and leave but he thought the polite thing to do was keep going, even though he couldn’t think of what to say. “Are any of the other little figures alive like you?”

“You have much to learn, young student,” the beetle said in a pedantic tone. “If you ascribe being ‘alive’ to everything, then you’re never going to pass Transfiguration. Pigeons to bells is a favorite on the OWLs, but that would be immoral and cruel if pigeons were the same as people.”

“But pigeons are alive. And that does sound cruel.” Jamie was starting to feel weirded out, why would this metal bug know about OWL exams?”

“I tire of this hallway. Could you bring me to Hufflepuff?”

“Uhh, ok,” Jamie agreed after thinking a bit, trying to think if there was any danger.

He picked up the beetle and again felt its weight. It shifted and crawled in his palm to get a better view as they walked. When he tapped the barrels and crawled into Hufflepuff there was a crowd of first through third years chatting loudly and playing those wizard games that always made a lot of noise.

The new arrival and the glint of gold drew some attention. “Hey Jamie what you got there?” asked Gregory, a second year that Jamie knew from being just down the tunnel from Jamie’s shared room.

“Oh it’s this enchanted beetle I found in the corridor. It said it used to be in Hufflepuff.”

“Used to be in Hufflepuff? Like a student?” Greg laughed.

“Oh, no, I meant like it used to be on a shelf here or something.” The beetle crawled on Jamie’s hand, but it was looking a little feeble and slow. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Beetle?”

The beetle was silent and it’s crawling motion stopped after it had moved a few inches up Jamie’s arm. He tapped it with his finger. “Hello? Maybe it’s losing it’s magic being carried too far.”

Greg was not impressed, and the small group of students that had any interest turned away. “Come on, forget that beetle and join us in Cups and Swords.”

Jamie shrugged and put the beetle on a shelf near one of the unlit fireplaces, next to a potted plant and for some reason several spoons.

Cups and Swords was not one of the most popular games, but it had a steady following. It was played with wooden and metal bars about five centimeters long with figures painted on them. There were two phases. First, a complicated system of playing the pieces one at a time. “Playing a piece” actually meant a lot of yelling and throwing from distances and could get quite physical, besides the occasional careful laying of a piece. Depending on how they finally laid, after being beaten about boules-style, the pieces were divided amongst the two teams and the second phase began – a tiny war. The pieces were all unique and while the eponymous “sword” pieces sprouted arms and legs to become knights, the “cup” pieces cast spells of varying effect. The game could be played by only two but was best as it was now, on a Friday night with ten on a side and much noise. Jamie joined in and forgot about his plans to go walking.

Chapter Text

Ravenclaw on Friday night was also rowdy. Clara thought it was first year boys running up and down the stairs yelling, but realized that it was a mix of boys and girls. Whether boys or girls, the screams of eleven year olds were of a similar pitch.

At ten P.M. she was annoyed, but finally at eleven P.M she was annoyed enough to do something about it. Betty, Alison, and Milavicent were laying in their beds, seemingly able to sleep through the din. She poked her head out of the door to see six kids laughing loudly as they ran down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower.

“You’ll never catch us!” yelled a boy over his shoulder just as he passed in front of Clara’s door.

Clara recognized the game. It was a wizarding variation on tag or freeze tag called Beast of the Willow. It was usually played outside and not right outside the doors of people trying to sleep. Clara instinctively turned back inside and shut the door the moment she saw a group of older kids coming down the stair, wands out. In fact, she saw the wand tips and ducked inside; it was only later she reasoned it must have been a pack of older students.

The first thing she heard was a high pitched squeal and then the older students laughing.

“Look at his little legs spinning in the air!” came an older voice.

The younger voices protested, “hey! You put him down!”

Another high pitched response came, “exanthema ingens!”

“This little girl thinks she can best us with a zit jinx? You should learn some real spells. Abbot! Rivelin!” There was some scuffling as the two named boys came down to join the first boy in front of Clara’s door. Then, calmly, “Let’s get them.”

A flurry of jinxes and yelling subsided in only a minute, then all was silence. Clara waited until it felt safe and peeked out her door again. Four boys and a girl in her year were stuck to the wall down the stairwell by what looked like green slime. Upon seeing Clara they started yelling but no noise came out. A silencing spell. Clara sighed; she couldn’t leave her classmates glued to the wall all night.

Sleepily, cautiously, in no rush at all, she walked down the stairs to Amelia’s room yet again. Amusingly, Amelia didn’t undo all the spells in place, but unstuck the students and magically floated them down the stairs, silence spell still in place. Clara was looking forward to the story of what happened to them in the morning, but right then she just wanted to join her room mates in peaceful slumber.

As she drifted off she had to wonder how boys were able to be on the girls side at all and noted to never leave their room without proper clothing.

Chapter Text

Clara and Jamie both wanted to be well rested for Saturday morning, their first broom lesson. You could say Jamie was more excited, he had been watching the quidditch practices all week, but that would be a disservice to Clara. Clara was the one who had responsibly gone to bed as early as possible and eaten a big, but not too big, breakfast. Toast and jam and eggs and fried potatoes, skipping the bacon which would sit too heavily in her stomach for exercise. Betty made a joke that they needed bacon for luck at Hogwarts, but Clara pointed out that she was also not eating any warts.

All the first years met in the large lawns that formed the outdoor training grounds, separated from the castle by a stretch of the Forbidden Forest. To reach the training grounds they had to exit the front, go all the way across the scrub where the forest was cut well back, as if for defense of the castle, through the outer wall encircling the grounds, and then around to the right and almost back to the lake. It seemed like the only true lawns in the whole place were the floor of the quidditch pitch and these training grounds cut out of the forest.

As it was difficult to find a clock in Hogwarts, students had started gathering directly after breakfast and the rest trickled in over then next hour. The morning filled their lungs with earthen smells, though the dew had evaporated hours ago, the sun having risen before any of them. Even at the end of September the days were around twelve hours long, though it was fortunate that the sun finally set before their bed time. That had been too disconcerting.

As usual there was taunting and tension between the Houses as they waited, automatically grouping with at least ten feet between Houses. Just three weeks ago they had been a uniform, quiet huddled bunch, exiting the train confused as they attempted to find Hagrid at the end of the platform. Their bustling, yelling, and impatience was another marked change.

August was about to make yet another wager but Roc steered him back to the Hufflepuffs. August’s swagger was matched by his tighter fitting broom-flying robes. Though a bicyclist would scoff, with their skin tight low-drag garments, his flying robes looked a lot more mobile than the voluminous school robes the rest of them had on. Jamie saw Clara amongst the Ravenclaws and waved. She waved back and smiled, then turned back to her friends.

By the time the instructor walked out on to the lawn they were antsy, but when she introduced herself as Deputy Headmistress Abernathy they straightened out and quit their side conversations. She had a stern face and a loud voice – Jamie thought it was magically amplified but slowly realized that was just her normal ability. She was wiry but must have been strong since she was carrying a dozen brooms tied and slung over her shoulder. Her brown hair poked out from under a black witches’ hat that had the brim shaped in a sporty way to keep the sun out of her eyes.

As Deputy Headmistress Abernathy (she insisted on that mouthful) instructed, several older students brought out more brooms, over one hundred in all for all the students. They fought over the best brooms, with the least splinters in the handle and without too many missing twigs, and spread out over the lawn. Abernathy’s booming voice came in handy to keep them organized. Soon it was time for their first try.

Jamie had been barely paying attention. He just wanted to ride the broom. It was in his hand, and once this professor stopped talking he would get to do it. It was clear from the first few minutes of instruction that there was no difficult chant or spell or code words to get the broom working. You just leaned into the direction you wanted to go, so practice was more important than jabber. Finally Abernathy was waving her arms for them to mount, and exhorting them to start slowly and cautiously. Jamie didn’t wait to see what others were doing. He straddled the broom, not feeling ridiculous at all, and pulled up on the end of the handle.

It was exhilarating. He was floating there, a few inches above the ground. Just floating. It was surreal. Jamie didn't like the feeling of the narrow broom between his legs and turned to look that he was doing it right, but as he did so his hand raised the tip of the broom and he started to float up, albeit slowly. He tried to go back down but it only went higher.

Jamie yelped in a panic "uhhh... Help!" There were kids screaming around him but he barely noticed them and his brain didn’t process what they were saying. His mind was in a panic and racing to figure out what to do. The ground looked so far away. Was he going to fall and die, right here, today? What an absurd way to go. He slowly got a hold of his wits and gently pushed the tip down like Abernathy had described and – it worked. He started to drop. When he was near the ground he rolled off into the grass and lay on his back, his shaking legs unable to support him. The panic subsiding, he looked around to see laughing and mocking faces. He stood up and brushed off his robes. Fortunately the young witches and wizards around him quickly lost interest – there were several others having mishaps and falling off their brooms.

Jamie looked around, unwilling to get right back on the broom. He couldn’t see Clara, but he could see August looking bored and Roc helping teach some other Hufflepuffs, surprising because Roc usually didn’t take the initiative to talk to anyone. Roc never mentioned knowing how to fly, but it made sense since he came from a noble wizarding family just as August did. After ten minutes Jamie got the nerve to try again. He was scared but was fueled by the thought of how stupid it would be to waste this chance after dreaming about flying all week. By the end of the session he was feeling calm to and comfortable with sitting on the broom and moving forwards and backwards at a snail’s pace.

Later, he's met up with Clara. She said she saw him yelling at the beginning of class.

Jamie grew defensive. “I could have died! It wasn't nice how everyone was laughing.”

“Jamie, you were barely six feet off the ground at the most.”

“Six feet? Why did it feel like the ground was so far away?”

“Besides, almost no one was laughing at you, they were just laughing at the situation. Nobody was teasing you, all of us were bad at the brooms. Especially muggle borns. You should have seen Betty! She was in more trouble than you were.”

“Well, fine.” Jamie’s ego wouldn’t allow him to admit his panic had been overblown, but he was comforted.

The rest of Saturday passed uneventfully. August offered to give a group of Hufflepuffs extra flying lessons, but they were again stopped by older students who reminded them that they wouldn’t have free access to brooms until second year.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning dawned and left most of the first years in bed. Jamie, usually the late riser, for some reason was wide awake in his bed as the sun beams entered his room through the high, short windows. Nobody else was awake, so he changed to his robes and wandered into the common room to check the clock. He had plenty of time for a leisurely breakfast, and so that is what he did. Sipping his tea and chewing on a croissant, he realized that he felt calm and at home at Hogwarts for the first time. He had always felt on edge – lost in space and in time and in wizarding culture, confused about his classes, stressed that he had difficulty with Charms and Transfiguration, and worried about his old life, friends, and parents. Worried about the world outside that he was disconnected from, and generally feeling out of place at Hogwarts. But not this morning. He wasn’t wondering where Clara or Sedgley or Roc or August were. He was comfortably sitting, by himself, in the Great Hall, with his tea and croissant, and he felt it was exactly where he was supposed to be.

It was almost time for the Great Hall to be closed, so Jamie stuffed his pockets with croissants and danishes and left. He went back to Hufflepuff to find his room mates still asleep. They had missed breakfast for the first time ever. He left the pastries in the dorm for Roc, August, and Sedgley.

With no way to get in touch with Clara besides awkwardly hanging outside of Ravenclaw Tower, he wondered what to do. A crisp wind and birdsong from a nearby window drew him outside, and he decided to take the northwestern path out of the castle. It was accessed via a small, unassuming door at the base of one tower. The barely used portal creaked as Jamie opened it and didn’t close entirely when he tried to push it back. The path led through rocky ground towards the Forbidden Forest, and Jamie started walking. He knew the forest was Forbidden, but within ten minutes he was at its edge and peering in – it was inviting.

This part of the forest had little underbrush, just sun-dappled rolling earth covered in tall gnarled trees. Jamie couldn’t identify the trees, but he though the leaf shapes looked kind of like oak trees. But the oaks he knew back home were not so wildly shaped. He was about to step inside when a loud thunk interrupted his thoughts. A rustling and another thunk soon followed. He backed up the hill towards the castle and saw Hagrid there, in the forest about a hundred yards to the right of where Jamie had been about to enter. He had a feeling of being snapped back to awareness. Feeling embarrassed and worried he might get in trouble, he walked quickly back to the door he had come from. Having not found Clara, he distributed his pastries to some first years in Hufflepuff and hung out with his friends the rest of the morning. Finally at noontime he found Clara in the Great Hall and they spent the rest of the day together.

Inwardly he worried – had some magic been calling him into the Forbidden Forest? If he just relaxed and let his mind wander would it contact him again? Or was it all a coincidence and he was overthinking everything again?

Chapter Text

Sunday after midnight, the night of the solstice, Clara waited in the Ravenclaw common room for Milavicent, her rompling ruststem class partner, to come down the stairs. Milavicent smiled and took Clara’s hand as they started towards the greenhouses. Clara, surprised, almost snatched her hand back, but decided to go along. They walked almost the whole way hand in hand. It was comforting in the dimly lit Hogwarts hallways. They would normally be in trouble for being the corridors after dark so it was their first time out.

Hogwarts was different at night. Some corridors felt spookier than normal, but other corridors felt cheery in their yellow glow. Clara didn’t understand why it wasn’t better lit since it should be easy to do with magic. It was rare to find fireplaces in any corridor, and no corridor was lit the same way. Some had chandeliers (with lit candles), some had candles or oil lamps in fixtures on the walls, and one dark and lonely corridor had nothing but a single candelabra with three candles in it on a table. Clara wondered if the candles were replaced by the house elves or if they were magic and never burned down. She certainly had never added a log to their dorm room fireplace. She had never paid attention to these details during the day; since the sun set so late in that Scottish summer the act of lighting the fire hadn’t been an issue before. The common room was always bright from the many fireplaces and lamps. The latitude of Hogwarts meant that a long, dark winter was coming, with the sun rising after nine and setting before four. Would the castle always be a dimly lit as it was that night, as they briskly walked to the greenhouses after midnight?

They arrived and she was relieved to see Jamie and Hefnia waiting, since they all needed to be there right at 12:43 AM in order to cast the charms. Professor Longbottom had used part of class to rehearse the wand motions and incantation with them for two weeks, so Clara should have felt confident. Instead, she was nervous. What if they failed? Longbottom had said they could never get into NEWT level Herbology if they didn’t keep their rompling ruststems alive and happy into their sixth year. She didn’t think she cared about NEWT level Herbology, but it was shocking to be denied the opportunity. The class was subdued as they filtered in, and with a half hour to spare their whole class was present. Longbottom gave them a bag of magical items they needed. Clara opened it and passed around the items. A thrice bent twig. A dessicated chicken foot with three toes. A dried branch of apulia casconeae, a bush where each branching end didn’t split twice, but thrice all at once. There was a rock, some nuts, and a piece of paper. Clara couldn’t remember what they had to do with the number three.

They had work to do. Jamie set about grinding the chicken foot, branch, and nuts, all separately. Hefnia arranged the pots, and Milavicent started putting the magical items in the prescribed order in a ring around where they planted the seeds weeks ago. Clara carefully prepared the water, dissolving some powder into it as she chanted.

She looked around the greenhouse at the surreal image. Lit by flickering lamps the students bent over their pots and discussed in quiet tones. How did she go from being a practical everyday person to chanting in the semidarkness like she was in a cult? And believing in it? She turned back to her work.

The pots prepared, she divided the water into four watering cans, one for each of them. They picked up their wands and waited for the Professor’s signal.

“Begin!” came his voice, in a normal volume but startlingly loud in the middle of the night. But why had they all been whispering anyway?

They all four began the wandwork and incantations, and they watered each pot. They each had to water each pot so they moved in a strange dance from one pot to another trying to avoid each other but also to complete their work as quickly as possible.

The pots watered, they continued chanting. Clara started to feel bored and that her voice was getting strained when finally the Professor told them they could stop. Feeling drained, they lowered their wands. Was that it? It felt like something more momentous should have happened. They wasted no time in packing their things and leaving the greenhouses. There were four hours before breakfast would be served, but Clara felt like skipping breakfast. It had been Monday for three hours already and she wished it was still Sunday.

Jamie and Hefnia went with the pack of Hufflepuffs back to the dormitory. They weren’t friends outside of Herbology, but they got along fine. They usually would have split ways to be with their own friends, but it that night it felt strange to be apart. Like the experience of the four of them chanting together had somehow bound them together. Jamie and Hefnia walked side by side, saying nothing, until they were forced to part in the Hufflepuff tunnels to go to their own rooms.

Chapter Text

His sleep schedule messed up by the solstice Herbology work, on Tuesday morning Jamie was again wide awake while everyone else was sound asleep. Through the high windows that met ground level outside he could see it was light out, but it was the soft light that usually comes before the sun peaks over the horizon. The air in the room was chilly and all was quiet. He had no idea what time it was.

Unable to sleep, he changed into his robes and found his way into the common room to see the clock – it was before six. The common room held a stillness that felt unnatural; he had never seen it empty, even on the day he came back from Herbology in the middle of the night. What should he do with the next hour? He had no desire to study. Someone’s Cups and Swords set had been left out, but the pieces quickly grew boring being all by himself. He returned to lay on his bed but couldn’t sleep. Laying there, in the dim light, he took in the details of the room in a way he never had before. No part of the room offered symmetry.

The windows were not all the same size; the beds were at weird angles to each other, and each lamp and piece of decoration was unique. He found a badger carved in wooden relief in part of the crown molding, and four more badgers carved into the feet of the side table nearest to Roc’s bed. His own side table was the plainest of the four in the room, and the only one with squared legs. He noticed a banner carved in wood above the door, with squiggled hard to read letters – some gothic font. Getting out of bed to be able to read it, he realized it was “hard to read” because it was in Latin. Jamie read:

DRACO DORMIENS NUNQUAM TITILLANDUS

Was it a spell? Dormiens sounded like the French word for sleeping, but he didn’t have a clue to the rest. He jotted it down in a free page of his Book of Useful Spells, with a desire to look it up later. He was starting to feel sleepy again but only passed in and out of light sleep until Roc, August, and Sedgley were all awake.

That morning after breakfast, Clara complained to Jamie that she slept badly because her muscles were still sore from broom practice and her bed was lumpy. She wondered if she could have the mattress changed. Jamie thought again about how weird it was that people with access to magic had to ever sleep on a lumpy bed. Wouldn’t there be a spell to make a perfect bed anywhere? Jotting down “perfect bed” he saw on the facing page the phrase from that morning. He asked Clara about it; her Latin was getting better than his own.

“Oh! I have seen that,” said Clara. “It was in some random corridor… ah, I remember now. There was a suit of armor and it was all over the decorative stand.”

“Where was that?”

“It’s in the wing where the Defense classroom is, but one floor up, or two, and there’s this weird little jog through where two hallways don’t meet the right way. And there were a lot of portraits of fish. I mean still lifes, like on plates and stuff.”

“Ok, that’s pretty vague.”

“It’s hard to describe but I think I could find it again.”

“I have Defense first thing this morning, I can go try to find it after,” said Jamie.

“Oh! I can show you. This morning is my free morning after Charms.”

With their plans set, they parted ways for their morning classes.

Clara’s Charms that day was several related spells which set up protective barriers of different kinds that worked against different types of spells. Some made small disks in front of you and others were for a whole area. An interesting one repelled people from an area by suggestion but only if they weren’t specifically looking for you. Professor Morsain quickly demonstrated each one and warned them that any one could show up on their exams, but no one mastered more than one or two by the time class ended. The class ended with the students stressed. Milly, Betty, and Alison went with a large group of students to play Scricknacks and Bogglers outside – an active game of chasing and capturing in “dungeons.” Clara had to decline to meet Jamie, even though she was interested. It had been almost two decades since she had played tag and Red Rover in the schoolyard.

Instead, she met Jamie outside the Defense room where he was dusting himself off.

“You’re so dirty! What happened today?”

“Ashworms,” said Jamie, shaking his head.

Clara had to stop herself from cleaning his nose, it wouldn’t have fit in with her 11-year old character. Once they were down the corridor and up two flights, and they were briefly alone, she took the chance to beat his robes and clean him properly. He stood and endured it. Fortunately she finished quickly because another group of older students came down the hall, talking excitedly amongst themselves.

Continuing, Clara found the suit of armor after only one wrong turn. She pointed at the base and there was the inscription, as in Jamie’s book but this time in a clear plate font:

Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

“Do you think it is a spell?” Jamie asked.

Clara sounded it out, “draco dormiens nunquam titillandus… Well, a fun mystery to be sure. Maybe we’ll have our own little adventure into Hogwarts secrets!”

A loud scoffing noise behind them startled them both. They turned and there was an older boy with dark straight hair. As he spoke they could see his teeth were yellow and crooked.

“Hogwarts secrets? Don’t make me laugh. That’s the Hogwarts motto,” the boy said, both pedantic and slightly jeering at their ignorance. “It’s in the first chapter of Hogwarts, a History.”

Jamie felt embarrassed, but decided that was stupid. He was muggle born and only a month at Hogwarts. He didn’t deserve to be mocked. “Well, what does it mean then?”

“You were even pronouncing it wrong. It’s draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, not draco dormiens nunquam titillandus. It means never tickle a sleeping dragon.”

“Oh… ok.”

Jamie and Clara weren’t sure what to say to such a weird motto. Fortunately the boy moved on quickly.

“Well, that guy was rude,” Clara said loudly, once he had turned a corner.

“Who has crooked yellow teeth when you have access to magic?” said Jamie. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Me neither. He must be either Gryffindor or Slytherin.”

“Anyway,” said Jamie, brightening, “what a funny phrase. Never tickle a sleeping dragon? Can dragons even be tickled?”

Clara didn’t see the humor, but considered it.

Jamie continued, “I mean, why would it be tickled and not ‘wake’ or ‘disturb’ or something? I think if you use the phrase ’tickled’ then you mean it to be funny.”

“And what does it have to do with Hogwarts?” Clara asked. “Unless there’s some specific event, which I’ve never heard told, it’s a funny school motto.”

Jamie laughed. “Yeah. You can pick one phrase to pass on to all future generations of students, something to live by or aspire to, and instead you pick something about tickling dragons!”

Clara had to take a second to think. “I remember my school motto. It was eruditio spes mundi. Which means education is the hope of the world. Like you said, kind of aspirational or something to live by.”

“Well,” said Jamie, “if this is something to live by, then I’ll do it. Except I want to do it in reverse. Dragons are boring when asleep. I want to poke it and see what happens.”

“Jamie! Please tell me you won’t go around poking dragons. That’s way too dangerous!”

“Oh come on, I don’t mean literal dragons. I mean like… Ardivat, the most serious man in the castle. And it’s not poke, it’s tickle. That’s an important distinction. You know, this is making sense to me. At the end of the day Ardivat is a dude too, maybe ‘tickle’ means to treat him like a colleague and not a scary professor.”

“It is fortunate that you don’t have Ardivat in any of your classes, so you don’t have a chance to learn how many House Points you can lose by tickling a sleeping professor.” Clara finally laughed, joining in with Jamie.

Chapter Text

The next morning was Clara’s turn to wake up strangely early, except in her case there was a reason. She could hear crying coming softly from somewhere. Sitting up, she saw that her three friends were still asleep. She tried to lay back down but soon gave up. Clambering out of bed, she tiptoed around the room listening. She listened at the door, but nothing. It was loudest near one of the windows that was open a crack, the wind whistling between the wooden frame and window. As she pushed it more fully open, the whistle quieted down and the sniffling became louder. It was coming from another nearby window.

Throwing her robes over her pajamas, Clara crept into the hallway, but it was silent. She went up and down a flight and concluded the sound must be coming from the boy’s dormitory wing – where she couldn’t go. The boys’ and girls’ rooms were accessed by different stairways that wrapped in a double helix from the common room. She would have to go back to her room and try and sleep. Shutting the windows firmly, she was quickly dreaming again.

During the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw combined Herbology class, whispers and talking in ”hushed” tones became so loud that Professor Longbottom had to stop the class, taking ten points from each House. The subject of the rumors was a Ravenclaw boy who was not present, and had in fact not been seen since last night. There were speculations of being carried away by bats, eagles, or captured by a troll after Defense the prior afternoon. Jamie and Clara, in the same group as Hefnia and Milavicent, couldn’t help but join in the speculation.

“It’s funny,” Clara was telling Milavicent, “I heard someone crying early this morning, and it was coming from the boys’ side.”

“You heard him? What if he’s been taken by a unde-umbrum?” At Clara’s questioning look, Milavicent explained, “they wrap around you so that you can’t move or be seen, but people can still hear you. Then they slowly eat you alive!”

“Oh my gosh!” Clara exclaimed, more horrified that such a creature existed than believing that was what happened to the boy.

“You’re mixing up an unde-umbrum and amitto-aspicium,” Hefnia corrected, not interrupting her careful repotting of three-inch andevarium sprouts.

“Well anyway, it could be an amitto,” said Milavicent.

“Who was this boy anyway?” asked Jamie.

“Was? I hope you mean IS,” said Milavicent.

Clara thought, then responded. “Actually I don’t know him. Was he James? Didn’t he have medium brown hair, and like a funny walk with his right leg?”

“No, you’re describing Anatole,” said Milavicent, “and he’s right over there. James is blond.”

“How can you not remember?” Jamie asked. “There’s only what, twenty or twenty five Ravenclaw first years?”

“Yeah, but he’s a boy! I never see him outside of class.”

“Weird. In Hufflepuff everyone hangs out, girls and boys. I know everyone.”

The conversation continued through the rest of class, but fortunately they still finished their repotting with time to spare.

Chapter Text

Slightly frustrated with the morning and ready to eat a big lunch, Jamie swung his faded leather book satchel onto the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall. He was reaching for a tureen when he heard, “nice bag, Coddington,” in a jeering voice.

Jamie looked and it was an older Hufflepuff boy. Was his name Levar? Or Damien? He wasn’t sure if he was seriously being mocked, weren’t they in the House of camaraderie?

“Thanks,” said Jamie honestly, “it fits everything but my cauldron.”

“I meant nice bag, did you steal it from your grandma's closet?”

“As a matter of fact it was a gift, from your grandma,” was Jamie’s retort.

“Hah hah heh HAH,” said Levar/Damien awkwardly, then glared at Jamie. Jamie had hit him with rictumsempra, the tickling charm, but had cast it poorly so it only had lasted seven seconds. Jamie had looked it up the prior evening after learning about tickling dragons, but hadn’t had enough time to practice.

The older Hufflepuff had his wand out and his mouth shaped to cast some nasty spell, but was stopped before Jamie had time to worry that he hadn’t yet learned the shield charms Clara had told him about. It was Renard, the third year Slytherin from the train.

“Pulling your wand on a first year? My have you stooped low, Damien.”

Damien put away his wand and strode nearer to the head of Hufflepuff table, amongst the older students.

“As cowardly as his parents,” was Renard’s final comment, walking the other direction. Jamie sat down, confused and slightly shaken, but when Roc and Sedgley sat beside him he felt better. The warm soup did it’s own work too.

Jamie told Clara about the encounter after dinner while they were in the library together.

“It was weird,” Jamie was saying, “why did he pick on me all of a sudden?”

“Maybe he thought you were an easy target since you’re usually by yourself. You don’t have many friends.”

Jamie scoffed, “I don’t have friends? I am constantly with Roc, August, and Sedgley, and even you were complaining that I was spending too much time playing Cups and Swords on the weekend, with everyone in Hufflepuff.”

“Oh right, if you were constantly with friends then why am I in the library right now? I only came here because I knew you would be here, as usual.”

“Well, I kind of don’t like studying with the guys. I just study differently than them, since I’ve been in graduate school. They just slow me down.”

“Meanwhile I’m doing better in classes than you, and I actually spend time with my friends. It’s only been a month and Betty, Milly and Alison feel like the sisters I never had.”

“Yeah I noticed, you even go to the bathroom together,” Jamie teased. “Besides, I’m not here studying for classes. Check this out.” Jamie unrolled a long sections of parchment that was half full of tight scribbles.

“What is it?” asked Clara, after studying it she still couldn’t understand.

“It’s a catalogue, or anyway some notes.” He pulled out several more parchments with more notes. “This library is supposed to be the biggest in Britain, but it isn’t that big, really. There’s maybe three thousand books, max? I estimated by counting a few shelves and then multiplying. So I’m going book by book, not reading them but getting a sense of the contents and noting any useful spells or potions or really anything I might return to later.”

“Jamie. That sounds like a total waste of time.”

“No!” Jamie was dismayed that Clara wasn’t impressed.

“Just go enjoy your second chance at youth. Did you know we ran around outside playing some wizarding version of freeze tag yesterday? I think you were in the library then too.” Clara’s tone was of light concern. “You’ll have plenty of time for this when you’re old again.”

Jamie paused before responding, unsure if he wanted to admit to what he just realized about himself. “You know, tag is one thing, but I really feel that it isn’t right to get too close to these kids. Doesn’t it feel a little inappropriate? The library is a safe place and I’m really enjoying my time here.”

“No, I don’t think it’s weird. Even if I was still older looking I don’t think it would be weird to play tag or study with some kids. Dating would of course be inappropriate, but we don’t have to worry about that, do we?” She half smiled and searched Jamie’s face. They shared the mutual feeling of loss since they had done nothing but light pecks and hand holding since becoming small, and that was reducing in frequency as school got busier. Leaving that all unsaid, Clara stood up to return to Ravenclaw, leaving Jamie in the library for another hour before he returned to Hufflepuff through the dim, empty maze of Hogwarts.

Chapter Text

Clara received a burst of cheer between Defense and Astronomy the next day, when Alison pulled her aside to awkwardly thank her for going to the healer.

“So your breathing is better?” Clara asked.

“Oh yes, it’s so much better. I was silly to not try and fix it. Thanks again for pushing me to do it. I was actually mad at you at first.” Alison smiled, then looked left and right to make sure the hallway was empty. Everyone had already gone up the Astronomy tower. She gave Clara a quick squeeze and dashed off, embarrassed.

It made Clara wonder about her future. She had been dreaming of a low stress life of living in a cute seaside tower, apparating to town whenever she needed to, and traveling across Europe. The transition was so sudden that she hadn’t yet felt the loss of her career in medicine. It hadn’t been easy to get into medical school and she truly wanted to help people. In fact, she was addicted to the good feeling of helping people who appreciated it, but in the long hours of residency had forgotten it. Maybe retreating from the world and living selfishly was not what she wanted.

Chapter Text

Clara returned to the Ravenclaw common room after Transfiguration to find a shocking sight. A girl she knew, a first year with the absurd name Lacey Eve de Ment that matched her prissy persona, was surrounded by older students in aggressive postures.

“Are you sure you belong in Ravenclaw, Lacey?”

“I’ve seen you waiting outside the door too many times, waiting for someone to help you get past the eagle’s challenge. How shameful.”

“So the famous daughter of Madam Eve de Ment is a wash-up!”

“Let’s give you a test! Take out your wand.”

Lacey was too scared to do anything, and needed more prodding before she timidly took her wand out of her pocket. “Co-co…co,” she stuttered. But before anyone could figure out what she was trying to say, Clara was fed up and strode forward. Why wasn’t anyone doing anything? She is just an eleven year old girl!

Wand out, Clara didn’t wait for the older students to notice her. “TUEOR UMBRAVI!”

Black shadows poured out of her wand tip and swirled around the room. Clara became scared – what had she done? She didn’t know exactly what the spell would do and maybe went too far. The black shadows didn’t stop coming, and began to block out the evening sun. Soon they formed into specters, the height of a man with formless tails of smoke and with glowing white eyes. The older students looked around nervously and pulled out their own wands, but didn’t know what to cast. A shield charm popped up but couldn’t be directed at tall the specters at once. The rest of the students in the common room shrunk away to the walls.

Suddenly, the specters dove towards the older bullies and they scattered. Most ran up the stairs but some ran out the common room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Once the bullies were gone, the specters became less frenzied, drifting aimlessly around the room. Clara lowered her wand and they evaporated. The sudden silence that followed was short – the remaining students ran up to her laughing.

“Clara that was awesome!”

She smiled, unsure. In the hubbub, Lacey snuck away to her sleeping room.

Waving off the congratulations, Clara retreated to her own room and shut the door leaving just her and Betty inside.

“Clara! Why are you so sweaty and nervous looking?”

“Oh Betty, I don’t know what I have done. I just took on some older Ravenclaw bullies and I think it’s going to come back to me double.”

“Bullies?”

Clara related the whole story to her, and then a second time when Alison came in. “I’m kind of sad there’s bullies in Ravenclaw. I thought our House was a special place, but now it feels like… colder. Like I’m in a hotel with strangers instead of my home.”

“Aw Clara, it’s still your home,” said Alison, “we’re here with you.”

“Thanks,” said Clara, and she was surprised that it did make her feel better. “I’m also worried I just cost us more House Points.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Betty, patting Clara’s knee. “Those older students don’t want to lose points either so they’ll keep it within the House. Worst case they go to old Alphonse.”

Alison had a shocked look. “Betty! How can you keep calling Professor Awl, the head of our House and one of the most respected wizards in Britain, ‘old Alphonse’?”

“Whatever,” was Betty’s reply.

That night at dinner Clara had to recount the story again, to Milavicent. The three girls kept pestering Clara with questions about the spell she used and where she learned it, and eventually Clara confessed. “It was from this book I got from the library. It was the journal of three friends.” She hesitated, wanting to keep the book to herself, but then realized that by sharing it with her girl friends, she would be following in the tradition of the book itself. But no boys allowed, of course. They made plans to meet a bit after dinner in the common room since Milavicent was busy with something.

Walking down the corridor with the soft light of day still coming through the windows, the four friends turned several corners and eventually reached the dusty room where Clara had first practiced. Clara pulled out the book and they all peered down at it.

Shaking her head to clear it, Clara flipped to the spell, tueor umbravi. Betty laughed at the drawing, but the other girls were serious.

“Ok, wands out I guess,” was Clara’s instruction. Clara went first. She said the incantation meekly and instead of a stream of black specters, only a few came out. They circled the room a few times and then started drifting aimlessly around.

“Wow,” said Alison, “they look so impressive but they don’t actually do anything?”

Clara chuckled, “those bullies were never in trouble, but they sure did run quick.”

They each took a turn casting the spell. None of the girls got it on the first try and Clara had to help Alison with the wand motion, but eventually the room was full of black shapes floating around gently as if riding on small breezes. It wasn’t clear which specter belonged to which girl. They watched the shapes float.

“It’s kind of pretty,” said Alison.

“The eyes are creepy though,” added Milavicent.

Before they could react, one of the shapes dove for Clara and she heard a quiet, pleasant voice: “a man with ill intentions approaches.”

Clara yelped and dropped her wand, and her yelp startled the other three girls so that they lost their concentration on maintaining the spell. The smoke quickly dissipated and left the room with its natural dusty haze, lit by slanting beams of the setting sun coming through the high windows.

“Clara what was that?” asked Betty.

“I think it whispered in my ear,” answered Clara.

“So creepy! What did it say?” the girls wanted to know.

The door opened and the girls turned at the noise. It was Professor Connough. He gazed at the four Ravenclaws standing in a circle in a dirty disused classroom, then seemed to come to himself. “Oh I’m sorry. I was just looking for an empty classroom.” He exited and shut the door, leaving the girls confused.

“The specter told me that a man with ill intentions was approaching,” Clara said.

The girls digested this slowly.

“So the spell makes the ghost things, and they keep watch for you? They’re not just scary looking then,” said Milavicent, quickest on the uptake as the only wizard born in the room.

“Maybe that’s why they rushed at the bullies, they were inspecting them or something and would have come back to warn me if the spell hadn’t failed,” Clara guessed.

“What a cool, useful spell. I want to do more!” Betty cajoled them into spending the rest of the evening in the room pouring over the thin book for the juiciest contents.

Later, in her bed, Clara had time to wonder. Why would Professor Connough be looking for an empty classroom on the other side of the castle from his office, when he has his own private rooms? Mysterious.

Chapter Text

On Friday morning, Herbology was half the usual class size as the Ravenclaws had been pulled to have double Potions. The class stretched from first thing in the morning until noon. Jamie and Hefnia were a little annoyed at having to do double work and staying fifteen minutes after class to finish everything that had to get done, but they couldn’t be too annoyed since they knew Milavicent and Clara. As Professor Longbottom said, your schedule must work around the plants and assured them the Ravenclaws would make it up in the future.

In Potions, the Ravenclaws were paired up with the Slytherins, who were normally exiting the classroom just as the Ravenclaws arrived mid-morning. The two classes gawked at each other. Houses usually never mixed except at Quidditch matches. Clara only knew a few of the Slytherins’ names and only recognized half by sight.

There was a stark difference between the Houses. One thing that was immediately apparent was that the Slytherins moved in packs, never alone, yet Ravenclaws were often solitary. The Slytherins crowded three to five to a table, while the Ravenclaws properly used the one or two stations per bench. One thing they had in common was grooming. Clara hadn’t noticed it until today, but the Ravenclaws were generally clean with tidy hair and robes, while Jamie’s House was often disheveled. She thought at first it was just boys being boys, since the Hufflepuffs she often saw were Jamie’s roommates, but considering more deeply it was most of his House.

She tried to not let her knowledge of the fiction series cloud her judgement, but she found herself immediately being suspicious of all of the Slytherins. She knew that they weren’t all blood purists obsessed with status; that was made clear in the couple of real history books they had poured over. One of the few things the books had directly agreed on was the mistreatment of House Slytherin through the whole series just because the author thought it made for a good story; it was true that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named graduated from Slytherin.

No, thought Clara, his name was Voldemort. Silly, she had no problem saying Voldemort before she knew he was real. Why was it hard to even think it in her mind now? Tom Riddle. He was just a man, like anyone else.

Clara realized she was lost in a daydream and had missed Professor Connough’s introduction to the potion of the day. She stayed glued to his words for the rest of his instructions.

“…and remember, the graproot must be as absolutely as uniform as you can make it. Next point: when you get to sprinkling the asvodium, it must be a fine powder and distributed evenly. Don’t be lazy with the mortar and pestle. I will go over that point again when we get to it, a couple hours from now. I think I’ve covered enough to get you started. If you prep your ingredients quickly you should be at the simmer stage in thirty or forty minutes. I will come around and adjust your flames because I know you won’t have it correct. I’ve taught this a dozen times and I’ve given up on letting you first years understand what a gentle simmer is.”

As the class became loud with conversation and students moving about to collect ingredients from the cabinet, Clara turned to Alison at her side. “Hey Alison, what potion are we making?”

Alison laughed. “Clara! It’s the Potion of Slow Time, page 283. Don’t worry, I’ll try and help you through the tough bits. I think I remember what he was saying.”

Clara oriented herself to the instructions and was disappointed that the potion didn’t actually manipulate time, just the imbiber’s perception of it. She went to gather ingredients with the rest of the students. As she started to chop and grind, she noticed the Slytherins didn’t have one potion per student, as the Ravenclaws did, and as Clara thought was required. They were in their little groups discussing and sharing one cauldron. But they didn’t look cordial. At the nearest table there was one tall blond boy who was holding the potions book in his hands and directing two other boys on the chopping and grinding. Those two were nervous and kept glancing for approval that they were doing it to the blond boy’s standard. Other groups were more convivial but still not friendly. They were serious about the task in front of them.

She realized she had forgotten the aiso petals and went to pick them from the cabinet. She was confused because the ones in the cabinet were dried and the book had clearly stated fresh. She turned quickly to go back and ask Alison and collided with a Slytherin girl so hard they almost fell over.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” was Clara’s automatic response. She had a split second to anticipate a scathing admonishment but the Slytherin girl just straightened her cloak and said, “oh no! It was my fault, I was standing like right behind you.”

“By the way,” the girl continued in a half whisper, “do you know where we get fresh aiso petals? I wasn’t paying attention at the beginning…”

Clara shook her head but smiled, “that’s why I’m here too, I also wasn’t paying attention.”

Unfortunately for them both, Professor Connough overheard them and strode over. “Girls! This is one of the most difficult potions of the year, until the Spring, and you’re not paying attention? Get with it.” His tone was brusque; he had no time for students who didn’t apply themselves to the utmost. “The dried petals are fine, but you need to add a demicuillère of roses, finely chopped. They’re there, on my desk.”

The two girls walked quickly to the head desk, abashed, but they shared a secret smile as they picked petals off the roses.

Maybe Slytherins aren’t so bad. Why are they so separated from the other Houses?

With constant activities to do, class was near over before Clara had time to feel how long it was. She had been able to sit during the long simmer times so her legs weren’t tired. She felt fresh and looking forward to another weekend after lunch and History. History of Magic, she mentally corrected herself. They didn’t learn much besides minutiae of dates and agreements of politics of the last four hundred years of Western European wizards.

She was waiting on another sand timer before adding yet another sprinkle of asvodium when the conversation of those nearby Slytherin boys caught her attention.

“…so everyone was getting frantic because uncle Bobur was there in the casket with no shoes. Turns out my cousin stole them and there was a big fuss. But honestly I don’t get it. I thought it was so weird how everyone was saying ‘Bobur’s shoes’, ‘Bobur’s shoes’. It doesn't even make sense! Once you're dead you can't own anything. You're just a thing – like a chair.”

Maybe Slytherins are exactly as you think, Clara thought.

The Professor took samples of each of their potions into vials, telling the students that he would have them ready to be tested by their next class, after carefully verifying them. Clara wondered how he would verify them without taking it directly, but after the four-hour class had no energy or interest in actually asking the question. She met up with the girls as they passed out of the classroom door.

“So how about those Slytherins?” Alison was asking, but she was interrupted by Betty.

“Forget about the Slytherins, didn’t you notice that James is missing? No rumor, I heard it from Professor Awl himself that James is spending a week at home.”

“Why? Is there something wrong?” Alison asked.

Betty had the answer, “He just missed his parents or something. He’s perfectly fine.”

“I don’t blame him… sometimes I feel sad,” Milavicent confessed. “You know I was never away from my parents until I came here. Even when they both were out of the house there was my aunt.” She smiled at them, “that’s why I’m so glad for you three.”

She skipped ahead and they rushed to keep up, laughing on the way to lunch.

Chapter Text

Friday night dinner was a heavy stew that didn’t match with the warm winds that started blowing in from the South that afternoon. After dinner they were discussing what to do, but Milly surprised them all when she said, “you go ahead, I’ll catch up later.” She ran to meet up with some Gryffindor boys. Betty pointed out to them all that she was standing next to the “hot guy” from the sorting ceremony. Betty had noticed right away because she admitted to watching the boy often, and hoping the boy would ask her to the Halloween dance.

“There’s a Halloween dance?” said Clara.

“Clara, you didn’t know?” asked Betty with her mouth wide open. “What about you, Alison?”

“Well, I already have a date,” confessed Alison, blushing.

“Whaat?” said Betty and Clara together.

“It’s John,” said Alison.

“John?” said Betty, crinkling her nose. Then she put on a forced smile and corrected herself, “John! Ok!” But the damage had been done, Alison saw right through her. “What about you, Clara?” she continued, trying to quickly move on. “You’re going with Jamie?”

“Jamie? Oh no, we’re just friends you know, because we went to muggle school together,” said Clara, and then regretted it. She wanted desperately to be more open about her relationship with Jamie but she was torn with trying to keep their true origins a secret. It was like Jamie kept saying, they would make horrendous secret agents. They were probably only safe because the truth was too absurd to be believed. And fundamentally against what people believed was possible. Two muggles becoming a witch and a wizard?

“Well,” said Betty, “that leaves the two of us without dates. I wish I were a guy and could just ask someone, instead of having to wait.”

Except for Milly, long gone, they left the Great Hall together to find other Ravenclaw first years in the common room and see what was going on.

Chapter Text

Clara found Jamie at lunch on Saturday. It was cold sandwiches and soups, again slightly against the weather as it had turned colder overnight. But the sky was clear and they decided to take their sandwiches out of the castle to be able to spend some time together, leaving the soup behind.

As they exited the lawn gate of the castle, passing underneath stone arches that were more human scale than the main entrance, Jamie turned the conversation to a more serious topic. “We have to discuss what we’re doing tomorrow – it’s the day we reveal everything to our parents. I am super nervous. The two worlds colliding and I’m afraid I’ll be revealed as a lunatic.”

“I get what you mean, but I’m more worried about my parents’ reaction,” said Clara. “What if they try and take us home despite everything we do to convince them, or they nod happily but are just playing along, and go straight to the police?”

“I was so nervous that I was practicing some charms all morning, to convince myself that magic is real. I tried to find you – at breakfast and I even walked all the way to Ravenclaw tower but I felt weird asking older students if you were in and I didn’t see any first years I knew, so I just left.”

“Aww, Jamie! I’m sorry. I wasn’t actually in the common room anyway. A bunch of us went out early to support the Ravenclaw team practice.”

“Even though it was frustrating finding you this morning, after a month at Hogwarts I’ve come to appreciate not being connected all the time with attention-sucking cell phones.”

Clara’s eyes fired up and she slapped his arm, almost making him drop his sandwich. “I know, right! I feel so less stressed. Even, like, the pressure of constantly taking photos and sharing my life with my family back home. It’s fun but also, wow, I just feel so much more relaxed and in the moment.”

“It’s kind of funny,” said Jamie, “I was saying ‘why is magic worse than technology?’ But I was wrong. Yeah the internet connecting people instantaneously from around the world is amazing, email, voice, or even video chatting all the way to Korea from home. And having knowledge at your fingertips instead of paging through a physical library. But now that I’ve learned some magic I would say it isn’t worse, it’s just different.”

“It is weird that there are no easy spells to communicate over long distances.”

“But think of apparition! You can’t call someone on a magical telephone, but you can apparate fifty miles home for your lunch break, and pop back. And think of handling logistics. No more getting stuck in traffic when you can pop around the city.”

“But I think apparition is hard, Jamie. I haven’t been seeing people apparating around like that.”

“Well, there is the ban at Hogwarts, so maybe you just don’t see it.”

“But also we didn’t see people just appearing and disappearing when we were in Diagon Alley,” Clara countered.

“Ok, but there are things that are easy with magic that are literally impossible with technology, like conjuring a bunch of birds from nothing.” He laughed, “how did I get to be the one defending magic over technology?”

“You think you have a unique license to defend technology because you are the bigger nerd of us two? I’ve been thinking the same things, but in the context of medicine. Tons of regular diseases are easily curable with magic, but I’ve talked with Madam Pierce, the Matron, and she doesn’t really know what she’s doing when she casts those spells. I mean like on the level of medicine or chemistry.”

“You’ve been talking to the school healer?” Jamie asked, surprised.

“Oh yeah, I went there first to help… someone.”

“Someone?”

“Whatever, it was a simple thing I recognized because of my medical training. Since then I’ve been there a few times just because I wanted to talk about medicine.”

“Oh, wow. So what’s that like?” Jamie asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s a big jumble of charms, potions, and weird lore that somehow works. Like I said, there is no, like, basis of understanding. So it’s weird.”

“Maybe there is some basis. Like how somehow people make new spells and yet everything seems totally arbitrary to me.”

“Yeah ok, maybe like that,” Clara said, annoyed that Jamie hadn’t just accepted her professional assessment. She was interrupted by some loud yelling and they both looked. “Jamie, haha, look at these children.”

The children were Gryffindor first or second years, running around and yelling some nonsense game they were playing. Some kids had sticks they were swinging like swords and jumping off the rocks dramatically.

“Cover me!”

“This wither is so hard to kill!”

“Hyaah!” yelled one girl, jumping off a rock and slicing her stick through the air, burying it in the earth.

“Wow, you got it!”

“Ok, now it’s World War I and I’m Japanese,” yelled another boy in immediate non-sequitur. The other children picked it up quickly.

“I’m Albert Einstein!”

“Wasn’t Albert Einstein a dog?” a boy asked, trying to remember.

“No silly, he was a guy who invented gravity!”

“What’s gravity?”

The conversation continued in the same inane fashion, while Jamie and Clara continued on the path towards the lake.

“Jamie, we’re supposed to be the same age as those kids.”

“I say this too often, but we truly are the worst secret agents ever.”

Chapter Text

The day came. An ordinary Sunday for most Hogwarts students, but for Clara and Jamie it was the day they would reveal to their parents that they had magical powers. And that they wouldn’t be coming home for seven years. And that grandchildren would not be forthcoming. And that they would outlive their parents by one hundred years. Neither of them was free of apprehension.

Their parents had been in England for several days and Scotland for at least a day, but they hadn’t even exchanged a text. Did they arrive on time? Was their flight delayed or cancelled? Were they excited to meet up or worried due to the odd circumstances? Jamie and Clara had both pocketed their cell phones, leaving their laptops behind this time, but they had no chance to charge them until they were in Muirferm.

They met Headmistress McGonagall outside of the front gate “at precisely nine AM.” Actually they arrived early since they still had no watch and didn’t want to be late. The first brown leaves of autumn rustled on the path as they waited, though most trees were still green. It was fortunate to be traveling with the Headmistress. Instead of the arduous carriage ride, they walked ten feet outside of the stone arch leading into the Forbidden Forest, and then apparated to where the carriage was waiting for them. It was less than a ten minute ride into town.

Muirferm was as quiet as the other time they had visited. The same shops, the same people going about their lives. It was far beyond the short tourist season, so the streets were empty except for those who actually lived there. They descended from the carriage and walked down the row of tightly packed stone buildings to the central intersection. McGonagall led the way, pure business, while Jamie and Clara half-jogged to keep up with their short legs.

They turned to enter the large historic inn. In Scottish Highlands style it was lacking modern amenities. Even the rooms above didn’t have private bathrooms. It was more of a large dining room with small bedrooms on the upper story, literally just a bedroom with barely enough room for a bed. But the heavy wood felt cozy on that September morning.

They entered to face a check-in desk with a woman standing behind it, but Clara noticed right away her mother standing to the right, in the great room. Tall and lanky, with red hair that none of her children inherited, just as Clara remembered. “Mom!” she yelled, and dashed to hug her mother, her arms meeting her mother’s waist.

At first her mother was confused and thought this little girl was mistaken, though she enjoyed the feeling of childish exuberance. Something she hadn’t felt for fifteen years, since her own children were grown. But then she was able to see Clara’s face as Clara pulled away from the embrace, and her face was more dismay than joy.

“Clara! I knew you were small, you said so, but seeing you in person…”

“Clara?” a deeper voice came from around a corner. A face followed the voice and a five-foot-five man with a burly black beard appeared. “Clara!” He joined the hug.

It was Jamie’s turn to see his parents come around the corner, both brown haired and medium height, and wearing matching jeans and flannels like it was one of those tour uniforms so that kids don’t get lost. Their meeting was more subdued, but Jamie went to join them and gave them a brief squeeze.

“Ahem,” McGonagall cleared her throat to get their attention before speaking. “I suggest we retire to a private room before we draw unwanted attention,” came her crisp Scottish accent.

The woman at the desk said, “the Blue Room is available.”

“Tapadh leat, Catriona,” said McGonagall, “bidh tì agus cèicean againn, mas e do thoil e.” Then she led them all through the empty rows of heavy oaken tables and through a door in the far wall. The four parents were confused at who this woman might be, but followed the lead of their children.

The room on the other side was, in fact, blue. The walls had blue paper above light stained wainscoting, and the chairs set around the table had blue cushions. McGonagall bade them all to sit and then spent thirty seconds walking around the room waving her wand and chanting under her breath. She had pulled out and stowed her wand so fast it was sleight of hand. That complete, she stood next to the chair at the head of the table and her demeanor warmed. She even wore a tight lipped smile.

“Welcome to Scotland, Mr. and Mrs. Morneau, and Mr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick,” she said, tipping her head to them both. “Before we get into it, let me introduce myself. I am Minerva McGonagall, but Minerva is fine for today. I am Headmistress at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which your children currently attend.”

Jamie’s eyes popped. Wow, way to just drop a bombshell, Minerva. He checked his parents’ reactions. They were incredulous but giving the Headmistress space to continue. They had reacted to the name Hogwarts. They had seen at least a few of the movies, Jamie remembered. Maybe she knows what she’s doing, she’s done this thousands of times before.

Meanwhile Clara’s thoughts were: I can’t call her “Minerva” even if she asks me to; it’s too weird.

McGonagall continued. “I know this is shocking, but I assure you they are in a safe and good place. Hopefully you will come to trust that as we discuss. Now I know,” McGonagall held up her hand to stay interruptions, “that you do not know that magic is real or that your children have magical ability, but we will come around to that too. Why don’t you continue, Clara, Jamie?”

Their parents turned to look at them, expectantly. Clara’s parents broke the silence first.

“Honey, is this… I don’t know what this is. It can’t be a joke, it’s too weird,” said Clara’s mom.

“It’s true, mom. After the accident in London, I mean look at us. We’re not just small, we’re like ten or eleven years old again. That is not possible without magic.”

“Yes, but, Hogwarts? Like that kid’s movie?” was Jamie’s dad’s response.

Jamie jumped in to help. “I know it’s ridiculous, dad, you know how I am the most rational guy around, it’s not like it would be easy to convince me! Or trick me.”

Jamie’s mom quipped, “well, you were always into fantasy.”

Jamie continued, ignoring that comment. “But it’s true. We’ve already had a month of schooling, so I know it’s real. We asked Professor McGonagall to be here to help us convince you, but at some point you’ll just have to trust us.”

Clara’s father was annoyed. “But why spring this on us now? This insanity! We came here expecting to see you, to vacation together. What about your jobs?”

“I know it’s crazy, dad,” said Clara calmly, “but you have to think of our perspective. Now that we know magic is real, how can we turn our backs on it?”

Jamie saw McGonagall’s eye twitch at that statement, but couldn’t fathom why.

Jamie saw both his parents about to speak, and jumped in first. “And we know, the hardest part in all of this, for us, has been the total disconnection. Scratch that, the hardest part was lying to everyone.” Jamie was surprised how quickly that had come out. One of the worst parts he was dreading was admitting to lying to their parents for the last two months. He had never betrayed them like that before. But now it was over and past and his parents didn’t react like he had expected. “The second hardest is that there’s no mobiles, internet, computers, or anything at Hogwarts.” He pulled out his dead cell phone. “I brought my phone here so I could charge it and check up on emails and texts, because I haven’t for a month.”

“They couldn’t make an exception?” Clara’s dad asked, again in a challenging tone.

Clara shook her head, “it’s not about an exception. They don’t work at all at Hogwarts. And it’s a couple hours’ journey just to get somewhere with cell service.”

Clara’s mother audibly sighed, expressing what they were all feeling. She patted Clara’s arm. “I have to keep reminding myself that you’re almost thirty, adults, and can make your own decisions. You aren’t my little Clara, despite how you look.”

A long pause followed. Jamie looked around. Their parents’ faces were hard to read. Sadness, anger, annoyance, bitterness, concern? McGonagall looked over them all warmly, waiting.

Jamie’s mother broke the silence this time. “What about your family, your friends, your marriage? We thought you would only be in England for a few years for your careers.”

“I know, mom,” said Jamie. “we’ve discussed this over and over and over, Clara and I. It hasn’t been easy on us, either.”

Clara patted her mother’s arm in return. “We are glad you’re here today, so we can be honest going forward. It’s been like I don’t even have parents, since I haven’t been able to talk to you about what I’m doing or about anything.”

Clara’s dad was recalcitrant. “I still don’t get the secrecy. You could have returned home and talked to us about it, planned?”

“Dad, it’s so important to keep magic a secret that they even call it that, The Secret. Witches and wizards are rare and they’ve decided, worldwide, to be quiet about it and live their own separate lives.”

Jamie watched his father, ever the analytical type, start to explore the ramifications of that statement. But it was Jamie’s mother who spoke, surprising Jamie. “So what, they use their magic to get ahead, to trick us regular folk. Is Jeff Bezos a wizard?”

“No, mom,” said Jamie, “they stay totally out of muggle stuff – that’s the name for non-wizards. If some wizard tries to use their magic for money or power the magical government stops them.”

Nobody looked satisfied with that answer.

“I believe it’s time,” said McGonagall softly, but commanding all of their attention, “for a little demonstration.” She sleight-of-handed her wand out again, and took some glasses and plates from a nearby rolling cart, placing them on the table. Jamie expected her to pass the cup around to prove it was a regular cup, like some show magician, but she went ahead with her magic. One tap and the white porcelain became a white rabbit, on the table.

The four parents were piqued but not immediately convinced. It was obvious from their faces.

McGonagall waved her wand in the air, conjuring dozens of butterflies that flitted around the room. She tapped the remaining plates and cups, turning them multicolored, fuzzy, floating in midair. A swish of the wand made the room smell of wildflowers. Another swish and a light breeze picked up, even though there was only one small, closed window. Another swish and the walls melted away, revealing an impossible landscape of a mountain hillside covered with flowers. It was as if they were sitting in a field, but without grass at their feet.

Jamie’s father stood up and waved his hands around the plate that was floating in midair, then touched it. It sort of came free and he held it in his hand.

“Finite incatatum,” said McGonagall, and everything stopped at once. They were back in the small blue room. After a moment, she said, “any requests?” with a mischievous smile on her face. She was disappointed when the requests didn’t come. Jamie, who had even spent that morning trying to make absolutely sure that magic was real, thought his parents were too easy. Was this just trust in him and Clara?

Just then, a rap sounded at the door. McGonagall rose and opened it to welcome Catriona rolling a cart with tea service. They waited and said their thank yous as the teacups were distributed. The table was set beautifully with fine china cups and saucers, with matching sugar bowl and milk pitcher. Some small sandwiches and cookies were also served.

After sipping the tea, which was excellent, the atmosphere became relaxed.

“So, tell us all about your first month of school,” said Clara’s mother, tentatively excited.

Clara and Jamie proceeded to tell them all about the different Professors, the classes, and broom riding and Jamie getting scared. They showed off their wands. Their speech was guarded, however. They couldn’t give their full opinion of some aspects of Hogwarts with the Headmistress sitting right there. McGonagall did her part to fill in details and answer questions; her matronly manner shining through.

The parents picked up on this and soon the conversation drifted to be mainly between the parents and McGonagall. Somehow Clara and Jamie felt like they had gone back in time, to parent-teacher conferences or even just conversations between their parents and some other adult friend where the kids were discussed in the third person, despite sitting right there. It was kind of annoying.

Jamie and Clara were weirded out by how easily their parents got along with the Professor, chatting gaily about the struggles of raising children, sharing funny stories about Jamie and Clara, and moving on to talk about Scotland and the Headmistress’ recommendation for the best restaurant in each city.

Soon enough several hours had passed and McGonagall stood up to take her leave. “I’m sure you all have a lot to discuss, so I’ll leave you all alone for now. If you leave the Inn then don’t forget to guard your speech – magic is still a Secret, after all.”

Their parents thanked McGonagall while Jamie and Clara steeled themselves for the heavier subjects they knew were coming up. They had yet to broach the subject of them staying for seven years, not even being home for summers, and all the difficulties that were coming. Like that their parents might not live to see their grandchildren. Who knows what their timeline would look like, but their parents would be at least in their mid seventies. Clara’s parents were a little younger, but not by much.

Clara and Jamie shared a look as McGonagall was saying her last words. “Then you can spend the day here and I will fetch you in the evening. Say five o’clock?

“Can you make it seven, so we can finish a dinner together?” asked Clara’s mom.

“Seven then,” McGonagall agreed. And then she was gone, apparated somewhere directly from the Blue Room.

The six of them sat in awkward silence, now able to speak more freely since it was just their families, but no one wanting to go first. It was Jamie’s parents this time to break the silence and ask for the truth about their couple months in England before starting school, and from there the conversation flowed easily. It felt like no time at all before they were tearfully hugging goodbye.

“We’ll send you letters often as long as you’re here,” said Jamie. “As long as you’re still in Scotland or England, the owls will find you no matter where you’re traveling.”

“Owls?”

“Yes, owls. Like messenger pigeons but smarter.”

The two “children” and the Headmistress walked back to the carriage, and within ten minutes were back on the path outside the stone arch, looking up at Hogwarts with the sun low in the sky behind it.

Jamie started to trudge up the hill, wishing he could spend the week with his parents, but stopped when he noticed that Clara had lagged behind.

“Thank you so much, Professor,” she was saying, tears streaming down her face. “Thank you so much.”

When they arrived back at their Houses, Clara passed several older Ravenclaws up late poring over texts. Jamie, however, was met with a silent common room. The hearth was low and the room badly lit, which was why a glint from near the floor caught his attention. He cautiously stepped forward, curious, and found the metal beetle there. The same one as before, from the trophy case. It was creeping along the baseboard, pausing between each tiny step.

“Hello? Are you all right?” he whispered, then wondered why he was whispering.

The beetle paused totally and Jamie was about to leave when he heard the same voice as before.

“Boy. Hufflepuff boy.”

“Yes. What have you been up to? It looked like most of the time you were dormant and I kind of forgot about you, until I saw you just now.”

“Busy as a bee, heh heh,” said the beetle in its tinny voice. “What have you been doing, nosy badger?”

“Oh, just class and stuff…” Jamie was unsure of whether to say anything about his parents after the weird turn the conversation went last time, but changed his mind. “I saw my parents today.”

“That is unusual. What was the occasion?”

“Well, because they’re muggles, just reassuring them that school is ok,” said Jamie.

“Ah, a muggle born,” was the tinny response. “Have you yet to see the dark underbelly of the wizard community, their hatred of muggle born wizards?”

Jamie was again taken aback at the serious turn, just like the last conversation with the beetle. “Not really. Only minor stuff. I think it must have dampened down since the, uh, war.”

“Wizards are so silly. So much fighting over who is a true wizard, when it is plain to tell who can cast spells or not. So much misdirected anger.”

Jamie found himself nodding. “Yeah, it really is silly. It really is a difficult problem though, how to manage the relationship between muggles and wizards. I get that relations would be strained in an open society, but like Clara was saying, we could really help muggles with medicine, at the very least.”

“Help the muggles? No, if society was open the result is inevitable. War. And wizards would win that war. Wizards would take their place on top of society, instead of cowering.”

“But I thought you said…” said Jamie, but the beetle interrupted.

“It does not matter where the wizard comes from, but if a wizard he may be then he should take his place among those who have power.”

Jamie was flustered and not totally coherent. “Well, I don’t accept that. What, you have some warped personality imprinted from an ancient douchebag? Look at the society wizards have now. Any one wizard could beguile, enchant, and steal from muggles. But they don’t because the government stops them. If they can do it now, they can still enforce it when society is open.”

The beetle took a different tack. “Do you love your parents?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

“But they are not magic folk. Your future is with wizards, and after some time you will even stop visiting them. How can you claim that is love?”

“That’s… not fair. Even if I wasn’t a wizard I might only see them a few times a year. That’s just being an adult.”

“Hmm…” said the bug, patronizingly.

“Whatever,” said Jamie, and strode off to bed. He lay on his mattress fuming until he forced himself to go over the good parts of the day – his parents. Him and his parents walking around the Scottish Highlands and a cute town. Eating meals together. The warm thoughts eventually let him sleep.

Chapter Text

Monday was October first and the weather changed as if to herald it. Robes were wrapped closely around necks as students passed through brisk hallways. The multiple hearths in the Great Hall blazed cheerily. After a hot breakfast of eggs and oatmeal, the students were warmed through for the rest of the day.

Clara had Charms on Monday morning, first thing, as usual. Everyone noticed right away – James was back. Excited comments quickly revealed he had gone home for a week to be with his parents, but he was back now for good. He wouldn’t say exactly why, but Clara’s impression from his cagey comments was that he had just been overwhelmed from being away from home in a cramped room with no privacy, basically Hogwarts was too much for him to adjust to so easily. They were still talking and badgering him when the Professor put aside some papers she had been poring over to start the class.

“Be seated, be seated,” commanded Professor Morsain, rapping her wand against her desk. Clara wondered if she could accidentally set of a spell doing that. She also noticed that the Professor’s short graying hair was even shorter. She must have had it cut over the weekend.

Professor Morsain never had trouble controlling the class, and soon they were quiet and the lesson started. “Today we are going to start with the jelly legs jinx.”

Clara’s eyes lit up to hear the reference – apparently the books weren’t all lies.

Professor Morsain continued the explanation and walked them through the wand motion a few times. They were getting better at picking up the motion of new spells, just as the Professor had promised at the start of the year. She hardly had to correct anyone after they had a few tries and a few more instructions. She set them free to practice.

“Ah, the jelly legs jinx, a classic,” she said, turning to Betty next to her.

The boy sitting in front of Clara turned around. It was Gorfoyle, the boy who always wore robes that were too big, making him look even thinner than he was. “How do you know it's a classic, muggle born?”

Clara didn’t even thing, just acted. “My response to that is... jellify!”

The class laughed as Gorfoyle fell to the floor.

How much I've changed, thought Clara. I was never the class clown and didn’t want any attention, always focused on my grades and studies. I'm so much more carefree here.

She performed the counter jinx and helped Gorfoyle off the ground, then proceeded to ignore his sputtering and incoherent indignation. She walked ten feet away, with Betty in tow, and started to practice. Soon Gorfoyle gave up and went to stand near Keilan and Maisie, their little friend group of posh first years. Well, posh was not the right word, since Gorfoyle didn’t even have proper sized robes. They also weren’t the only “aristocratic” Ravenclaw wizard-born students in first year, but they were the ones who were convinced they were better than everyone else because of it.

The rest of the class went smoothly and Clara was positively buoyant as they left to walk back to Ravenclaw to hang out until noon. She had cast the jelly legs jinx first try, and the counter jinx. She had struggled a bit more with the oakfoot jinx and honeylip hex, and didn’t even get to the list of six more they had to self study before the next class. But it was like Morsain said: the image and intention in your mind must be correct and clear, and in this case it was easy to imagine the humorous result. She realized that this was her second time directly dealing with bullies, but it was passively noted and didn’t dampen her spirits.

Chapter Text

Clara was in such a good mood that she left her friends well before noon to sit, waiting, hidden in a tower stair. She knew that Jamie would come this way after his History class – it was the fastest way to the Great Hall. She didn’t have to wait long when she heard the castle come to life with students chatting and bustling in the hallways as their classes ended.

Soon enough, a stream of Hufflepuff first years tromped by. Jamie saw her standing there and was surprised. At her wave he followed her up three flights to be near the top of the tower, near a tall window. The glass was wavy so Clara pushed the metal frame open, revealing the grounds below reaching the Forbidden Forest which eventually gave way to the distant hills and then to the mountains. A slight breeze ruffled her hair as she inhaled deeply and sighed. Jamie didn’t look out the window, but gazed at Clara, one hand on the rough stone wall, acutely aware of the cold and the texture. Clara turned to Jamie and kissed him, full on the mouth, lingering for several seconds.

“We haven’t kissed in weeks,” Clara said softly, in way of an explanation.

“There are downsides to pretending to be eleven years old,” said Jamie.

They looked out the window together, Clara pointing out that the first trees were turning orange and yellow.

Jamie said, “the solstice is well past – as Professor Trefoilan made absolutely sure we understood.”

“I’ll always remember exactly when the solstice was since we had to get up in the middle of the night for it.”

Jamie nodded. “That the days are getting shorter is so much more important. I never realized how north Scotland is, even more north than where I grew up.”

“I noticed that too. This morning I actually got up with the sun instead of well after. And the evenings are dark.” It felt more natural that the days were a more reasonable length, but at the same time Clara missed the bright summer evenings. She put her hand in Jamie’s and they sat in silence for several minutes before descending the steps and joining everyone in the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Jamie woke up the next morning in a weird headspace. The prior evening Clara and him had written a short letter to their parents. Instead of making him feel closer to his parents, it only brought back to mind all his stress and anxiety about the future after Hogwarts. Would they really just forget and leave all their friends and family behind for a new life in Europe? He had agreed to drop the letter at the owlry even though he didn’t like going there. The acrid smell burned his nose. But the Ravenclaw Tower was at the opposite end of the castle as the owlry, so it made sense for him to mail it. Moving through the stairs and corridors, alone, some so dimly lit they were dark since the sun set just before dinner these days, gave him too much space for his mind to wander. The melacholy stuck with him through the night and into the morning.

Maybe this was just the veneer of moving to a new place wearing off, and he was becoming acclimated to his new life and new culture. At first everything is fun, even the annoying and difficult parts, like the fact that the castle was impossible to navigate and a literal changing maze of hallways. His life had narrowed to the few paths he knew to get from one class to another; he had quit wandering like they had done in the early days. And the reality that wizards were like everyone else, most were good but some had emotional and behavioral problems, and a boarding school meant that you could never go home and escape them. They lived down the hall.

Distracted by his own thoughts, on the way to breakfast he ran straight into an older student. He started to apologize but realized he recognized the wizard. “Rien… uh… Rienzel?”

Rienzel, the fifth year Huffflepuff they had met on the train who was harassed by Gryffindors, was confused. “Yeah?”

“Oh, we sort of met on the train. I’m Jamie.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Say… you doing all right?” asked Jamie.

Rienzel was taken aback at a first year asking him that, but answered anyway. “As right as anyone can be with OWLs hanging over their head. Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about, like, bullies. I thought Hufflepuff and Gryffindor were supposed to be the good Houses, you know.”

“What, you’re being bullied? Look, I can sort them out. I have experience in that. First step is to keep your friends close and don’t get isolated.”

Jamie shook his head, “I’m ok really. Just… disenchanted I guess.”

“Someone enchanted you?”

“No I meant that figuratively.”

Rienzel gave Jamie a side-eyed look. Jamie interpreted the look as disorientation that Jamie was not acting like a first year. It was too hard to wear the mask all the time.

“Why were you being chased that day on the train? They said something about your mother…” Jamie asked.

“Oh, that,” said Rienzel. “My mom informed on a lot of people after the war was over. A lot of people tried to use the fact that they came from Gryffindor, or even Hufflepuff, as evidence that they were not really on you-know-who’s side, despite their actions. My mom, she has told me over and over, she just couldn’t take it that they did what they did and would get away with it, while our family was in hiding for almost three years. Of course, I wasn’t born yet, but my brother remembers some of it.”

“Oh my god. Those bullies are blood purists, just walking around free?”

“Everything is degrees. You’ll get that as you get older. Everything seems black and white when you’re younger. None of their parents went to prison, but I think what my mom did definitely hurt them, financially and socially. If they didn’t feel guilty themselves they wouldn’t even care, but they know what they did was wrong.”

Jamie didn’t know what to say. In that moment he felt as small as he was physically. Somehow he had reached his late twenties without the maturity of this teenage boy.

Rienzel continued after Jamie offered nothing. “So those ‘bullies’ are just ignorant and confused. It was rough for a few years, but now… I don’t hate them.”

Jamie wondered about all the things he never understood. How did regular Germans side with the Nazis, and then just return to their lives? And letting them rebuild and rejoin their society after the war seemed to have worked. But slavery in the US was a different issue. The early twentieth century racist reaction meant that the South should have been crushed and controlled for a generation. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that it was easy for Germans to stop hating Jewish people after there were almost no more Jewish people in Germany.

“I don’t think I can look the other way,” Jamie said, “if someone starts talking mudblood crap.”

“Then you are more like mom than myself, but just know it’s going to put you into a world of constant strife. Like I said, just study, keep the good ones close and the bad ones far away. It’s honestly a waste of your energy and time. At least you’re in Hufflepuff, the best House. Imagine you were in Ravenclaw where nobody wants to be on your side unless they see it as a benefit to themselves! Where everyone’s too wrapped up in their own stuff.” Rienzel shook his head to clear it. “Anyway, I don’t know how you got me talking about such heady stuff. I don’t think I’ve even talked to Val or Philomena about this. See you around, first year.”

As Rienzel walked away, Jamie wondered if Rienzel had forgotten his name already. He was just a goofy first year and Rienzel was close to graduating on to NEWT years and thinking about his career after Hogwarts. Oh well. Jamie went down to breakfast and remembered that he had Herbology with Clara first thing in the morning. He was feeling better already.

Chapter Text

After the last class of the day, Jamie started to head towards the library as usual, but was stopped by someone calling him name. “Hey Jamie!” It was a pretty good contingent of Hufflepuff first years – Padraig, Selby, Markus, Samantha, Evie, along with Roc and Sedgley.

“What’s up?” Jamie asked.

“We’re going out… to the Forest.” The last part was delivered in a conspiratorial whisper.

Jamie hesitated, but Clara’s instructions about enjoying youth and Rienzel’s advice about keeping “the good ones” close had got in his head. If anyone from Hufflepuff could be counted on to support you and not give a rat’s ass about blood, it was this bunch. “I’m in,” he nodded. They passed quickly through the castle, without speaking, as if to speak would give them away. Jamie thought it must have looked pretty strange to see the eight of them marching as if on a mission, but nobody stopped them. He could have nonchalantly walked into the Forest at any time, but with these kids, being “bad” made it fun. After they passed Ravenclaw Tower on the north side, the castle became quieter and they no longer passed students.

Not wanting to waste fifteen minutes to stow their stuff in their rooms, they put it all in a small closet near the small entrance that led down towards Hagrid’s and the Forest. Padraig assured them their things would be safe, and the dust on the floor and ceiling supported that. Nobody usually came this way. Roc pushed open the heavy plank door and it creaked, the ten-inch iron hinges rusted and needing oil. It took two students to fit the door nicely back into the frame, and the winding dirt path down to the Forest beckoned.

The students looked left and right, broadcasting the fact that they knew they were doing wrong, but again nobody stopped them. Students looking northeast out of any number of windows could have seen them, dark black cloaks obvious against the pale gray green heather and grasses, but again nobody yelled out or stopped them. They paused at the edge of the Forest.

The wind was whispering in the trees, some birds were chirping, but it was otherwise quiet. It was pleasant after the general din of a castle filled with students, but also creepy. It made you aware how isolated you were; that if you got into trouble no one could hear you call for help. Jamie shared a look with Selby, Markus, Evie, all the students in turn. Were they going to do this? Padraig took the first step, and they followed. Jamie kept his wand in hand but inside the sleeve of his robe.

After a short walk down a well worn but narrow trail, the forest surrounded them completely. Following Padraig’s lead, they stopped again and listened. Jamie was again struck by how beautiful it was, and peaceful. The trees were tall; this forest had completely escaped the heavy logging of the last two hundred years. Where there were pines the ground was more bare, but where there were oaks, birch, ash, aspens the ground was nearly impassible with undergrowth and ancient fallen logs.

Jamie contrasted the Forbidden Forest with the ones he knew well. No maples here. The trees were older, gnarled. No mosquitos thank God. It could have been his imagination, but it felt magical and mysterious. Around every turn another twisted root hiding secret holes, a stand of birch standing out stark white amongst the trees, and letting in sunlight to a patch of earth as if to signal something. He had an almost irresistible urge to go deeper.

“Now what?” asked Markus.

Samantha giggled in nervousness. “Well, we did it. We’ve braved the Forbidden Forest and my sister can go stuff it.”

Padraig cocked his head and looked around as if he was trying to trace a faint sound, but said nothing.

They started to relax, chatting away about school, teachers, and excitement for broom lessons the coming weekend. They walked a bit further until they found a beautiful glade, sun dappled and with granite boulders free of moss and perfect for sitting. The sun slowly sank, warning them that dinner was coming soon, but they payed little heed.

Suddenly, Padraig quieted them all. “Hush, do you hear it?”

They listened. There was the snapping of branches and the rustle of bushes. Something was nearby.

“Sounds a bit larger than a squirrel,” Jamie said.

CRACK! A large branch snapped and they all jumped. Roc and Padraig were all business and started to round them up to head back, but the rest of them fell apart.

“Oh my God,” said Sedgley, “I should have learned my lesson about messing with magic after the pie incident. It’s called the Forbidden Forest for a reason!”

“Mellabrum!” yelled Samantha, pointing her wand out into the woods. The honeylip hex hit a tree and fizzled, doing nothing. Jamie held tight to his wand and tried to rack his brain for spells, then gave up. He couldn’t think of anything useful under such pressure.

They gathered together and started back down the path, moving quickly. Jamie took up the rear, feeling some sort of responsibility to make sure no one was left behind by accident. How would it look if they got into trouble, and he should have been like a chaperone? Although he had no capability to chaperone, he realized. He never even learned the light charm!

Walking down the path they were spreading out too far, Jamie thought. They should stick close. Then suddenly they were all together again; Jamie had caught up. Padraig and Roc had stopped and everyone stopped with them.

“What is it?” Sedgley asked.

“Dead end. We took a wrong turn,” was Padraig’s answer. Everyone turned to go back, putting Jamie in the front, but Jamie could hardly see the path. What had they been following? It was almost twilight and the shadows in the Forest were deep.

SNAP!

“Pedirobereus!” was Samantha’s second attempt at a spell, as randomly aimed as the first. The oakfoot jinx hit a tree and this time her spell didn’t fizzle. The tree sprouted several new stubby branches at the base.

Another shuffling noise, followed by a snuffle and heavy breathing.

Jamie thought out loud. “Weird, I thought it might just be a bear, but a bear wouldn’t have followed us like this. It’s definitely following us.”

CRACK!

“Eek!” came a yell next to Jamie’s ear, startling him more than whatever was out there. He was grabbed around the waist but quickly realized it was Evie, who had been just behind him.

“I don’t want to be here anymore,” she said. Jamie couldn’t see but her voice sounded broken, as if she was crying or about to cry.

He awkwardly pushed her arms down, taking them off like a pair of pants, and leaving Evie sitting on the ground. Then turned his head left. What was that? A chittering and squeak? That feeling from earlier, and from the other day, came back. That feeling of being compelled into the Forest, except this time he wasn’t sure it was into the Forest. Could he go directly away from it and leave the Forest?

“I feel it too,” said Padraig, noticing Jamie’s actions. “I think we should follow it.”

“Uhh, what?” was Markus’ reply.

“That sounds stupid,” said Sedgley.

“Let’s go,” said Samantha, and walked off the “trail” and into the Forest.

Samantha was going exactly the direction that was pulling Jamie, and it was generally away from whatever beast or person or faerie was out there, so it didn’t seem like a bad idea. Jamie helped Evie up and guided her as the eight of them stepped away from whatever deer trail they had been on into the Forest proper.

The going was easier than expected. They marched without speaking, only exchanging glances in the rapidly approaching darkness. It was harrowing. Nothing looked familiar. Where were they going?

Something caught Jamie’s eye, a twinkle in the trees. He ran ahead to a small break in the trees to get a better look, dragging Evie along. It was the high windows of Hogwarts, lit up like stars in the sky. “It’s Hogwarts!”

Evie didn’t wait. With a burst of energy she took off and was into the woods before anyone could say anything. The rest of them started to run after. Jamie wondered how she moved so fast – he had to pick his way through the underbrush and couldn’t keep up. He realized he was separated from everyone but the windows in the distance kept his course true.

He burst out of the Forest and into the cleared zone before the castle. Evie was there, and Roc, and Sedgley, and Markus, and soon they were joined by Samantha, Padraig, and Selby. They had all made it out.

As they sat or lay on the heather, catching their breath, it was Evie who started giggling, then outright laughing. It was infectious. They all laughed and were soon slapping each other’s backs and exclaiming.

“Haha, you should have seen your face!”

“I’ve never ran so fast in my life.”

“Let’s do this again tomorrow,” Markus said sarcastically.

A tiny bark and squeak came from the Forest, and the eight of them stood up and ran to the castle’s main entrance.

Back in Hufflepuff, Jamie looked at himself in the mirror. He would need a lot of cleaning up and a robe change to be presentable at dinner.

Chapter Text

Jamie didn’t return to the Hufflepuff common room right away after dinner. He saw Markus, Evie, and Samantha walking away and decided to join them for whatever they were doing. Soon it was the eight of them again, this time chatting in a high hallway on the tallest storey above where Hufflepuff was below. They stood in front of arched windows looking out at the Forbidden Forest, truly looking Forbidden as a black mass that moonlight didn’t penetrate, contrasted with the castle grounds that were lit with a silvery glow. Standing inside, warm and safe, they could laugh. But who knew what was lurking out there in the miles of untamed growth? What would it be like to be out there now? Jamie scanned the Forest for any sign of light or movement but saw none.

Jamie returned to Hufflepuff a little after everyone else since his day didn’t feel complete without spending the last half hour in the library. There were several older students but they were in quiet groups, talking softly over books or nothing. He loved how cozy the room was. His mood was dashed as he was a little annoyed to see it again, that glint of gold and gems. This time the metal beetle was making its way just next to the fireplace. Dangerously close, Jamie thought. He strode over to it, picking it up and whispering to it. Its metal body was warm on one side from the fire.

“Where are you going today?”

The beetle’s legs moved comically in the air before it stopped. “Busy as a bee. What about you, nosey badger?”

“Nothing special,” was Jamie’s reply. He was trusting this enchanted beetle less and less, and didn’t want to give away any more information. He considered just turning in the beetle to the Head of House, but wasn’t sure so dismissed the idea.

“Nothing special? Usually that means something interesting. Been in a scuffle with your fellow Hufflepuff friends?” the beetle said derisively, “or something else too embarrassing to talk about?”

“No,” said Jamie, “in fact pretty much the opposite.”

“I get it, you are young, you haven’t had enough time to have been betrayed yet, in any meaningful way.”

“I don’t need this. I’m putting you out – goodbye.” Jamie took the beetle and tried to stride meaningfully out of the entrance to Hufflepuff House, but being forced to stoop and get his knees dirty made that impossible. The barrel door swung shut behind him and he climbed the nearest flight of stairs to a window opening to a small interior courtyard. The beetle rattled its metal mouth the entire way.

“You’ll see, Hufflepuffs show their true colors when times get tough. Don’t rely on your ‘House,’ there’s no real loyalty. Beauxbatons graduates think we’re silly for even having Houses!”

Jamie stood outside a ground floor window that looked onto a dark courtyard, free of grass. The moonlight didn’t penetrate this deep as the walls of the halls of Hogwarts rose around it. The beetle continued.

“Loyalty? Nonsense. Once the hard times come, then you’ll see what a true Hufflepuff is like. Watch your classmates closely and you’ll see the chinks. Get some spells ready, to protect your bed while you sleep. You never know what they’ll do to you.”

He was going to throw it hard, to dash it against the opposite wall, but felt bad and just tossed it lightly into the courtyard, leaving it in the darkness. It’s voice diminished only as he left. “Silly, you can’t do real magic if you have sympathy for anything that moves! Not everything is alive…”

Climbing back into the barrel, Jamie somehow felt lighter and happier. The stupid beetle had resolved something inside of him. Hufflepuff was great, even if it wasn’t perfect. And there were only a few exceptions, a few bullies, that somehow stood outsized in your mind. But like Rienzel said, why waste your thoughts and energy on those? Keep the good ones close and spend time on what you enjoy.

Jamie brushed his knees as he stood up, back in the common room. He looked around at the few students, still studying or chatting, oblivious to what had happened.

When Jamie returned to his private room, Sedgley and Roc were near the end of telling the whole story of the Forest to August.

“What I don’t get,” August asked, “is how did you find your way out of the Forbidden Forest?”

Sedgley jumped in, “I keep telling him, it was like Samantha and you were using the Force!”

“You know what,” said Jamie, “it was kind of like the Force.”

“Uggh,” groaned August, “why do you keep saying that? I don’t even know what that means.”

“I just felt like someone was telling me to go that way.” Then Jamie’s memory caught up with him. “Oh! Also there were these noises, like bark, squeak, chittering.”

“You mean like this?” asked August, replicating the sounds from earlier exactly.

“What! How?” Jamie couldn’t believe it.

August nodded sagely. “It was the badgers. They led you out.”

“That’s…” said Jamie, “kind of ridiculous.”

Sedgley beaned Jamie with a pillow so hard it almost knocked him over. “Aargh, why do the badgers talk to you and not meeee!” The ensuing ruckus continued until the prefect came in and reprimanded them. Settling down into bed, Jamie lay staring at the canopy, thinking about badgers. But when he finally fell asleep he dreamed only of roast pheasant and custard, what had been their dinner that evening.

Chapter Text

Wednesday after their last class, Milavicent pulled aside the girls and paused, looking at the floor, before a confession.

“Girls, I have a date tonight,” she said, smiling.

“What! Who?” was Betty’s immediate response, excited to be a part of some gossip.

Clara was the most surprised of the three of them. She didn’t remember anyone dating until maybe the end of middle school.

“It’s Conrad.”

“Is that the cute Gryffindor boy’s name?” asked Betty.

Milavicent nodded, “Conrad Caimbeulaich.”

“Conrad Heilgar Warinot Caimbeulaich,” corrected Alison, putting on fake airs. “I only know that because he’s kind of stuffy; I think I’ve heard him say his whole name like four times.”

Clara laughed. “What is Caimbeulaich anyway, is that Irish?”

“It’s Scottish,” corrected Milavicent. “And he’s from a well respected wizarding family.”

“Caimbeulaich is just Scottish for the Campbells,” Betty said, as if Clara should know who the Campbells were.

“They’re not the same as the Campbells,” Milavicent corrected again. “They have been separate for centuries because of the Statute of Secrecy, of course. And they don’t go by Campbell because they never sided with the English.”

“Anyway, tell us all about this date,” said Clara. “Where do you go on a date when you’re stuck at the castle?”

Milly answered uncertainly. “Oh, I don’t know, around I guess. I’m going to go with him after dinner.”

“This is exciting,” said Betty, “you need to tell us all about it afterwards.” She leaned in close to Milavicent, “also, if he has any cute friends, you can let them know I still don’t have a Halloween date.”

“And neither does Clara,” Alison added, trying to be helpful but Clara wished she hadn’t.

Milavicent left them, saying that she had to go meet Conrad at the Quidditch Pitch.

“Wait, I thought your date was tonight?” asked Betty.

“Oh it is,” Milly called back over her shoulder, “but this is something else. See you later!” she waved and was gone.

The three remaining girls continued their discussion about boys, driven mainly by Betty. She listed out six boys she thought were potentially cute, and started ranking them and totally dismissing one when Alison said she caught him picking his nose the other day. “And of course there’s John, but he’s already taken by someone,” Betty said, making a face at Alison.

“I thought you didn’t like John,” said Alison.

“Well, since you said you liked him it made me see him differently. You know, if he combed his hair more often and… changed his robes more often.”

“You can have John anyway. I told him I can’t go with him anymore,” said Alison.

“What happened?” Betty asked with a delicious grin on her face that showed no concern, only joy at being privy to another juicy tidbit.

“I just,” Alison started, then stopped and started again. “I have a boy I like back at my old school, my muggle school. We’ve been sending letters sometimes.” Alison looked to Clara for confirmation but Betty said, “ah, someone from your old school. The two of you are too alike! What’s so great about Jamie and, uh, whoever.”

Betty now had a real look of concern on her face. “Clara – are you crying?”

“No…” Clara said, unconvincingly as her eyes were clearly wet.

Betty tried to apologize. “I was just teasing about Jamie.”

“It’s, uh, well…,” Clara started. Should I tell Alison? She decided to tell. “Alison, do you know how long wizards live?

“What do you mean?” said Alison, but Betty realized what Clara was getting at right away.

Clara explained, “wizards live twice as long as regular people. If a witch marries a muggle, they’ll watch their loved one grow old, get senile, and die, and then start the second half of their life! Alone!”

Alison was confused why this was such a disaster. “I think that might be ok. Maybe sixty years is enough. Can you imagine? Sixty years is already forever.”

Clara sniffed and wondered if that was mature or naïve. The reality of mortality had hit her hard; she had been thinking about it since meeting her parents less than a week ago, and every time a letter from them arrived it brought the knowledge back to sting fresh again. Clara turned away to wipe her face.

“We’ve been standing in this hallway for too long,” said Betty, “let’s go back to the common room or something.”

The three of them started walking and five minutes later were chatting happily about nothing again. Clara didn’t see Jamie at all except for a quick wave across tables at dinner. He had his double potions that day, with the Gryffindors. But instead of missing a class, it had started right after lunch and lasted into the evening.

Chapter Text

Thursday night Clara was frustrated. With an important charm-cum-pruning coming in Herbology in the morning, she was studying and practicing in the Ravenclaw common room. The third time a chunk of pewter almost hit her in the head was the last straw. The common room was too full of upper level Ravenclaws and their experimental magic. She had thought the room was a little crowded at the start of the year with all the half-transfigured zombie-like wood, stone, and metal, and semi-working magical lockets, gems, and machines. But two months into the year it was worse than ever. Every day she thought it was full, and then more things were added. Not just trip hazards, but Beatrice even had a furry arm for a week after accidentally rubbing against some contraption on the way to the best window seat. Clara couldn’t study at all and left the Ravenclaw common room to find Jamie in the library. They had Herbology together so they could study together, right?

No, Jamie was up to his usual cataloguing. She said hello and opened her Herbology book to the required page, but was met with a soliloquy through which her dead-eyed stare failed to make Jamie stop talking.

“What's weird about this library is the lack of meta-books,” Jamie was ranting. “I mean books about books. Like a normal library has novels, and then books discussing those novels, and books summarizing and comparing books discussing related novels, and books about the books about books about novels, telling you which to read and which are bad. None of that is here. Like, not even a simple summary discussing recent trends in, I don't know, household magic. Or an article comparing the various Charms primers. There's nothing. People invent new magic or collect some spells together, write it down in a spell book, and publish it. Or not even publish but hand write five copies and one ends up in this library.”

“Jamie,” Clara interrupted, “have you prepared for Herbology tomorrow?”

“Clara wait, you’ll find this cool. Remember we were talking about after Hogwarts, like owning some beautiful countryside, maybe seaside, living in a tall tower–”

“I don’t think I agreed to a tower.”

“–whatever. Apparating to town whenever we wanted. Check this out – I found six books about using magic to make buildings, like architecture. Hogwarts isn’t unique in that it was made by magic. Well, it is probably unique in a lot of ways, like the sheer size of it. But you want to add a window to your house, add a storey, or make the inside bigger than the outside, or even make the inside smaller than the outside. It’s all there. The spells aren’t easy though. A lot are more like ritual magic and take days or months to get done. It’s not just waving your wand and you have a whole house.”

“That’s nice,” said Clara, “now how about Herbology?”

“Ok, ok. You’re right. I didn’t even look at it yet. I was going to review it over breakfast tomorrow.”

Clara shook her head in disapproval. “It’s not that easy. I’ve already been trying and the spells are hard.”

“Well, we can’t practice casting in the library. Let’s go… heck, let’s go to the greenhouses?”

“Can we get in this late?”

“Didn’t Professor Longbottom say that that greenhouse was ours, for our class? We should be able to get in there.”

So they went together, through the flickering corridors to the greenhouses, finding them spooky in the dark. The plants rising in rows cast strangely shaped shadows on the walls – and not all of the plants were stationary. Jamie had the right idea, as they were able to pluck pruning shears out of a cabinet and properly practice the charms, shears in their off hand and wand in their main hand. They grew nervous when they saw light and movement in some greenhouses across the way, but nobody came to bother them, no professor told them to scram. A hug and a peck ended their evening.

Chapter Text

Friday turned out to be uneventful – their preparation for Herbology helped them finish early for once. They were finding the rumors to be true – Professor Longbottom demanded a lot, and a lot of their time, but he was forgiving and fair and supportive. It was slowly turning Clara on to Herbology. She had never had a strong interest in the kingdom Plantae before Hogwarts, having been focused on kingdom Animalia, or specifically H. sapiens sapiens.

Dashing through the empty hallways before class officially ended, hoping to not encounter a prefect or professor to yell at them, Clara almost cried out when she turned a corner to find an aged professor in heavy robes. She slowed to a walking pace so as to not be scolded and pretended to casually walk by. Her effort was not needed, as the professor was in deep discussion with a young girl. Clara recognized her only when she was close enough to hear her voice. It was dark eyed and dark haired Monica Ravenwood, a Ravenclaw first year that Clara almost never spoke to. Succumbing to her inner busybody self, she listened close as she passed.

Monica was speaking. “But where does magic come from if it is not a gift from God?”

Clara internally cringed, then felt like she had done a bad thing in invading Monica’s privacy, and then her analytical brain decided that all her emotions were silly. Why would it be shameful? In fact, what was weirder was the total lack of Christianity at the school that had existed for a thousand years through the peak of Christendom. And Monica had nothing to be ashamed about, anyway. What percentage of muggle borns were raised Anglican and then started at Hogwarts, and it was never brought up? How was there no chapel at Hogwarts?

Turning a corner, she was away from the professor and able to dash rapidly again. The adrenaline pumped up her spirits and put the event out of her mind for the time being.

Chapter Text

The most anticipated day of the week arrived with a cold rain. It was the day of second broom lessons and the children were so excited that they stood out in the chilly air, cloaks wrapped tightly, even though no professor was out on the lawns. Fortunately the skies were high stratus clouds that never poured, but dripped for ten minutes before stopping for another twenty. Drip, stop. Drip, stop. Still the students stood.

As the rain dripped down and nobody was cleaning off their glasses, Clara suddenly realized that nobody was wearing them. When the year started a full third of the first year kids were wearing glasses and then they weren’t. She asked the nearest girl, “Isabel, didn’t you have glasses?”

Isabel smiled and said, “Madam Pierce fixed my eyes for me!” clearly ecstatic at the result.

“Mine were done two weeks ago,” said Monica, next to her.

It seemed that over the first month everyone who needed to had been instructed to visit Madam Pierce.

Eventually Deputy Headmistress Abernathy came out of the castle with a dozen older students in tow, each bearing a bundle of brooms. Her far-reaching voice reached every wet, indignant ear.

“I have to commend you all for your stubbornness and perseverance. These old bones wanted to cancel this week’s lesson, yet here I am. I’m glad you students keep me young.”

She motioned to have the brooms passed around. “Well, let’s get to it then.”

As soon as he had a broom in hand, August took off towards the castle at top speed, whooping so loudly he drew stares. Before he could be told to come back, he had disappeared around a tower.

Alison, Clara, Milavicent, and Betty picked up their brooms. Clara carried the hard wood tight under her robes, trying to keep it dry for as long as possible, and half walked-half jogged to find a clear place to practice. She was stopped when Beatrice’s voice called out, “hey, where are you going?”

Clara turned – it was directed at Milavicent, who instead of following them was going with some Gryffindors. Milavicent turned back and waved, acknowledging that she had heard, but didn’t stop walking. Betty was left to “hmph” and join Clara and Alison.

Betty seemed out of sorts, but not for long. Riding brooms was frustrating and difficult but almost addictive. It took several tries to get back in the groove, to be where they were two weeks ago, but then they made quick progress. Despite the drizzle and the chill in their hands making it hard to grip the brooms properly, almost all of the students were happily hovering by the end of the first hour.

Meanwhile, far afield Jamie was taking a brief rest. Jamie looked at Roc and then around at several other wizard born kids who were lazily floating – no, flying – around the field. Even if at low speed and low altitudes, you could pick out a wizard born kid for being far beyond the abilities of any muggle born. But not every wizard kid, he noted. And next to him was Sedgley, along with the rest of the muggle borns getting on the broom and losing control within ten seconds. But then excited, and laughing, getting back on the broom.

Jamie grasped his broom and lifted up again, about four feet, confidently hovering. The next step was to move forward. He leaned in a little and felt some resistance, but for some reason the broom started to circle sideways. He tried leaning to the right and then left, but that proved to be a mistake. His body and then his hands spun around the narrow beam of wood. Jamie held on to his broom with one hand, trying to swing himself up but having nowhere near the arms strength. He let go and fell to the ground. Riderless, the broom drifted lazily to the ground a dozen feet away. While he picked himself up and wiped wet dirt and grass off of his robes, August landed in their midst.

“Where did you go?” asked Sedgley, tottering on his broom as he tried to turn to look at August.

“I just wanted to get some real practice in. It’s been months since I properly rode a broom! I feel great.” Beaming, he started to give Sedgley pointers on his hand grip and foot position.

Jamie straddled his broom for yet another try, lifting slowly up. He was actually proud of his progress – he was confidently hovering and feeling like he had control of the height at least… and then suddenly, he just got it. He was going forward! And he could control the speed. It wasn’t just about how you leaned. He tried a little faster. And then a little faster still.

He couldn’t help himself – he let out a little “wahoo!”

Unable to turn, he was headed straight for Markus’ big head. Markus was facing the other way and couldn’t see him coming. With nerves of steel, Jamie slowed to a halt inches from Markus, who finally turned and gaped wide eyed at the broom end in his face. Jamie backed off slowly – and gave Hefnia a face full of twigs.

“Hey!” Hefnia cried, sputtering. Jamie didn’t know how to dismount neatly so he lowered the height and flopped off his broom. He turned to see Hefnia’s angry brows and finger raised, ready for scolding. But then her face softened.

“Oh, it was you,” Hefnia said, seeing that it was Jamie getting up off the rocky ground.

“Sorry,” was all Jamie said, and ran back to Roc, August, and Sedgley. He was embarrassed until Sedgley slapped him on the back, laughing.

“Nice hit!” Sedgley said.

“You have the makings of a great Beater, Hefnia never saw it coming,” said August.

Roc, as usual, didn’t say much, but was joining in with smiles and laughter. The laughter carried over the Hefnia who heard and looked hurt; then Jamie felt a little bad again.

“Maybe Hefnia is the one cut out to be a beater,” he said, defending her, “she took that hit like a champ.”

That only increased the noise of the howls.

Chapter Text

Overnight the sky cleared and by Sunday afternoon it was starting to feel warm again. Jamie caught up with Clara at noon in the Great Hall, asking, “do you want to take a walk around the lake?”

Clara was skeptical. “Wait, the whole lake? How many miles is it?”

“Let's just go, we don't have to do the whole thing,” was Jamie’s response, and Clara was convinced.

It wasn’t visible from the castle, but there was a dirt trail that followed the lake all the way around. It drifted up, away from the lakeside, then drifted back in places so that you were walking directly beside the water. But it never stopped entirely. Though the day was warm, it felt a little colder by the lake and once they were away from the castle they walked close and held hands.

“No warming spell yet, Jamie?” Clara said teasingly, referring to his Book of Useful Spells that he hadn’t made much progress on.

“I actually found a couple candidates, but turns out it’s difficult to just warm yourself without resulting in self immolation,” was his candid response.

They could always see Hogwarts through the trees or brush, or simply across the lake, but they figured they were out of sight from anyone in the castle. They huddled closer, arms around each other as they walked.

Free to be themselves and talk loudly and excitedly about whatever topic they wished, their conversation ranged from politics to medicine to science to Hogwarts and wizard culture and their future plans and worries about their lives and their families and the American wizard government. Sometimes they walked in silence.

Clara broke one of those silences to exclaim, “Wow it's so great! I just realized there's no trash anywhere. Have you ever just walked around in nature and not seen a single stray bottle or plastic packaging?”

“Or a Ninja Turtle coloring book flapping in the breeze?” Jamie added.

Clara shook her head at Jamie’s usual dumb comment. “Sure, though that was oddly specific.”

“Look,” he said, and pointed ahead where a Ninja Turtle coloring book was flapping in the breeze. It was badly drawn on with crayon while ignoring the lines.

Clara sighed.

Jamie picked it up. “I’ll throw this away and then it will be trash free.”

But Clara wasn’t looking at the book any more, the pause in their walk had caused her to look off into the forest and notice something. “What’s that ahead? That clearing?”

They walked a hundred yards into the woods and found a wide clearing. An overgrown lawn was strewn with brown leaves, reminding them that fall was coming. There was a raised platform, a foot off the ground, only four feet wide but at least fifty feet long. Clara ran up to and read aloud a small carved stone monument at the edge of the field. It was an obelisk about Clara’s height.

As duelists shall forever be honor bound

Honor shall you find upon this ground

Jamie wondered, “it’s a dueling ground? Could it be for fun, or is it serious?”

Clara had no answer. “I had forgotten about that dueling club, since we are too young for it.”

“I want to ask August and Roc later whether wizards duel, like to settle disputes. Wizard architecture and clothing is over a hundred years out of date, so maybe they still do it.”

“I could believe it,” Clara said sadly. “When I really think about it, I don’t feel safe, like I don’t trust the wizard government to keep me safe, I mean. They already wiped our memories once.”

Jamie had never articulated those feelings, but the moment Clara uttered them he agreed. Sobered by those thoughts, they turned around and headed back to the school.

Before parting ways, they drafted a letter to their parents, in parchment and ink. That Tuesday their parents would be returning to the States and it was likely the last letter they would be able to send. Well, they could send letters to America but it took three or four weeks on the round trip. That meant a letter that day and then four weeks until the next. And only one or two more letters until they were on Christmas break and video chatting. What should they put in the letter?

It was still afternoon when Clara returned to Ravenclaw, and found the common room as hazardous as usual. She joined a group with several boards of wizard’s chess going, with the winners staying seated and the losers rotating. It was not normally her thing to be so social, but since Alison was already there it was easy to just sit down next to her.

Clara had played chess enough to be used to the game, though she had never been good, but lost miserably. Without her own chess set she had to use a borrowed set and they never obeyed her, haughtily making different moves than she commanded. Chess was hard enough when the pieces moved where you wanted! Watching a heated game between two fourth years, she laughed when the poor boy’s pieces became demoralized, giving up and marching off the board when he still had a chance of coming back.

Her interest in the games was waning just as the prefects started calling everyone for dinner. She washed her face, changed into fresh robes, and combed her hair in record time. She was getting used to the requirements of the formal dinner.

After dinner it was time for deep, focused study to prepare for the week. The first years, most of who had done nothing for school all weekend, were spared by their first-year classes being relatively easy. Still, it was late and Clara, Alison, and Betty were still studying in their room when Milavicent came in.

Betty challenged her in a teasing way, “where have you been all weekend?”

A little out of character, Alison was also miffed. “Forgot about us? Did you even work on your homework?”

Milavicent huffed and set her books down on her trunk. “Of course I finished it. I was studying with Conrad after dinner.”

“And before dinner? And yesterday, when you also came back at almost ten?” was Betty’s reply.

Milavicent didn’t answer, but started organizing her books and a fresh robe for the morning.

Clara wasn’t sure what to do – spending a decade in college, a brief break, and then medical school with roommates, she had gotten used to the space that adults give each other for their personal lives. But Betty and Alison were right. Milavicent seemed to be avoiding them, not just busy with her own stuff. Clara tried to patch things up.

“Come on, Milly. Earlier we were stuck on this sticking charm, and I know you did it pretty well in class. Can you show us?” She inwardly laughed at her own pun, which no one else noticed.

Milavicent stopped what she was doing, paused to look them all in the eyes, and said, “ok.”

By the time they went to bed, it seemed that everything was patched up.

Chapter Text

The next week went by quickly for both Clara and Jamie. Hogwarts finally felt like a routine, instead of being constantly surprised by weird wizard customs and feeling like the rigid schedule was a grind. They had adapted and found the structured schedule made them more productive and happy – that and having your meals and board taken care of.

Milavicent was absent from Ravenclaw except for sleeping. Despite Clara’s efforts, Milly’s relationship with Betty and Alison deteriorated. After another argument, Clara was left alone in the high tower room. She sat in the window box and sighed; the high winds whistled through the crack between the two mullioned windows. She wondered if it signaled a storm coming, or would the small clouds dissipate and the wind heralded sun? Clara took the moment to gaze out at the grounds and the Forest. The whole Forbidden Forest had turned colors so rapidly that Clara hadn’t noticed until that moment. She thought – last weekend it was still mostly green? But now the whole forest was vibrant and the lawns were becoming covered with yellow, red, orange, and brown leaves. The hills rising beyond the forest provided a backdrop of evergreens, and the distant mountains were gray the year round.

The days were rapidly getting shorter. It was weird that the days were long, so long. It had felt like the evenings never came, just a long lazy afternoon until they went to bed. By mid-October they were getting too short. It was weird to go to bed before the sun set, but getting up before the sun rose was a different kind of weird. It was the kind of depressing lack of light that you need friends to see you through, but what were her friends doing?

She became more focused in her studies that week, and without the constant lively chatter that happened when the four Ravenclaw were together she had time for thoughts and self-reflection. Clara was surprised at herself – after spending days to perfect her first spell and to be able to cast it in a reasonable thirty seconds or less, she was now learning a few new spells a day, or even more. Classes had picked up in pace considerably. They were no longer being taught a single spell in Charms, but were expected to learn several spells in advance and show up to class just to practice, ask questions, and have the professor evaluate their progress.

Clara thought back to her childhood days of getting off school in the mid afternoon and having maybe a half hour or hour of extra work to do at home, and complaining about even that. She spent a lot of time running around, playing, and reading fantasy books. At Hogwarts there was much less hand-holding compared to American schools, and it was typical to be studying both between the last class and dinner, and again between dinner and sleep.

She noticed some students were lost and behind at first, but they quickly adapted. Clara was impressed. Apparently eleven year olds are capable of a lot if you just expect it of them. She still felt pretty free during the day, but was only able to take a break between last period and dinner by fitting her studying in the missing minutes between classes and around lunch time. Some days she just relaxed or took a walk outside, sometimes she spent that time in the library, and sometimes with her friends. But with her friends the atmosphere was muted compared to how it had been before. A downside of boarding school, they still saw Milavicent all the time and it was awkward.

Chapter Text

Clara’s Astronomy class early in the week was strange. The students arrived, all on time because Professor Trefoilan was the only one who really counted if they were there or not. But there was no Professor Trefoilan. After a nervous time sat mostly in silence, chatter started. Soon students were out of their desks, hanging out by the tall windows or in clusters of their desks that they had shoved around.

Clara was annoyed at first, having her time wasted, but mentally corrected herself. She was not in medical school any more, without a minute to spare – who cares if they missed one class and just relaxed? The class of Ravenclaw first years was small, but they had already clustered into cliques. Most of the boys were by the window, there were two groups of girls, and another group of the haughty wizard-borns. They were the only mixed gender group, probably because if not they wouldn’t have made a group of any reasonable size. The girls beside Clara sat amongst desks shoved out of their orderly rows and into a crazy bunch. Girls sat sideways or backwards on chairs and across desk tops. There were Alison and Betty, of course, but also Katy, Mildred, Libby, and Monica – and Milavicent too, though she wasn’t saying much.

“I don’t care what you think, I still say Professor Longbottom is dreamy,” said Mildred, and most of the rest of the girls made sour faces.

“As long as you don’t start stalking him on the weekends, like Manon,” said Katy.

“Who is Manon?” Alison asked.

“There was a girl,” said Katy in a conspiratorial tone, “a few years ago, she was in love with her professor, and she tried to trick him with a love potion.” The muggle-born girls were listening closely.

Mildred nodded. “She had to be sent home, but it didn’t work. Eventually she was sent to Azkaban.”

Katy cut in again, “and that was after she was in Saint Mungo’s for years, they tried to cure her, but she escaped and tried to confundus the professor away!”

Mildred cut Katy off, her voice rising even higher, “and she had a magic box they found with all sorts of dark magic artefacts, and a lot of photographs.”

Katy finished the loudest, almost yelling, “and the professor was secretly a werewolf!”

Milly was rolling her eyes through the whole thing. Her voice was calm and and full of scorn. “My mother also heard that story. That it happened just a few years before. And my grandmother. I doubt it’s true.”

Katy stood up in anger, “so just because it didn’t happen last year means it never happened? Hmph.”

Alison had sat, curious, through the whole exchange. “It’s wondrous. Growing up with magic, I mean. When I got my letter I thought it was fake and threw it away – they had to send me another,” she said, laughing at the memory.

“I knew my letter was real right away,” Betty said proudly. “After all the incidents, suddenly everything made sense.”

“What kind of incidents?” Alison asked.

“Well, there was the time with tacos – I wanted the last taco and it zoomed into my hand before my brother could get it. And then the time my ice cream dropped and as I was crying it just went right back onto my cone. But it was covered in dirt and I threw it away anyway. And the spaghetti… I never realized they were all about food.”

Alison was shocked. “You never said you had a brother!”

Katy added her story next. “My cousins always were teasing me, to make the magic come out. They made me worried I wouldn’t get to go to Hogwarts and they got such a scolding from my father when my letter arrived and I cried I was so happy. He said it was obvious I was a witch the whole time; how much magic I accidentally did was actually troublesome.”

Libby, too, was laughing and explained how much trouble she got her father in with his landscaping business. She was always sabotaging him so that he couldn’t go to work so that they could be together, she thought. But her dad always went to work anyway. One time his car keys were missing and they didn’t find them until years later when they got new kitchen cabinets – they were inside the wall.

Milly even shared a story about a boy who was teasing her who ended up with enormously fat fingers for two weeks. Even Saint Mungo’s couldn’t fix it and they had to wait for it to subside. She wouldn’t admit to who the boy was so they could only guess.

“What about you, Clara?” Betty asked.

Clara had been sitting in rapt attention, but saying nothing. She had no childhood stories to tell. Clara lied, just as she lied every day about who she was. “I guess I was also really mad at the time, the first thing I can remember. My birthday cake had been dropped – it was my fourth birthday, and my mom dropped the cake. I was crying and then the cake sort of, exploded all over the walls. There was cake everywhere, like more cake than that cake. Everyone was confused but they couldn’t blame it on me because I was on the other side of the room when it happened.”

“Wow, four? That’s pretty early. I wonder if that means you’ll be the best witch of our year,” said Katy, wide eyed.

Clara regretted her mistake but the conversation moved on quickly, and no one questioned her further. Soon it was Clara with the probing questions, asking Mildred about her family growing up. She had a large family, not only several brothers and sisters but she grew up with her cousins as well. It sounded nice. They didn’t live in any wizarding community, but were simply friends with other families that lived in semi-rural houses around… somewhere. In the south-west it sounded like.

Mildred dropped names like Bournemouth, Weymouth, Dorset – Clara couldn’t ask questions about them without revealing she knew almost nothing about English geography. Mildred’s best friend lived in some place called Piddlehinton which got Clara giggling until she forced herself to stop – no one else found that name funny or weird. If she had been in her old life, she would have stopped the conversation to look it up on her phone map. Maybe it was better this way.

The conversation did stop, though, when the Professor finally arrived in a haste and flurry, dropping papers as she burst through the door. The students were shocked into silence – not by the commotion but to see Professor Trefoilan in bright blue trendy robes. She only ever wore somber, unadorned black ones at the Castle. She apologized profusely, saying she had just come from London, “very important matters, very important matters,” she kept saying. Professor Trefoilan was about to scold them for the disarray of the desks, but stopped herself. Her usual moral and punctual high ground was lost, at least for the day. She breezed through a discussion on phases of the moon and assigned them extra homework.

Later, Clara discussed with Jamie all the stories she had heard.

“We’re definitely something weird,” Clara was explaining, “we were not wizards growing up, but now we are?”

“But it could be some latent ability that woke up?” Jamie questioned, trying to wrap this new knowledge into his worldview.

“I don’t think so, “ Clara said, “they say if you don’t show any ability before the age of ten or eleven then you’re not magic at all. There would have been signs.”

Jamie had no good response. The idea stuck in his mind and he asked August and Roc if they had ever heard of a squib being able to do magic when they were older, like it was a mistake. They had never heard of it, not even in some fairy tale or legend.

“A squib’s a squib,” Roc said in the controlled and certain way he uttered everything.

Chapter Text

On Tuesday Jamie was walking with August, Roc, and Sedgley after an especially difficult Transfiguration class, hoping that an especially delicious lunch would soon help them forget about it. Jamie was in his usual spirits since he had always found transfiguration difficult but the rest of the class were dragging their feet and questioning their worth as wizards.

“Hogwarts is so hard,” Sedgley complained for the edification of the wizard-born kids who had never known anything different.

It was too much even for stalwart August. “And stupid Thistlethwaith – acting like it’s the easiest thing in the world doesn’t help at all. I don’t remember any of my cousins mentioning summoning animals in their first year.”

“Perhaps he is not serious,” Roc suggested, “considering his style of dress… if he hadn’t done really hard transfigurations right in front of us I would never believe he could be a Professor.”

Jamie had no comment about “normal” styles of dress as Jamie was currently wearing what looked like a lawn-sized black trash bag with sleeves. “He guaranteed it would be on the Halloween exams, is the craziest thing,” said Jamie. “I was just getting better at needles and matchsticks, and now this. Wait a second!”

Jamie ran back ten feet to stop in front of a three foot wide oil painting and gazed at it. Soon he was joined by the other three. They scanned the painting and then gave Jamie confused looks.

“What is it?” Sedgley asked.

The painting was of a knight standing in front of a dragon. The knight was so tiny that you couldn’t even see his features, while the dragon filled the frame with black and gold. The dragon appeared to be sleeping while the knight crept up on it.

“Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus,” whispered Jamie, and touched the painting, rubbing the dragon’s chin, and then its belly.

“Hey you shouldn’t do that,” said Sedgley, thinking of the only oil paintings in his life that he was familiar with. It was always your mom or a sign saying “do not touch.”

Jamie pulled back his hand quickly, like he was burned, but he had just been surprised. The dragon in the painting woke up. It tapped its paws on the ground. They all took a step or two back and watched the scene unfold.

The dragon lazily opened one eye and then the other, turning left and right. Eventually, it noticed the knight. The knight had time to raise his fist and shake it angrily at Jamie before the dragon’s long neck reached out and its jaws snapped shut, ending the poor knight. Swallowed in one bite. The dragon retreated back into its cave. Devoid of figures, the painting became a landscape.

“Bloody hell, you’ve killed that knight,” said Sedgley.

“Well, it’s just a painting,” said Jamie, shrugging again.

Roc was peering close at the painting. “Hey, look here.” They all turned again to look.

There was a hole in the painting where the knight had been. Closer inspection revealed a latch with a keyhole inside.

August was intrigued. “Aw, but it’s got to be impossible to find the key.”

August, Roc, and Sedgley were in awe. “Jamie, how did you know that tickling the dragon would open the door?” August asked.

Jamie shrugged. “I didn’t. This is the fifth painting of a dragon I’ve tickled. None of the others did anything. Also I tried a pewter figurine I found in that fourth floor hallway that’s the shortcut to Astronomy after that cobwebby wooden one.”

Jamie reached out to try and turn the latch anyway and it opened – it was already unlocked. The portrait swung back to reveal a dusty dark hallway. There was a single tiny window which let the four of them see it was a skinny, empty tunnel exactly the size of the painting. At the end of the hall was a door. They exchanged glances and were all in agreement – they climbed in.

They paused only briefly before grabbing the large brassy colored handle and opening the door. Jamie thought he should have his wand out, but then thought again. He was so young and bad at spells it felt useless to have a wand. So young? That was a weird thought.

Beyond the door was a middle sized room with no windows, but two lamps with wicks lit themselves as they entered. They could hardly stand anywhere as it was full of ratty old textbooks.

Jamie picked through them. “Old editions, but lots are the same as ours.”

Sedgley sighed, “well, that was kind of exciting but also boring.” He stood up, brushing dust off his knees.

August continued poking around. “Why would someone hide these textbooks behind a secret locked door if there was nothing special about them?” He started paging through those nearest at hand, and dug through the stacks.

“Hey look,” said Roc, who had been quiet so far.

They all turned, getting excited, but Roc just wanted to show them the name written inside the front cover of the red cloth covered textbook he was holding:

Enora Morsain

“So?” was Sedgley’s response.

“Enora Morsain, as in Professor Morsain,” explained Roc.

Jamie had never known the Charms teacher’s first name. It was hard to imagine her, the most stern and strict Professor they had, as a student.

August laughed. “Imagine she was in our class, our age. Do you think she was a know-it-all, annoying git?”

“Like Patty?” Sedgley badly imitated the Hufflepuff first year girl’s voice, “no, it’s Pa-tri-ci-a.”

August and Sedgley laughed.

Jamie took the book from Roc and paged through it. It was a Charms primer, of all things. He recognized a lot of spells from his own textbook, but there were a lot of differences too. No notes to betray her future as a Charms master, just some underlining. There were badly drawn cartoons on a third of the pages, implying she had been bored and not paying attention in class. He threw the book back into the pile, saying “let’s get out of here.”

Moving on hands and knees, they entered the hallway to strange looks from some passing older students, which they ignored. The four Hufflepuffs tried to shake and brush the brown and white off their robes but the dust was tenacious.

“Here, Sedgley, let me help you, you missed a spot on your back” said Jamie, grinning. He started slapping Sedgley’s back – a little too hard. August and Roc joined in and soon Sedgley was howling and running down the hallway to escape, chased by his friends.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Jamie was woken up by a banging at his window. He immediately sat up and looked around, feeling like he was in danger, but the other Hufflepuffs remained in their beds, groggy or asleep. The banging and rattling was insistent so he got out of bed and looked – there was an owl at the window.

He decided to let it in, but couldn’t reach. Could the windows even open? He had never tried. He had never thought about the windows. They were high up on the wall, only a foot or two high, and curved at the top but flat on the bottom, like an oval cut in half.

Jamie stood on top of a chair but still couldn’t reach. A broom would help right now. Cursing his eleven year old body under his breath and wishing he could just go back to sleep, he started shoving his trunk across the floor. The noise woke up the remaining sleepers.

“Jamie! Why are you doing that?” Sedgley complained. The other two students said nothing but their faces betrayed they were just as annoyed.

“There’s an owl at the window, can’t you hear it?” was Jamie’s response between grunts as he shoved his heavy trunk. Why didn’t I ever bother to learn the hovering charm?

Roc got out of bed and helped him move the trunk. With the trunk and a chair on top, Jamie could reach the latch easily. The latch turned, fortunately there was a latch, but the window was stuck in the casing. Jamie shoved and shoved before realizing the hinges were on the inside, so it should open inwards. He pulled and pulled but it barely moved. Yet another time a spell might help, but not one I’ve learned…

The owl’s buffeting, insistent racket made Jamie frustrated enough to put more of his energy into it. Using his body weight, the window sprung open. A face full of wings almost made him fall backwards as the tawny owl swooped in over his head. It circled once and landed… on the covers on Roc’s bed.

Roc walked over and untied a small piece of brown twine from the bird’s leg, to release a diminutive parcel and scroll. The bird fluffed and preened its feathers haughtily as if to say “took you long enough.” Then flew out the window. Roc unrolled the scroll, only five inches square fully open, and read. August and Jamie watched, waiting for him to explain, but Sedgley had rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.

Roc opened the brown paper on the package and pulled out a quill. Putting it on top of his trunk, he was about to get back into his bed, saying nothing. Jamie couldn’t take it.

“So what was it?”

“Huh? Oh, just…a birthday present, from my mum.”

“Birthday?”

August leapt out of bed and inspected the quill. His eyes grew wide. “An endless ink quill,” he said, in awe. “Those are really expensive,” he explained to Jamie.

“Well, uh, happy birthday Roc,” Jamie said, unsure what else to do. Roc looked ready to sleep so they all lay down again. Breakfast could wait.

“Thanks,” was Roc’s matter of fact reply into the dimly orange-lit room.

A faint cool breeze blew in the still open window as Jamie lay in his bed, unable to fall back asleep. Jamie hadn’t said anything, but his birthday was also that week, two days after Roc’s, on October 12^th. He decided he would rather not have any big deal made of it. It was too weird since he would be 28 slash 12 (or 11? McGonagall had said he had been under-aged a bit more than Clara). He was fine doing nothing, he decided.

After Astronomy, Jamie caught a second with August and Sedgley. Jamie had been waiting to talk to them all morning without Roc around, and fortunately Roc took off chatting with Hefnia and some other girls.

“Hey guys, wait,” Jamie said, and explained his idea – that they should throw Roc a birthday party that evening. “But I don’t know where… find an empty room?”

August smiled. He assured them that while Roc probably wouldn’t like a real surprise party, a party was a great idea. “Roc would never ask for anything, but I know he’d want some sort of celebration.”

“Should it just be us or invite some more Hufflepuffs?”

Eventually they decided on having a smaller party. It was going to be just the four of them but August wanted to invite Donal and Thomas, two wizard born students that he and Roc both knew. It would be in their room that evening, so no girls could get in anyway. It would be too much work and stress to invite all of Hufflepuff, and it would be weird to have a bigger party in the common room with all the older students who usually tried to study there.

They moved on to details. August said he knew of students getting snacks and drinks, but he didn’t know how. Jamie agreed to ask Ardwin; it was easy since they had regular conversations. Sedgley had some colored paper to make some party hats and basic decorations. August would round up the boys. Their tasks set, they went to their next class.

At noontime, Jamie searched out Ardwin to find out how to get some snacks. He was dismayed to hear Ardwin’s strangely firm response, “no food from the kitchen between meals, that’s the rule.” Asking Abby, another Hufflepuff prefect, yielded the same answer. But also a wink? Jamie wasn’t sure if she was trying to signal something with the weird twitch of her head, or if it was involuntary. Maybe she had been jinxed recently and it hadn’t worn off yet.

Jamie looked around at the remains of lunch and debated whether he could take anything, if it was party-worthy. Green beans, no, fish soup, no. It was all no. Jamie left the Great Hall alone. The rest of the class were long gone since asking around had taken so much time.

“Hey kid!” came a deep voice behind him, and Jamie literally jumped. Jamie turned and saw a grizzled, muscly, bearded man… that he knew as Keelan Ange MacLeod, a sixth year. Instantly recognizable as the only Hogwarts student that could be mistaken for a thirty year old. People talked; Jamie knew stories about Keelan’s wild behavior and disdain for the rules. Twenty eight year old in a eleven year old’s body, meet sixteen year old in a thirty year old’s body.

Jamie said nothing, unsure if Keelan’s call had been directed at him.

Keelan approached and stopped right in front of Jamie. Was he trying to intimidate Jamie or did he just not realize what kind of effect he had?

“Didn’t you see Abby gesturing to me? Marf, made me walk all the way over here.”

“Uh, no, sorry.”

“Anyway, the kitchens are easy. The House Elves are more than helpful, they almost can’t say no. You want to throw a party? Just go and get what you want.”

“Oh, really? Great. So why did Ardwin and Abby…”

“Look, you’re not supposed to be there. But I don’t know kid, you look like you can keep a secret.”

“I do?” Jamie couldn’t understand why he looked trustworthy, but was grateful for the boon.

“Actually, I’ve seen you. Going to the Forest. Going around the lake sometimes. I don’t know what you get up to and that’s why I know you’re like me – you know the rules don’t matter if you can keep yourself safe.”

Ah, so it wasn’t because he looked trustworthy. “But how do I get into the kitchens?”

“That is simple. Of course the Elves just pop around like they do, but there are dozens of ways for a wizard to get in, like the lorry entrance – sorry, carriage entrance. But there’s one right near Hufflepuff. You know the hallway from Hufflepuff, the one that wraps around and then goes down and feels kind of damp? Keep going and you’ll come out to a nice, clean open area with some armor and paintings and some locked doors. In the painting of fruit, tickle the pineapple.”

“Pineapple titllandus?” Jamie said and then grew embarrassed, what was he saying?

Keelan half smiled, “that’s it exactly. You’re muggle born right?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember this – magic is not just spells. It’s sometimes like solving a puzzle, but it’s hundred or thousand year old puzzles made by wizards. Pineapples mean friendship, warmth, and good cheer. So maybe titillate a few pineapples if you see ‘em.”

“Ok, will do,” Jamie said awkwardly, wondering if that was innuendo or another hint that was going over his head.

Keelan was gone quickly, leaving Jamie to be worried he was late for Potions. Why was there no clock in the Great Hall?

Jamie went to the kitchens alone, a couple of hours before dinner. He didn’t bring August or Sedgley along – he had basically promised to keep the secret. Or didn’t, at all, but for some reason didn’t want to let Keelan down. He knew that August and Sedgley would both blab. He reached out and “tickled” the pineapple, but wasn’t sure if it was a tickle or like a caress? Apparently it was sufficiently a tickle because with a click the portrait swung forward, almost hitting him in the face. He slipped through and was immediately blasted with noise.

How was it possible the thin painting kept the din from the hallway? Magic, duh. Soon, a wave of heat came with the noise. He surveyed the busy scene. There were house elves everywhere, and the long, wooden tables that were replicas of those in the Great Hall just as mentioned in Hogwarts, a History and the muggle Harry Potter books. Elves were setting plates, ladling soup from huge cauldrons lit by fires, and there were eight entire pigs rotating on spits.

In person, the elves were creepy and shockingly ugly. Their wrinkly, slightly shiny skin, diminutive height and almost-human-but-warped features made Jamie’s skin literally crawl. He had to remind himself that they were thinking people too, and treating them badly because they were ugly would be rude. Maybe it was something you got used to, and then thought was cute. They could be cute, he thought, because of their tiny size with an oversized head, eyes, ears. They were like weird, walking babies, and babies are cute.

Nobody was paying attention to him and he took several steps into the room until POP! there was an elf standing right in front of him. It had particularly long and pointed ears and its huge eyes were hazel, which were striking because of its particularly sallow skin. It was wearing something like a jumper, well what Jamie as an American thought of as a jumper. What would people in Great Britain call it? The elf bowed, then straightened, smiled, and addressed him.

“Can I be of service, James Morneau?”

Jamie’s heart both sank and started racing at what felt like a thousand beats per second. Could he even feel his legs? He felt nervous sweat running down his face, within only a few seconds. “How do you know my name?” he choked out.

The elf looked confused, sad, nervous, and frightened all at the same time. “Grumbo has upset James Morneau,” he screeched in agony, and grabbed a nearby pewter bowl and hit himself on the head with a sickening thump.

The abject servitude and physical violence was too much for Jamie; it was the worst thing he had ever witnessed. He forgot his own problems and it cured his nerves immediately. “Stop, stop!”

The elf continued for a while longer, his little arms growing tired and the thumps becoming less dramatic. Eventually the bowl was set down and the elf himself sat, looking up at Jamie.

“Please never do that again,” Jamie said.

“We must punish, it is as the master commands,” said Grumbo, resigned.

“The master? Headmistress McGonagall?” Jamie couldn’t believe she would condone such violence. But Grumbo didn’t answer that question. Jamie wanted to pat him, comfort him, but was unsure. Instead Jamie just stood there, remaining several feet apart. He repeated his question from earlier, maintaining as calm a tone as possible considering his deep fears at being forced to leave Hogwarts or being the target of violence against muggles. “How do you know my name?”

Grumbo answered happily, “we know all of the students of Hogwarts.”

Apparently it was going to become an interrogation to get a straight answer. Jamie continued. “I mean, nobody else here knows – except for a few people I guess. Who told you?”

“Nobody told, us elves can find things out on our own.”

“But isn’t my name James Coddington the Third?”

“Oh yes, we were told that name, but we know it isn’t your name.”

Jamie’s stomach churned. “Who else knows my name, besides the elves?”

Grumbo was silent.

After an awkward pause, Jamie tried a different tack. “Have the elves told anyone my real name?”

This Grumbo was willing to say. “Oh no, we keep secrets. Unless the master demands it.”

“So you wouldn’t ever tell another student, or professor, even if they asked?”

“Oh no, we keep secrets,” was Grumbo’s reply, nodding in reassurance. The elf stood up, apparently recovered from his self-beating.

“Can I request that you call me only Jamie or James Coddington the Third while at Hogwarts?”

“If James Morneau requests it, we are happy to serve the students of Hogwarts.”

Jamie leaned against the wall, his legs feeling weak. He was worried about the future but couldn’t think of anything to do about it. His thoughts were interrupted by Grumbo.

“If that is all James Coddington the Third desires, Grumbo will return to preparing supper.”

“Wait, I actually came down here to ask – my friend’s birthday is today. Can I have some snacks and drinks?”

“A birthday of course. We can provide a cake, with many layers! We can bring wine, and champagne, and…”

Jamie cut him off. “No, no, that’s too much. Just like, a dozen pastries, some party drink, without alcohol. Like punch? What do wizards usually have?”

“Patries, one dozen. And fizzing craic!”

“Crack? I don’t know if we need crack…”

“But James Coddington the Third requested a party drink that wizards like.”

“Oh.” Jamie decided to just trust the elf, even if he didn’t understand what he was getting.

“We will deliver to James Coddington the Third’s room while the students are at dinner.”

Jamie was again weirded out by how much the elf knew about him and his habits, but just nodded and said thanks. He turned to leave but, feeling like he hadn’t expressed his thanks enough, he turned back and thanked him again and again. The elf just stood there, smiling vaguely, and Jamie wasn’t sure if the elf appreciated the thanking. But to Jamie, it was needed.

Soon dinner was over and it was time for the party to start. Roc had been warned beforehand by August, but only at dinner. They left the Great Hall together, joking and laughing, as if the party had already begun. Jamie hung back, anxious about what kind of party might be waiting for them in their room. It had been his responsibility, and despite assuring his friends he had it taken care of, he internally was full of doubt. He wanted to run ahead and open the door first to make sure everything was ok, but what would he do if it was lame? It was Sedgley who ran in first and Jamie was left in the hallway to hear “Jamie, oh my god!” His heart sank for the third time that day.

Walking inside, he realized his mistake. Sedgley wasn’t dismayed, but overjoyed. A small table had been set up with a variety of beautiful pastries, some dripping with icing they were so fresh, and a mini cauldron of what he assumed was the wizard crack punch. But that wasn’t all. There were colored streamers hanging between the beds’ posts, and nearer the ceiling hanging from the windows. A disco ball hung from the ceiling anachronistically, the light of the wicked lamps flickering off it and making crazy patterns on the ceiling and walls. It was more than he asked for.

“How did you do it, Jamie?” was everyone’s question. No matter how much they pestered him, he refused to answer and eventually they gave up. The noise of the next hour caused Ardwin to burst in and tell them to be quiet, and upon seeing the food and decorations gave Jamie a half-mocking, half-serious glare.

Wizards had songs they usually sang at birthdays and parties, raucous as a drinking song though no one was drunk. With four wizards present to teach the non-wizards, the songs lasted until bedtime. Jamie didn’t know Donal and Thomas well, but they turned out to be excellent party guests. Jamie went to sleep thinking, “wow, that crack was so good. I love crack.”

Chapter Text

Clara’s week went slowly, and she wondered what Jamie was getting up to. He seemed to be preoccupied, even though she needed someone to talk to. She needed someone outside of the problems between Milavicent, Alison, and Betty, to give her perspective. In Potions, she sat down next to Mildred and Amelia.

“What’s up?” said Clara, as a way of greeting, but Mildred actually had news.

“My mum sent an owl this morning – my sister Bonnie was born two days ago.”

“Oh! Congratulations,” said Clara, but Mildred didn’t look happy about it.

“I told her ‘Bonnie’ was too old fashioned, but did she listen?”

“Must be sad to not see your sister until Christmas.”

“Nope, won’t be until Spring, I’m at Hogwarts all Christmas. Doesn’t matter though, babies are all just lumps for the first year. I’ll see her in the summer when we all go to Mortahoe – that’s in north Devon,” she said for Clara’s benefit.

Clara was wrapped up in her thoughts and didn’t say anything. Wasn’t it weird to not care about your sister? Maybe it was because Mildred had so many younger siblings. It also underscored how, with this boarding school, you moved out at 11 and didn’t see your family except at holidays. It was too young.

Amelia filled the silence by asking Mildred, “oh, can I come this year again? We had so much fun with your little duckies.”

“Oh I’m sure,” said Mildred. “There’s tons of room at the manor.”

“Why won’t you go home for Christmas?” Clara asked.

“Oh, our house in Pembrokeshire’s too small. Too many little ones. And my mum says Bonnie is already showing signs of magic and it’s been an extra headache.”

“That’s porkies and you know it,” Alison said accusingly. “Nobody has magic that young.”

“Well my mum wrote it and I believe it,” Mildred defended.

Their argument was cut off by the class starting. Professor Connough always commanded their attention and focus. He was strict but Clara appreciated his deep knowledge and that he probably made them all better students and potioneers, or whatever you call a potions maker. He dragged them all kicking and screaming to be better at potions, she thought, with a small breathy laugh.

“Today we are learning the Draught of Orseis. The name is Greek because it was trendy at the time it was invented, the seventeenth century. It was specifically brewed to counter the rash of sleep potions going around, the Endymion Elixer, Hypnosia, and Draught of Somnos. Ironically, those sleep potions have been superseded by ones that are more effective and easier to craft, but the Draught of Orseis is still relevant.”

The Professor continued for another thirty minutes without letting them get started, to the point where even Clara was sagging onto her table. She suddenly sat up straight – who knew what kind of magic matter might be there after so much chopping and dicing? Finally they were set free to brew, and the students rushed to get ingredients from the cabinets.

Clara was chatting with Mildred and Alison while she chopped the Booste Root but it was hard to have a conversation when the students at the next table were so loud. It was Marius, Niamh, and of course Gorfoyle, the boy who’s obnoxious behavior matched his name. Gorfoyle was loudly and cheekily saying, “yes you could spend an hour brewing this potion, or throw this potion I just brewed up into their face!” He laughed, holding up a cup of water from the tap.

Clara wished he would be quiet and got her wish as Professor Connough yelled across the room, “Gorfoyle Grint!” Clara was happy to see Gorfoyle get in trouble but quickly sobered when she saw Professor Connough’s red and twisted features. Forgetting that she generally disliked Goryfoyle, Clara was frightened for him and to see this side of Professor Connough. The Professor had his wand out, pointed directly at Gorfoyle, then stopped and put his wand away.

His expression was still angry, but no longer contorted, no longer expressing violence. “Water won’t wake you up from a magical sleep, boy,” he said dismissively, and went to help some other students. Gorfoyle had seen the look, too, and was quiet for the rest of the class.

Unable to shake the weird feeling after seeing Professor Connough’s face, she was startled and unable to respond properly when she almost ran into a boy in the hallway. Actually, it was a boy she recognized from Slytherin, Sam?

“Oh, sorry,” Clara said and started to go around, but the boy stopped her.

“Uh…” he said.

Clara waited, wondering.

“It’s Samwell, Samwell Cobb, you know, you’ve probably seen me around. I’ve seen you around.”

Clara clutched her shoulder bag to her chest. “Yes?”

“Well, uh, you know Desirée? Desirée Meade, she’s my cousin.”

“Ok…” Clara remembered, the nice girl from double Potions. They had chatted a couple of times in the corridors.

Samwell stared directly into Clara’s eyes, “Well, she thinks, I mean I think, I mean I want, I mean… would you go to the Halloween Dance with me?” He looked at the ground, his courage spent.

“Oh!” Clara wanted to laugh as all her tension was released. Was that all this was? “I’m sorry, Samwell, but I can’t.”

“You… can’t? Someone asked you already?”

“No, but…” Clara floundered on what to say.

“Oh, ok then.” Samwell started to shuffle away. Clara noticed his robes were a little too long and they dragged on the floor, adding to his pitiable look.

“I’m sorry, Sam!” she said, and decided a brisk walk out of the situation was the best course of action.

Running away from Sam, Clara turned a corner and slammed into a gangly boy. Their long robes tangled together as they fell to the floor and it took a minute for Clara to find her feet again and stand up.

Clara started picking up her bag and exclaimed, “I’m sorr–” but stopped, confused. She saw the boy quickly covering his legs and arms again, in embarrassment and then trying to climb to his feet without revealing anything. His robes rose tightly around his neck.

“I’m sorry,” she finished. “Um… is something wrong?” Clara thought she saw something reddish on his arms and legs but wasn’t certain.

The boy said nothing and rushed away, leaving a school book on the ground. Clara picked it up and looked – it was the Charms primer, second year version. The boy had disappeared into the maze of corridors and calling out or chasing would be pointless. Instead she opened the cover and found a name there, Darragh Byrne.

Clara looked up from the book to find some girls making disgusted faces at her from down the hall. Flustered from her encounter with Sam and her elbow and leg still hurting, she snapped at them. “What’s your problem?”

The girls spoke in turn in the same snooty tone. “I can’t believe you’re touching that.”

“That’s Dirty Darragh’s.”

“You’re going to catch it!”

“Catch it? What?” Clara questioned, ignoring their weird demeanor.

“His wizard pox!”

“Not even Saint Mungo’s could cure it!”

They cackled as Clara dropped the book. Could she really get uncurable wizard pox? How did they let this deathly contagious boy just wander around the castle without putting him in some magical bubble? “What kind of pox?” she asked, her voice betraying her fear.

“Oh I don’t know. Nobody knows.”

“If they knew maybe they would cure it!”

Clara ran straight for Madam Pierce in the Hospital Wing.

“Uncurable pox?” asked Madam Pierce.

“Wizard pox!” was Clara’s almost breathless reply, still panting from her run.

Madam Pierce was infuriatingly calm. “I don’t know about any wizard pox. A second year you say?”

“Darragh Byrne.”

“I know him, in Gryffindor. He’s a good kid. Who said he has wizard pox?”

Clara’s voice grew more frantic with every sentence. “It was… some girls. And his arms looked red. And he was hiding them.”

“Hiding the girls?”

“NO! Hiding his arms, and legs.”

“Well I can assure you, there is no such thing as ‘wizard pox.’”

“But…”

“You run along now, but don’t be afraid to come back if you have a real injury.” Madam Pierce dismissed her to tend to another student. Clara had more questions but the Healer was already deep in discussion, as if on purpose to cut Clara off.

Clara stomped out the door but the completely solid stone floor made no satisfying noise. “A real injury, hmph!”

Late for food but unwilling to run again, Clara pulled back her sleeves and lifted her robe to check as she walked. No redness yet.

She entered the Great Hall and stopped inside the entrance. The four House tables extended out, full of students. She made a decision and strode towards the Gryffindor table. It didn’t take her long to spot Darragh. He was sitting all by himself not even a quarter of the way up the room. He was sitting on the opposite side. She couldn’t easily cross over the massive plank and stood facing him across the boards.

“Darragh,” she said, and he looked up from his bread bowl of soup.

“What do you want?” His voice was higher than she expected, and pleasant.

Clara was momentarily discombobulated but recovered; seeing him in front of her, a regular boy, calmed her. She spoke in a normal voice. “You left your book in the hallway. It’s probably still there.”

“Ok, whatever.”

“And you have to tell me about this wizard pox. Did I catch it? I need to know. I don’t want to have some uncurable wizard disease, you know.”

“It’s not wizard pox… probably.”

“Probably?”

“I’ve had it since a few years before even finding out I was a wizard. So it’s probably not magical.”

“Muggle born? Me too.” Clara sat down across from Darragh. “Let me see your arms.”

Darragh hesitated.

“Come on now,” Clara insisted, using her I’m-a-doctor-so-just-comply voice.

Darragh looked left and right as if to confirm they were alone, except they were in the crowded Great Hall. He rolled back both sleeves anyway and lay his arms on the table. Clara leaned in to look, carefully not touching. They were not red all over, but in patches. The skin looked dry in parts. Some parts had raised lumps, some red and some tan.

“It looks like keritosis pilaris,” she said after a minute, mainly talking to herself. “But of course it’s hard to tell with skin… need to consult a derm.”

“What?” was Darragh’s response. “So it is a spell?”

“Nevermind,” said Clara, but she was internally making plans. By the time she reached her friends sitting at the Ravenclaw table, she had decided.

That evening, she sent out two owls. One to her parents – asking for some printouts on keritosis pilaris – and one to Saint Mungo’s, asking for advice. She regretted not having any medical books with her. She had gotten so used to online resources made for doctors that she hardly consulted her books and didn’t even think to bring them. Oh well, something for next year.

Chapter Text

Clara finally met with Jamie on Friday evening. Not interested in the usual riot that was Hufflepuff on the weekends, he readily agreed when Clara suggested they spend time together, doing “whatever, I don’t care.” Soon they ended up in the library, where they chatted about nothing, discussed some dishwashing and chore spells Jamie had found, and wished they had cups of coffee.

Wandering around the halls they followed the sound of live chamber music until they stumbled on some older students in a sort of dance lesson. Clara was mesmerized as they moved around the room in complicated patterns, changing partners often. It was some formal style, with rote movements. Asking the nearest, lanky boy, they learned it was a wizarding dance, not something Scottish or Irish. Clara remarked it would look like a period drama if the kids were wearing jackets and lace gowns instead of baggy black robes.

Soon it became clear it was a mix of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, with no Hufflepuffs or Slytherins in attendance. At that point Jamie felt unwelcome, but Clara wanted to join in. The dance was complex but there were several older students who knew exactly the motions and were uncritically correcting those who hadn’t grown up attending wizarding balls. Giving up on convincing Jamie to join, she strode out into the hall and tried to fit herself into the motions. She kept moving the wrong way, raising and lowering her hands at the wrong time, and stepping after everyone else. But the whole time she was smiling.

That dance ended and the students formed into groups for another style. Jamie watched as a Ravenclaw boy bowed to Clara with his hand extended, asking to be her partner for the next round. Clara apparently knew him as she smiled and laughed in recognition. He brushed his medium length black hair out of his face and led her around the floor in a twisting pattern that looped with other couples. He was a good dancer, and light on his feet, Jamie noted. And his robes looked expensive. For the whole dance the couples didn’t exchange, and Jamie watched as the Gryffindor twirled Clara around, adding more complex steps as Clara got the hang of it. The music stopped and they ended with a deep dip, Clara’s head almost touching the ground. She was pulled back on her feet, standing with the boy’s hand on her hip. It looked like he was about to say something, but Clara thanked him and crossed the room back towards Jamie. Clara’s was exuberant and breathless, with beads of sweat on her temple.

“That was so fun!” said Clara.

“Come on, let’s go somewhere else,” was Jamie’s cool reply.

Clara, confused, hurried a few steps to catch up with him. They were well down the hall, away from the light and music and back to the cool, dimly lit corridors, when it dawned on Clara.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you!”

Jamie said nothing, the look on his face saying he knew it was silly but he was still hurt.

Clara laughed lightly and started teasing Jamie. “You’re jealous of a fourteen year old boy who I had one dance with. An innocent couples dance. My husband, James, is jealous of a silly boy.” She had whispered the word husband in Jamie’s ear in a way that sent shivers down his back and made his legs tingly.

“Ok fine!” he said, reassured. He took hold of her hand and they walked together. Both were conscious that it was the first time they publicly held hands at Hogwarts. Several students passed them but they were all older and didn’t take a second glance.

“Hey Jamie…” Clara started, and Jamie knew what she would say.

“I know we agreed to pretend to be distant acquaintances who just happened to go to the same muggle school, but I think it’s obvious to everyone that we’re… close friends, at the very least.”

“Yes, we’re so bad at this. Alison and Betty and Milavicent make comments all the time.”

“So do August and Sedgley. Roc doesn’t, but I know he’s thinking it.”

“So…” said Clara, waiting.

“So since it’s obvious anyway, we should probably just go to the dance together.”

Clara beamed, she had been waiting for this. It had only been Jamie who thought going to the dance would have been too obvious. “Jamie,” Clara said, teasing again, “are you asking me to the Halloween dance?”

Jamie laughed and stopped walking. With a serious look on his face, he addressed her, his brown eyes never breaking contact with hers. “Clara Evergrass, would you go to the dance with me?”

“Yes!” Clara squeaked, and gave Jamie a hug around his shoulders.

They separated and kept walking, still hand in hand. “You know,” Jamie said after a bit, “we’ll still have to keep it toned down, to eleven-year-old levels.”

Clara nodded, but refused to drop Jamie’s hand.

They were on the second floor, about halfway between their two Houses, when they realized it was getting late. They couldn’t tell the time, but it was clear by how empty the corridors had become. They parted ways.

“So, shall I see you tomorrow for another cute date?” Clara asked.

Jamie patted her shoulder. “Starting right after breakfast!”

Chapter Text

Clara noticed it first, of all the first years, though of course she didn’t know that. She woke up Saturday morning, a little bit before the other Ravenclaws in her room, and took a moment to look out the rippled panes of glass. The Forbidden Forest was all tones and hues of orange and yellow, from dirty brown-orange to bright canary. Spots of vibrant red caught her eye as she was caught in a long reverie. Autumn had arrived overnight. Clara opened the window to see better.

Soon, Alison was standing behind her gazing out. “Cor…” was all she could say.

The chill of the wind around high Ravenclaw Tower forced them to close the window and return to themselves.

After breakfast, Clara and Jamie did spend the day together. They studied, practiced magic, and found the highest point that Jamie could get to to view the autumn splendor – the Astronomy Tower. They met Professor Trefoilan while walking up the stairs and realized that she must live somewhere in the Tower. She at first gave them a curt nod of greetings but after twenty minutes found them in the classroom gazing out the window and shooed them out.

“This isn’t a place for students to hang around, it’s for study,” she said, though nobody was studying Astronomy in the Tower on a Saturday afternoon.

Since that day, and the blue dress robes, Clara no longer saw her as just a teacher, some unapproachable authority figure. She felt she could see through Professor Trefoilan’s strict outside to the person underneath. She wanted to stay and talk, out of curiosity mainly, but she and Jamie left together.

They walked down to the ground floor and followed the crowds of students heading out to the quidditch pitch. Parting ways to sit with their own House, Jamie squeezed her hand. Clara squeezed back and his nerves jumped. It was their first day “out” and they had walked to the pitch hand in hand. Nobody that noticed cared at all, or said anything.

The match was intense. Jamie was wowed by the ferocity of the players, far beyond what he had seen in practices. With only six matches making up the entire season, the energy brought to this single match was beyond anything Jamie knew from muggle professional sports.

It was Ravenclaw versus Slytherin, and both teams were out to kill. With barely a heed to their own safety, and with no regard for others’, the fourteen players and three balls whizzed about the pitch. Jamie could easily pick out the chaser Heather Black, the older Slytherin girl who was supposed to go pro after Hogwarts. While other players rushed up and down the pitch frantically, expending all their energy, she was somehow always just where she needed to be at the right time, effortlessly. But it was seven on seven and she couldn’t carry the team on her own. The points remained close throughout the match, 30-40, then 70-50, then 90-110.

After almost two hours the players were flagging and injuries were becoming more common. Jamie joined in the collective groan as a Ravenclaw boy ran straight into a goal post at full speed, then slumped and fell twenty feet to the earth. Wait – was that Clara?

Clara watched MacAlester, exhausted and not turning as fast as he should, run into the goal post. From her seat she could hear the deep thud. She screamed. Confused looks surrounded her as she ran down the flights of stairs and on to the pitch, reaching MacAlester at the same time as Professor Abernathy, Madam Pierce, and a few others she didn’t recognize. The game continued above them, unabated.

MacAlester was face down in the dirt with his legs under him. Was he dead? Clara was sure he had to be. He ran into a solid wooden beam at thirty miles an hour, with only a thin leather cap for protection. Would she turn him over to find his brains spilled out? She had seen it twice, in the ER, and the memory alone turned her stomach. She used her weight to push his shoulder and roll him over.

There was… no blood. She checked his pulse… fast but strong. He groaned and stirred. MacAlester opened his eyes and stared directly into hers.

“Mom?” he asked.

Clara was bewildered but had no time to recover, she was pushed gently aside by Professor Abernathy, who sat up the Ravenclaw boy with the aid of another man who had come. Clara sat back, confused as to how he was apparently fine after such a high speed impact, with no helmet. Abernathy and Pierce started to question the boy.

“Yes, I’m ok. No, don’t need to sit out. No, it’s okay. I just need five minutes and I’ll be back on the broom…” he was protesting to be let back in the game, while the Professors were trying to convince him to sit out.

He needs to sit out, Clara thought, repeated concussions are far worse than a single one.

MacAlester was begging to be put back in after a five minute rest, but before he even got his five minutes the stands erupted in cheering and booing – yelling of intense emotion whether positive or negative.

Clara looked up and saw the players descending to land, and then looked at the scoreboard. 240-150, Ravenclaw ahead. The snitch had been caught.

The whole school was late for dinner but nobody cared. The castle was full of yelling and wild students until well after Clara was asleep at 1 AM.

Chapter Text

Monday morning Jamie walked with heavy feet between Defense and History. The Hufflepuffs chatted around him, but he was out of it. The heavy rain and thunder had kept him up all night. To top it off, the corridor he was in was chilly. There were ancient single-pane windows with mullions, and not every one closed properly. The yellow sunbeams on the wooden floorboards suggested warmth, but it was a trick.

He wondered how Clara had fared in her high tower. Had she been afraid? At least he had been safe. Though a flash flood would have taken out all of Hufflepuff, that was impossible while Hogwarts sat on such high ground. Clara in her Tower, however… He wanted to skip History of Magic and nap, but was worried he would be in trouble. So he kept shuffling along.

Something the color of gold on the floor caught his eye. He crossed the room and peered at the thing. Yes, it was the beetle again, slowly making its way somewhere. They were far from Hufflepuff and far from where he had left it last. What had it been up to in that time? He picked it up and its legs swung in the air before stopping, not realizing at first that the ground was far below. Jamie raised the beetle to eye level, but said nothing.

“Hello again young badger,” the beetle began. “Will you this time consider…”

But Jamie didn’t learn what he was supposed to consider – he had flung the beetle out a half open window and kept walking. He was half lost in reverie again when he was interrupted by “Jamie!”

It was Sedgley. “What was that? You’re just throwing Hogwarts stuff out the window?” He was upset at the supposed immoral act.

A few Hufflepuffs gathered at the noise. August, Roc, Markus, Thomas, Donal, and some others who glanced but had less interest.

“It was just this beetle, or scarab maybe,” Jamie explained, but their stares told him that wasn’t satisfactory. “This guy was in the common room, remember? I was talking to it sometimes but it was mean and classist and stuff, like maybe the wizard who made it lived years ago. I tried to get rid of it once… it’s just some annoying little enchanted bug. You know, one of those weird Hogwarts magical things you find sometimes…” he drifted off as no one offered a comment through the whole explanation.

“Wait… you’ve been talking to a beetle?” asked Markus.

“Yeah, just some badly enchanted beetle thing. What’s the big deal?”

“Badly enchanted? More like impressive,” said August. “Being able to talk and have a whole conversation is amazing, I don’t know any wizard that can do that.”

Jamie looked around and the nods from Thomas and Donal, both wizard born, confirmed.

“Well…” said Jamie, “how am I supposed to know what's out of the ordinary? I've barely been at Hogwarts for three months. Even so, it was such a huge jerk. Who needs that?”

Sedgley was on his side. “Yeah, that’s true, Hogwarts is full of magical stuff. Why keep this thing that’s not nice?”

“Besides,” said Jamie, “Donal here talks to a plate all the time. That doesn’t even have a face.”

All eyes turned to Donal, who fidgeted before confessing, “when you polish it, my parents appear. They have a matching plate. Please don’t tell de Lethe.” He confirmed on everyone’s face that they wouldn’t.

August shook his head, “so yeah, this beetle was something special. I wonder what amazing wizard made it.”

“Or horrible wizard, based on it’s behavior,” Jamie added.

“I want to go find it,” said Markus, with a sly look. Jamie wondered what that look meant.

“I’ll go too,” said Thomas. The two of them turned back to get to the stair around the last corner, the fastest way down.

The remaining four young wizards continued to History.

“So what was it saying, that was so bad?” asked Sedgley.

Jamie answered. “Oh, stuff like your friends can’t be trusted, your friends are your enemies… oh, and it was obsessed with Hufflepuff house.”

“Huh, weird,” Sedgley said. “What do you think Markus wants with it?”

August answered scornfully, “probably to sell it. It’s gold and has a powerful enchantment, it’s got to be worth a fortune.”

“Oh,” said Sedgley quietly, and Jamie knew what he was thinking. All muggle borns were desperate for galleons and Sedgley was internally berating himself for not thinking of selling it. Jamie knew he wouldn’t have sold it anyway, even if he could get to Diagon Alley or somewhere he could sell it. It didn’t jive with his moral compass. But he wondered if Sedgley would be tempted to take things from Hogwarts, now that he had been given the idea. Sedgley was a good kid so probably not, but out of all the hundred plus first years it seemed likely that one would fall to temptation. Was it even a crime if no one in the castle knew it existed and would never miss it? Yes, but…

Chapter Text

Jamie was bright eyed and bushy tailed after an extra long rest, with a pep in his step as he went up to breakfast. This was fortunate, as his reflexes were required to dodge the hex that almost hit his face The red bolt hit the wall behind him instead, leaving a fuzzy green patch of grass where one of the stone bricks had been.

He had no time to wonder if it would have turned his whole head to grass – the fight that produced the stray bolt continued. Jamie tried to turn around but ran directly into the waist of Professor McNaith, head of Gryffindor, bowling him over. McNaith scrambled to his feet but then slowed. Jamie, noticing McNaith’s calm manner, turned around to look. Professor Longbottom had everything under control. The two students who had been fighting were out, one slumped against the wall and one floating upside down and drifting lazily sideways, his limbs rigid but his eyes searching left and right.

“What do we have… Gavriel?” McNaith’s eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed. The head of house used his wand to spin Gavriel around and unfreeze him, setting him gently down. Gavriel waited a moment then brandished his wand again, faster than Jamie could react, but Professor Longbottom’s expelliarimus was faster. The boy was comically holding nothing when he yelled out some curse which he didn’t cast. Then the tears started. Jamie and five others watched sheepishly, not sure how to feel as Gavriel’s red face wetted.

Longbottom enervate-ed the boy on the floor, and only then demanded to know what was going on. The boy on the floor answered first, rapidly, to defend himself from being in serious trouble.

“It was him, he attacked me first!”

“First?” was Gavriel’s choked response. “First? First was when your scum-trash mother snitched out my parents to the Undesirables Commission!”

The boy’s eyes showed recognition and understanding, but refused to back down and after a few seconds responded in turn. “My mother’s not trash, and besides, what proof is there?”

“Proof I just learned in this letter,” Gavriel yelled, waving a piece of parchment. “You don’t deserve to be here, Nico, you don’t deserve it!”

Nico shrugged awkwardly, as if to say, “what are you going to do about it?” and this only enraged Gavriel further.

“My da! My da died you bastard!” Gavriel made as if to rush at Nico but Longbottom raised his hand to say stop, and Gavriel stopped.

“Take your student to the headmistress,” Professor Longbottom commanded McNaith, “and I’ll take this one.” McNaith put his arm around Gavriel and led him away. Longbottom told Nico to put his wand away but kept his out, and led him a different way up towards McGonagall’s office.

Jamie shared glances with the other witnesses, unsure what to feel. He felt numb but his nerves were on edge. As the adrenaline wore off, his legs started to feel weak. He plodded on to breakfast with no more pep in his step.

Jamie went straight to Clara at the Ravenclaw table, ignoring the Hufflepuffs. He gestured wildly, “and this Gryffindor Gavriel just whipped out his wand in the hallway, and curses were everywhere, and there were so many students around, and then the Slytherin Nico was going to–”

“Wait, Nico? Nicodemus?”

“What?” Jamie asked, his train of thought derailed.

“Does he have a square face, umm, brown hair that’s pretty wavy?”

“Yeah…” Jamie waited for an explanation.

“Was it Nicodemus Nair?”

“How should I know?

“Well, Nico is a Ravenclaw.”

“So? Ok, so then Nico was going to–”

“Just that you said he was a Slytherin,” Clara said.

“Yeah, so I assumed he was a Slytherin, because, if you would let me get to it, it turns out his parents were maybe not death eaters, but joined after Voldemort’s rise, and were responsible for Gavriel’s parents’ death!”

Clara’s mouth opened wide as if to exclaim, but slowly closed. He eyes grew somber. “Oh my god,” she said almost unintelligibly quiet.

“Wait, it was only his father who died. But still. The look on Gavriel’s face… I’ve never seen a teenager look hell bent on murder. Or torture, then murder. If Professor Longbottom hadn’t shown up so fast, it would have been bad for all of us bystanders too.”

“Jamie, you’re squeezing my shoulder too hard.” Clara shrugged to free her shoulder bones from Jamie’s grip.

“Sorry,” he said, and only then realized how every muscle in his upper body was tense. He rubbed his arms to try and relax them but it didn’t help much.

“Well…” said Clara, unsure of anything to say.

“Well,” said Jamie, followed by a long pause from both of them. “Just wanted to talk about it, I guess. I’m starting to feel better. I’ll see you later then,” he said dismissively, and walked over to retell his story to the Hufflepuffs.

Clara watched him walk away and a wave of sadness caused her to slump a little more in her seat. She wished Jamie would come back, but didn’t make any move to go after him.

When Jamie got to the Hufflepuff table, he sat down but didn’t feel like telling the story again. He thought he would be forced into it anyway and was waiting, but the time didn’t come. What he thought would spread like the juiciest gossip wasn’t mentioned around him all day – nobody was talking about it. Did none of the other witnesses share the story? He had no answers to that but was grateful that he didn’t have to retell it over and over. On the way to exchange his textbooks after lunch he passed the green grass mark on the wall, noting it was exactly at his head height. For the other students, it went unnoticed in a castle with different oddities in every corridor.

Chapter Text

On Wednesday, Clara was entering the Great Hall after a particularly energizing Potions class. They had brewed Potter’s Puissance Punch. Like caffeine, they quickly learned that the dosage was critical. Too much and you couldn’t sit still and couldn’t keep a train of thought in your head. Professor Connough, guessing the question in their minds, was quick to explain that the potion was almost two hundred years old and unrelated to that Potter, but in fact a literal potter who didn’t even have the name Potter. But the name was sufficient to briefly pull Clara back from reality and see herself and her experiences differently.

She was used to her life at Hogwarts already, and the sparse letters to her parents were the only thing anchoring her to the outside world, much less the muggle world. To her, Hogwarts meant her friends, her teachers, her classes, her poor ability at broom riding and excellent ability at Charms. Suddenly she saw it as was Hogwarts, where Harry Potter lived for six years, where Tom Riddle went to school, where Albus Dumbledore went to school and lived and worked for decades. The feeling stayed with her and the energy potion only made her feel like doing something about it was called for, immediately. But walking into the Great Hall, actually speed walking into the Great Hall with Alison and Betty, her drive to do something was interrupted by Alison’s.

“Milly!” Alison called out to the figure walking briskly twenty feet ahead of them, almost reaching the Gryffindor tables. “We haven’t seen you in more than a week, why don’t you study with us today instead of Conrad?”

Milavicent turned but couldn’t meet Alison’s eyes. “Well…”

Betty was rapidly looking back and forth between Milavicent and Alison, wondering and worried what would happen. Clara was also observing, but dispassionately and impatiently.

Alison continued. “Come on Milly, decide! You want to be friends or not? Because this is a big school and we don’t need you.”

Milly’s eyes grew wide and glared. She took two sweet rolls from a metal bowl at the nearest table and strode past her three housemates, directly out the wide open double doors of the Great Hall.

Alison didn’t move for several seconds, and Clara saw her eyes became wet. “Come on Alison,” said Clara, and steered Alison towards the Ravenclaw table. Betty followed just behind.

Still amped up, they ate their food as if they had no time to waste and then awkwardly sat at the benches with nowhere to be. Clara’s impatience had been growing and she stood up, taking Alison and Betty’s arms. “Come on,” she said. They left the Great Hall having only been there for ten minutes.

Clara led them down the wide entrance hall and through the small side port of the front bastion, the huge doors being sealed as usual. They passed through the open stone arches and into the courtyard, then started down the slope. Clara walked so fast it was almost a jog, and the two girls followed without question. They didn’t notice the cold even as they came around the castle to face the wind coming off the lake, taking the slope with ease.

Clara had them turn off again, and onto a path lined with oak trees on either side. The trees were not stately and old; their reaching branches were only a dozen feet above the path. The sun shone through their bare branches. In fifty feet the path ended in a cleared circle with a stone dais. Clara climbed the few steps to stand right next to the white stone edifice in the center. Betty and Alison looked to her for an explanation.

“It’s Albus Dumbledore’s grave,” Clara said, her breath producing light fogs in the air.

At the mention of the name, Betty’s eyes widened at recognition, but Alison didn’t get it.

“He was one of the greatest wizards to ever live, teacher and then Headmaster at Hogwarts until he was killed about twenty six years ago. He defeated two great dark wizards, the second at the cost of his own life. He never sought office or political power, but knowledge.” Clara was surprised at the words coming out of her own mouth. She didn’t realize she felt so much about some man who she had never met, who she had thought was fantasy.

“He was a Ravenclaw?” asked Alison.

Clara answered, “no, Gryffindor I think. But maybe Houses don’t matter as much as what you do with your life after you leave here.”

They stood side by side. The monument was cold but the texture of the stone was pleasant to their fingers. Clara ran her hand along a crack that ran the whole length of the top of the monument. The two halves had been fit back together. They fit perfectly so that one could only notice the seam because of dust and dirt over the years that had made it a gray line.

Betty broke the silence. “So, that’s cool and all, but why are we here?”

“You know what,” said Clara, “I don’t know. I had this feeling like I had to do something, but now it doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I think the potion is wearing off,” said Alison. “I’m starting to feel cold.”

“Yeah, let’s go back in,” said Clara.

The breeze off the lake grew stronger as they walked back through the trees. Alison talked. “Thanks for bringing me, though. I realized I’m being silly about Milly. It’s not that bad, what she’s doing, and you’re right. Hogwarts is only seven years and then what? There’s so much to magic, so much out there we don’t even understand, us muggle borns. Am I even a Ravenclaw if I don’t care about that? I was so excited to be at a magic school and then it became just like my old school – little friend groups and mean kids and homework.”

Clara and Betty didn’t respond, but their body language showed they agreed.

“Maybe it’s best if us muggle borns just stick together,” Alison continued, but at that Clara turned and said “no!” more forcefully than she planned.

“I mean,” Clara continued more calmly, “you don’t know. Milly can come around in time. I don’t want it to be muggle-borns versus whatever else, or muggles versus wizards.”

“Anyway,” said Betty, “at least to get through classes, us witches need to stick together. We should make a pact or something, like real witches.”

“Like real witches?” Clara laughed. “We are real witches. Whatever else you think witches are is wrong.”

“But I always thought it was cool, like the witches always have their secret meetings and spooky houses and black cats.”

“You can get a black cat,” said Alison, “there’s that girl, umm, Catherine. Third year. She lets her cat go around the castle eating mice or whatever, but he’s often in the Tower.”

Betty nodded, “oh yeah, I’ve seen him.” She paused then continued warily, unsure how what she would say next would be received. “We should make a pact, like a group of witches.” She looked for approval or disapproval, and was met with nods of affirmation. “And we should do it on some special magical time, like the full moon.”

“Or Halloween night?” asked Alison.

“Yeah, that’s really witchy.”

Clara was worried if any pact they made might accidentally be magically binding. She wasn’t sure but it seemed like you could get into trouble messing with stuff. But she agreed to go ahead. “We need to think of what to say, though, and be careful. You don’t want it to be something silly that you’ll regret later.”

They discussed it during the rest of the walk back to their rooms to exchange their books for Charms.

Chapter Text

That night Clara and Jamie met at the entrance to the Great Hall and briefly chatted before having to sit at their house tables. When the food appeared, precisely at 7:15 as usual, they were surprised to find the table laden with Indian curries in red, green, and yellow alongside heaps of naan and fluffy basmati rice. Clara was overjoyed.

“Wow! Finally something that’s not regular British food,” she said to Alison.

“Well,” said Alison, “it could be considered British food, in a way.”

“What? Oh yeah, because Britain ruled India for decades… well, now I’m kind of sad since all I’m thinking about is mass death.”

Alison looked hurt. “I think you spent too long in America if you hate your country so much now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I mean…”

“I meant because there’s so many Indians in England now. Not just in London, you know. There were two Indians in my class before Hogwarts. Did you know that tikka masala is from London? Those two girls told me.”

“Well, ok. I’m just really glad to be having curry right now.” Clara just wanted to put the whole thing behind her and maybe next time not be weird about having curry. “I hope next week is sweet and sour chicken!” Clara handed a soft, puffy naan to Alison.

Alison took it, smiling again, and they each dove to be the first to try each dish.

Chapter Text

On Thursday night Clara and Jamie met to study together. Alison and Betty asked where she was going and Clara was proud to be able to say, “to study with Jamie,” and not hide it. She skipped out the door before they could say anything in response.

Clara arrived and the first thing she said was, “happy birthday, Jamie. I’m sorry I completely forgot it was last week!”

“That’s ok,” Jamie said, “because of the age thing I feel weird celebrating. Plus, we threw a small party for Roc and as we were all play-wrestling and stuffing our faces with pastries I secretly was counting it as my party too.”

Clara wished she could kiss him but they were in too public a place. She touched his hand and then they proceeded to take out their books.

Studying didn’t go smoothly. Instead of memorizing some complex potions like they had planned, Jamie couldn’t focus and kept interrupting Clara. He had just finished Narcissa Malfoy’s book on the last Wizarding War; he had only read the Pomperchute over the summer. Certain parts were stuck in his mind.

“You know, there’s this bit about Dumbledore’s sister having uncontrolled magic but it doesn’t go into details why she couldn’t be trained. I was thinking about our situation but actually I’m surprised that a Malfoy would spend part of her book humanizing her number one enemy.”

“You’re stuck in this mindset of two factions of clearly good and evil. That’s from the fiction version for muggles to read. You’re reading about real people now.”

“Even Tom?”

“Even Tom.”

Jamie was quiet for a bit and Clara tried to keep studying, but he interrupted her again. “I have said this before, but I would say my PhD advisor is one of maybe two fundamentally evil people I’ve met in my entire life. His entire M.O. is constant scheming and manipulation and he really doesn’t feel a second of guilt for using someone and discarding them when they no longer have a use. And he has this air of superiority on the surface but after getting to know him you realize that he is actually deeply insecure about his own ability and everything, the control, is a façade to stop people from finding out. I do think he’s smart, but I think that he doesn’t. Kind of weird guy. If I never met him I would think like you, that basically everyone is fundamentally good if also fundamentally selfish. So he’s not committing evil acts with every minute and every second but he consistently chooses evil over and over again. Three quarters of the lab never graduated. Like, even evil people can be good to their friends and family and I would still call them fundamentally evil. Definitely blood purists are evil. Just like racists are evil.”

“Yeah except like ninety-nine point nine percent of people are racist if you start asking deep questions.”

“Look at what happened when the blood purists got power, death squads in the streets and rounding up witches and wizards who came from muggle parents. Torture and death. And look at what happened when the racists get power – pastors arguing in church that slavery is morally fine because it’s in the bible.”

“Ok, ok, I don’t want to have this argument right now.”

“Yeah, that’s not even what I wanted to talk about. I got side tracked. I was really thinking about Ariane’s uncontrolled magic and what McGonagall said when we first met her. She said that we were definitely wizards.”

“Which has been proven by being here and casting spells and stuff.”

“Yeah, so where’s our twenty-some years of uncontrolled magic?”

Clara had no quip for that and thought about it. “Maybe it was latent and got triggered. Can that happen?”

“I wanted to ask around but I was afraid it would help people figure out the truth about us. I actually asked Roc and he said it is impossible.”

“Oh.”

They both thought about this for a bit in silence. Eventually Clara picked up her Magical Drafts and Potions and eventually Jamie did too. But less than five minutes later Jamie was interrupting her again.

“Clara, are we as creepy as wormtail?”

“What? Who’s wormtail?”

“Remember it’s Peter Pettigrew, who lived as a rat, like, in Ron’s bed, eating Ron’s food, for a decade.”

“I never thought about that. That is creepy. But no, we’re not creepy. I love Betty and Alison and even Milly, their my friends. We dorm together. It’s normal, and it feels normal to me. Don’t even make me think about it in that way, gross.” Clara shook her head to clear the thought.

Jamie shrugged, “I guess as long as we don’t smooch anyone.”

“Ew, Jamie, stop. Yes, I’ll agree, that would be creepy. But it’s not happening so stop talking about it please.”

She turned back to her book and Jamie to his.

Chapter Text

Jamie and Clara were talking after classes on Friday – Clara coming out of yet another productive/unproductive History of Magic where she had been startled to look up and see half the class out the door because class was over. She had been lost deep in her work and had apparently developed the ability to tune out the exact frequencies of Professor Binns’ ghostly and monotonous voice. Jamie came out of yet another struggle with Astronomy where, despite Clara’s advice to treat it like a fun class in history of astronomy, he couldn’t help but feel like he was wasting his time by not learning real astronomy, as in anything invented or discovered in the last two hundred years.

Both of their moods were short and testy, and Clara was complaining loudly that she found yet another muggle-born with an easily curable problem that the wizards just never thought about. It was a mild asthma of all things, and it hadn’t come up at all in the school year until the last broom lesson. Clara diagnosed it in five seconds and had to ask how it had gone untreated even in the muggle school. The poor kid, a Gryffindor, had generally avoided sports and being too busy on the playground, recognizing that it made them feel bad, and had just never told their parents about it.

Clara had spoken to Madam Pierce again, though the cure was not simple. There was some complicated set of tests with some ritual and a dozen vials of potions to determine which cure to use. It made some sense to Clara because asthma can have varied root causes, but when she looked at the different test potions it made zero sense at all. The kid was scheduled to be cured over Christmas break.

“Wow, you really spent a lot of your time on this one,” said Jamie, trying to make Clara’s long monologue into a conversation. “It’s become a huge passion project.”

“Yeah, but how could I just leave her? I’m actually spending a lot of time in the Hospital Wing, a few times a week I help out or just read. It’s really interesting actually.”

Jamie nodded in understanding, it would be difficult to not help. But he wasn’t sure he would go so far as Clara.

“And what about you?” Clara asked in turn, “your passion project of digesting the entire Hogwarts library, and your simple spells for daily convenience?”

“Ugh,” Jamie shook his head, “turns out none of them are simple. That’s why this girl was freezing cold in Diagon Alley. Spells are so specific and you have to learn and memorize each one – if one even exists that does just what you want. Like we were saying, cell phones and the internet are in a lot of ways better than anything magic can do. Magic is hard. You don’t have to know anything about how to make computer chips, radios, and programming in order to use a cell phone. But to cast some fancy communication spell, it’s… well, it’s not as easy as using a smart phone.”

Their conversation continued, with Clara still dominating. Jamie listened and was curious about magical healing, but his interest only went so far and his mind kept straying to thoughts about other types of magic.

After dinner Clara left Jamie with a secret-but-not-so-secret peck after dinner. He was shocked and looked around quickly, embarrassed, but no one seemed to notice or care. With Clara off to spend time with a group of Ravenclaw girls, doing something she wouldn’t admit to, Jamie left the Great Hall.

The castle was alive with activity. Sometimes the halls felt cavernous and cold, and the chill from the windows that almost never sealed properly cut through his robes. But sometimes, like that night, the halls felt cheery and bright. It was due to the life and laughter and energy of hundreds of children rushing about, talking excitedly, playing games, and purely enjoying life. Hogwarts was severely isolated from the outside world, the wizarding world and double for the muggle world, in a way that made you feel safe, happy, and Jamie grokked for the first time the cliché “living in the moment.”

But it all felt distant to him. Children ran about him, standing outside the entrance to the Great Hall, and he was deeply aware that they were children, all of them, even the ones that looked to be years older than himself. Worries on top of worries, he worried that he was too full of worries and experience to lose himself in a game and simply rush around laughing like he should be. Or what should he be doing? Maybe he should befriend some teachers, could he relate to them better?

He thought about what he would be doing if magic hadn’t entered his life. Struggling over some experimental work that takes months to finally come out right and stressing about how many papers he could get out that year, the year 2023 which was almost over without a single publication. I just up and left a huge body of half done work and... I don't feel bad about it. I cared so much, it was my whole life, but now I truly think it doesn't matter. I still think of myself as a scientist, and plan to return to it, but I'll take my time to survey and choose maybe a different line of research. I was too strongly held to those pet projects that were not fruitful anyway.

The hall was starting to clear as most students finished dinner and made their way to whatever they were going to do. Quidditch practice, spells, running through the halls playing some games, or the big party that was always in the Hufflepuff common room every Friday. Why wasn’t he rushing off to do something, to be somewhere?

Hogwarts is a rare chance, he thought. How many people get to go back in time? I am not taking advantage of it enough, what am I doing? He started to walk, ploddingly, towards Hufflepuff. As he went down the hall he felt energy building in his limbs. Each step came faster and faster until finally he was running – he was running and he could feel it in his whole body and it felt like lightning had entered him, he couldn’t stop if he wanted. He laughed as he ran, crashing through the barrel and down the tunnel to the common room, looking around for a group of first or second years to join, whoever looked like they were having the most fun.

Chapter Text

Jamie woke up early on Saturday morning. He looked around at everyone still asleep and decided to dress and go down. He had no idea what time it was but the sun was up, so it couldn’t be too early. In the common room he checked the large brass clock – 7:12 AM. He had left the common room last night full of students, yelling, boasting, wrestling, casting charms, a typical night for young wizards with only slightly older wizards for supervision. The common room was still full, but it was all older students. Fifth and sixth years studying for OWLs and NEWTs, poring over books, taking notes, and overall quiet. He left for breakfast alone.

He checked around every corner before turning it, a hold over from his run-in with Nico and Gavriel. It had become casual habit whenever he wasn’t in a group. He didn’t even feel nervous, it was just routine to peek before entering any new space. The thought occurred to him to add a spell for this to his list of common spells, and he took the time to take his little notebook out of his pocket, wet his quill, write using the nearest sill as a table, and wait several minutes for the ink to dry.

His mind was generally blank and he felt happy. The total release of the prior night improved his mood considerably. Why did adults lose the ability to relax and let loose, and recharge socially and mentally so they could be productive the next day?

In the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling showed the puffy clouds outside almost blanketing the sky, with only rare blue patches. It hadn’t been sunny in a while, generally overcast even if not cold or raining. The massive fireplaces of the Great Hall contrasted with the gray ceiling and contributed to the feeling of coziness. He ate alone, munching on some toast between bites of sausage and beans. He had finished his food before he noticed the students around him and realized that the beans were supposed to go on the toast, apparently.

Clara came down and her entrance stuck out in the near-empty hall. He stood up to join her and hoped no one would bother him for sitting at the Ravenclaw table with her. At least his black robes didn’t betray him as a Hufflepuff, and the older Ravenclaws around wouldn’t know every first-year, or just wouldn’t care.

Clara stared at the beans, sausage, and toast.

“You’re supposed to put the beans on the toast,” Jamie explained.

Clara made a face. “That sounds disgusting.”

“Well, I didn’t try it honestly. Let’s split one.” Jamie assembled a beans-on-toast and cut it in half with a butter knife. He took a bite. “Surprising, it’s actually good.”

Clara took a couple of bites and set it down. “You can finish mine. What about the sausage? Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s blood sausage so it has a different texture, but the flavor is excellent. It’s heavily spiced.”

Clara ate the end of a sausage then set the rest down, still pierced by her fork, and passed her plate to Jamie. She stole another plate from the setting next to her and prepared two toasts with jam. As Clara slowly woke up, she started to remember what had felt so urgent the prior night.

“Jamie, did you know we have major exams just before Halloween, in a week and a half?”

“Yeah, I’m not worried. Roc and August told me that your grades don’t matter at all until the OWL exams. But in any case, we usually study for a couple hours together on any evening I’m not with you.”

“Jamie, this is not good. I’ve been hardly studying.”

“What? What do you do with all your time?”

“Well, I do keep up with my classes, but it’s not like I’ve been doing much beyond that. And not reviewing old stuff at all.”

“I mean really, what do you do with your time? It takes me hours more than you to get these stupid charms to work, and I’ve even been reviewing and going back and forth through our books. It’s a lot of random sh- stuff to memorize.”

“Well, there’s this other book I’ve been working from…” Clara almost confessed, but decided to leave that hanging.

“Well, no one is up yet and I feel super motivated, so let’s get our books and meet in the library.” Jamie was full of energy, but Clara let her head dramatically slump onto the table.

“Studying on a Saturday morning? And it’s not even 8 yet…”

But Jamie poked her in her side, making her jump. “See you in the library!” He strode off.

Clara joined Jamie in the library after he had already been there an hour, and was leading Alison and Betty. Jamie was taken aback – they had hardly hung out before and he wasn’t sure how to act around them.

“Hello,” he said, awkwardly.

Clara sighed as she dropped several book onto the table across from Jamie. “I don’t even know where to begin. Are these exams comprehensive?”

Jamie shrugged.

Alison sat down and pinned up her hair so that it wouldn’t fall in her face as she studied. “We’re all muggle born here, right? We need a wizard-born to ask.”

“Or just ask the teachers, you dunces,” Betty cracked. “Like I did several weeks ago.”

“They’re professors, not teachers,” Alison corrected, to score a point against Betty in return for the jibe.

“Oh, well, anyway, pretty much every professor I asked said they might ask anything that has been in class. Well, Connough was being all snooty and acting like we should know the entire book of Potions by now, but that’s silly. Trefoilan and Morsain assured me that everything would be ok since I do well in class and were almost patting me on the head. I didn’t really ask the rest.

“So it’s just review then,” said Clara definitively, and started organizing her stack of parchment notes. “What should we start with?”

“Not charms,” Jamie said quickly. “We can’t really practice them here anyway, we need an empty classroom.” He concealed his real motivation – that he didn’t want Alison and Betty to know how bad he was at them.

Alison nodded, but said, “well we can at least list them out and pick out the ones we think we need to practice.”

“Same for Transfiguration,” added Clara, “we aren’t supposed to do it without Prefect supervision.”

All seated, soon the wide wooden table had not an inch free of parchment, books, or ink bottles. Though the conversation was cool at first, they quickly warmed up were soon chatting gaily as they made their lists and discussed Charms and Transfiguration.

After a while though, Jamie and Clara were deep in their work and pleased at the progress they were making, but Betty was fidgeting in her seat. “How long are we doing this for?”

Jamie looked up from his Revised Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) and shrugged again. “Until we get hungry at noon?”

“Work all the way until noon? That’s so long. That’s hours from now.”

“You need some of the hard work and dedication of House Hufflepuff,” Jamie said, smiling cheekily.

“And you need some of the insight and wisdom of Ravenclaw, like that no Charms are going to stick in my head if all I can think about is my sore butt.”

Jamie chuckled, mainly at the high pitched eleven year old voice saying “sore butt.” “Here’s some Ravenclaw thoughts for you,” he countered, and Clara and Alison looked up from their work to listen as well.

“So pick any spell, like maybe afflozio,” he said, picking one off his page of notes. “It makes such a specific pattern of those interlocking rings of yellow light, with the repeating motion.”

“The perfect study light,” Alison nodded, proud she recognized it and even knew how to cast it. She made the motion with her hand in the air, three sharp taps directly in front of her.

Jamie continued, “yeah, but the name and wand motion, how does that mean that pattern? And if anyone casts it, it’s the same pattern every time.”

“Oooh,” said Alison, seeing where he was going. “I thought that about reparo – how does it know what it is supposed to be? It is in your mind? Could you then reparo something wrong if you imagined it wrong?”

“Coloris definitely depends on what you’re thinking,” said Clara. “You can pick the color of jet that comes out.”

Alison added, excited, “and what about that enchantment on the secret door for the shortcut between the second floor corridor outside Defense to to those upper level transfiguration rooms?”

“The what?” Jamie asked, and looking at Clara and Betty realized that none of them knew either. He thought it had been a Ravenclaw secret.

“The shortcut, you know?”

“No.”

“Oh, well you have to tell it a poem,” Alison explained. “And it can’t be a bad poem, it has to like the poem. So the enchantment understands English and makes a sort of judgement. That’s almost thinking.”

“Woah…” said Jamie. He thought a bit about what that meant and it didn’t help at all for him to understand. All he said was, “wow, you girls really are Ravenclaws.”

“Psh,” said Betty, “people talk about this kind of stuff in Ravenclaw all the time. You can’t avoid it if you wanted to.”

Jamie tried to summarize what he understood, even if it didn’t make sense. “So the words and wand motion don’t make the spell, there’s not enough information there. But then it’s really weird that the words and wand motion have to be exactly correct.”

“Yeah, I agree it’s weird,” said Alison. “But also, it’s magic.”

“But–” Jamie wanted to continue, but was interrupted by Betty.

“How is this helping us with our classes? So much for Hufflepuff hard work, more like Hufflepuff diversions.”

Jamie and Betty begrudgingly went back to studying, while Clara and Alison did so happily.

In the hallway they split ways, the girls to Ravenclaw and Jamie to Hufflepuff. As they walked, Betty and Alison couldn’t help talking about Jamie. It was the first time they had spent extended time together.

“He seems normal enough,” said Betty, “not for me though. I’m still pining after Cian McElhone.” Betty had been changing her crush every week, and was currently on a Ravenclaw second year that she hadn’t ever spoken to. Eventually Betty asked Clara, “is Jamie always like that?”

Clara knew what she meant by “that” and had to answer, “yes.”

Jamie made it to the Great Hall for lunch, alone, but immediately ran into a sweaty August, Roc, and Sedgley.

“Jamie!” August called out, “why weren’t you at broom lessons today?”

Jamie realized his mistake before the word broom had come out of August’s mouth. He dropped to his knees and sunk down in dismay. “Nooo! I forgot, I literally forgot.”

August and Sedgley laughed, and August patted Jamie on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Abernathy announced today that you can do independent practice from now on. Well, I can’t just get a broom like I want, but some prefect helpers will be out there with brooms every Saturday and Sunday, almost all day. In fact, you could go after lunch.”

“Man, the look on your face,” Sedgely said.

Jamie stood up, “let’s eat and then go already!”

“Ok, ok” they said, agreeing to go back to practice. The tables were filling up so they sat down midway up the Gryffindor table and had to steal plates and cutlery to make four spaces next to each other on a bench.

There were several options but Jamie ate nothing but a pile of cheese toasties and milk.

Chapter Text

Classes were moving on and most older students were spending every waking minute studying, but not the first and second years. Their load was light enough, and the expectations low enough, that they found plenty of time to play. But not Jamie. After Tuesday’s Charms class where he again failed to successfully cast the bug-glow charm (it made insects glow, and only worked on insects), he was spending equal time to the older students trying to prepare for the exams. After that Charms class, Clara found him in the library. She went there to console him, but found him smiling as he inked up the parchment in front of him.

“Jamie, what’s up? I heard from some Hufflepuff girls that you were in here.”

“I’m so stressed, I am so bad at charms and transfiguration. I was kind of riding along and doing my reasonable best, but with the exam, and doing review, it only drove home how much I suck.”

“Do you want me to help?”

“Oh yeah, for charms I guess, but I’m not sure what you can do. I have all my notes, maybe I just need to do the spells a hundred times each. I went for extra practice in transfiguration earlier with the prefects, but they shoved me off after an hour, that’s my biggest problem.”

Clara put her hand on Jamie’s arm and sat next to him. “Well, honestly, you don’t look stressed. What are you studying now?”

Jamie pulled several sheets out of stacks on the table, excited to show Clara. “Look, these are all old and new spells, collated. It’s really cool. A lot of these old spells are totally weird. They’re either hyper-specific in what they do to the point of uselessness, or their just worse versions of contemporary spells. I thought there would be ancient knowledge hidden in these books, but honestly our textbooks are fine. Check this one out – gadabu efloresco. It makes a cattail explode out into all its fuzzy seeds. I can’t imagine a situation where I would ever use it. Also gadabu is not Latin as far as I can tell.”

“Jamie!” Clara said. “You’re sitting here not even practicing Charms? Maybe that’s your problem.”

“But–” Jamie tried to start, but Clara ignored him and stacked all his papers and books together. She dragged him out of the library and down the hall. It was an awkward five minute walk south across three levels of Hogwarts, and she said nothing.

Eventually they reached an open door with the sound of voices within. It was a large room with oaken tables and about ten students in it. Jamie recognized several Hufflepuff first years, Evie, Matilda, and Donal. And a Gryffindor boy he knew, Colin Eldwink, and two Slytherins, Sophie Savin and Cal Hayden. They all glanced up when Clara and Jamie entered, and either waved hello or said nothing, turning back to what they were doing.

“Here Jamie, practice Charms,” said Clara.

“But Clara,” he whispered, “I, honestly, I don’t want them to know how bad I am.”

“Jamie,” Clara said somewhat patronizingly, “everybody already knows. You think you take classes alone?” She dumped him with the group of Hufflepuffs and went over to another group. Jamie watched her happily exchanging greetings with some kids he didn’t recognize and was surprised to see her end up chatting with Sophie and another girl, presumably also a Slytherin. He overheard her say “hey Desirée, glad you’re here” before turning back to his own group and saying his own awkward hellos.

They pretty much lived together, so not much of a greeting was required. Jamie joined them in practicing the tap-dancing charm. It’s not only old spells that are useless, he thought, as the charm only worked on inanimate objects with at least four legs and not anything larger than a few inches. But since it was potentially on the exam, he put his full effort into it.

Chapter Text

The next morning dawned bright and clear, a welcome break from the endless clouds, yet still cold. Clara sat up in her four-poster but quickly lay back down, pulling the blankets up to her chin. The drafty window, with the fire in the grate almost out, made her wish she didn’t ever have to leave the warmth of her quilts. She lay in the bright room, glad for the light streaming in through the gauzy curtains. She started to cherish her mornings since the sun was setting noticeably earlier every day. She had never lived that far north before. The September days had felt endless and the winter days were too short. She still had two months to go before the shortest day of the year. How short would it get?

She wished she had her mobile, to watch videos and just relax, but there was nothing within reaching distance. She had to get up or just stare at her canopy. She got up, quickly ran over and changed into her robes, pulling them around herself. She paused to look out over the lake, it’s stunning beauty still had the power to move her every time. The lake was calm. She felt lucky to be high up on Ravenclaw Tower. Being so high up made her feel free and lifted her spirits. She felt sorry for Jamie, down in his hobbit hole, and couldn’t even imagine what Slytherin might be like. Depressing, probably.

She brushed her teeth with Alison and Betty and went down to breakfast, where the blazing hearths and porridge, which sounded nasty to Clara until she realized it was just oatmeal. Her breakfast was interrupted by the owl post – the shock of a great big brown and white bird landing in front of her made her spill oatmeal all over the front of her robe. It was her expected letter from Saint Mungo’s. She had started to worry she wouldn’t get any response, but it beat out the letter she expected from her parents on the same subject.

Clara Evergrass,

We had to spend some time trying to figure out what you meant by "keritosis pilaris" and eventually realized it was a muggle-ism. The disease's real name is Cutus Pulli. We have enclosed a tincture and instructions.

Abbot Westerly, Healer, BSBCB

Short and to the point. The tincture was held in a tiny ampoule only a couple of centimeters in length, with a stopper in one end. Clara read the instructions; it was complicated. The tincture required drops of fresh rabbit’s blood to finish, which had to be done right before using. Then it was drunk every hour and fifteen minutes for five doses, and then the remainder mixed with several more ingredients including lamb’s hair. The solution was then rubbed all over the skin under a quarter moon, waxing, followed by bathing in still, wild water.

She dropped her face into her hand in dismay – it was more work than she had expected. On reflection, it was better than the muggle treatment of doing nothing; it was considered untreatable except to try and control the symptoms. She wondered if she could even pull it off – what was “wild water?” She decided she couldn’t back out and went to talk to Darragh.

He was easy to find. Again she found Darragh sitting at the Gryffindor table, alone.

“Here,” she said, “you can fix your arms and legs.”

It took Darragh a second to comprehend what she was saying and she wondered if he had forgotten the whole thing. As soon as he realized what was happening, he was overjoyed. And disbelieving. And worried it wouldn’t work. And hopeful for what it meant if it did. No emotion stayed on his face for long. He started to thank Clara, grabbing the front of her robes, but she brushed his fingers away.

“Don’t get too happy yet, let’s see if it works. Look at these instructions, it’s not easy.”

He looked over the letter thoughtfully and shook his head. “What if I do it wrong? This is complicated. Where do I get these ingredients? I don’t want to have to hurt a rabbit.”

Clara had hoped to leave the rest up to Darragh, but she agreed to help him the rest of the way. Darragh copied down the ingredients so that they could both ask around.

“See you around,” said Clara, leaving with her bags and the ampoule and letter tucked into her robe.

Chapter Text

Jamie’s day was also eventful, but in the fake Chinese proverb may-you-live-in-interesting-times sense. That is, the bad sense. He was standing in the training grounds, the largest interior courtyard, relaxing, when something hit him from behind and caused him to tumble forward to the hard earth. He picked himself up, reflexively felt that his wand was ok in its pocket, and then turned to find the “something” was three older boys and a girl. The one green scarf on the girl marked House Slytherin.

“Watch where you’re going, you blind ass,” said one of the boys, a shorter one with dark black hair that was so thick it stood up in a jet from his forehead.

Jamie was confused at first – watch where he was going? But he was just standing there.

“Look at the dumb look on his face,” the girl said and laughed mockingly. She was thin and had long blonde hair. She would be pretty but her personality made her ugly. “One of yours?” she asked one of the boys.

“No, he’s not in Gryffindor,” he said, “and his cluelessness makes Ravenclaw unlikely. Looks like we’re dealing with a sad little Hufflepuff.”

“Probably can barely do magic, a muggle born in a misfit House.”

“Come on, then, show us something,” said the girl. “Know any jinxes?” This was met with laughter again.

Jamie stood there not saying anything. He looked around but the couple students walking past, twenty feet away, weren’t paying any attention. The boy with the jet hair shoved Jamie’s shoulder, but Jamie yielded it and so didn’t fall down.

As the boy’s arm was outstretched, Jamie’s shorter height gave him a glimpse of the end of a wand sticking out of the boy’s pocket. It was right there, almost as a present, to Jamie’s left hand. He had a brief vision of some sort of Bebop-Spike/Lupin trickery, but he knew how these things usually turned out in real life. As if he would succeed as a pickpocket on his first try. He stood silently, with the main thought in his head is this really happening?

Jamie turned and ran for the far side of the courtyard. He didn’t turn around until he was through the wooden door, slamming it and catching a glance behind him. They hadn’t chased him at all, they were standing in a circle talking. So he hadn’t been personally targeted, it was just some douche kids making trouble for no real reason. He had the presence of mind to keep moving and quickly take a path that would make it hard to follow him. So not down the straight corridor but up the narrow winding stair, down a hall, through a classroom and into another hall that had no direct connection back to where he had been. The adrenaline wearing off, he had time to regret not being more awesome. He would have immediately lost in any magical fight, but making off with the kids’ wand would have been a devastating victory, if Mrs. Ollivander wasn’t exaggerating the price of wands. Motivated by missing his chance, he had an idea.

It was a little difficult to navigate, but he eventually made it to a window that overlooked the courtyard from three stories above. He cracked open all three casements and looked. The bullies were still down there, talking with loud voices. Jamie couldn’t understand what they were saying due to the echoes.

Fortunately, with exams coming he had just been reviewing his charms. The oakfoot and jelly-legs were easily undone, but the pusface jinx required special potions and thus a trip to the Hospital Wing. He was proud of the name “pusface jinx.” It had no colloquial name until he had added it, tired of calling it by its Latin, and now everyone in their year was calling it that.

He carefully checked his angle, aimed his wand, and ran through the wand motions a dozen times. Aiming with the wand at anything more than a few feet away was difficult. He had tried maybe ten feet maximum with almost no success, and this was fifty or more. Probably more. Well, he didn’t trust himself to actually make the hit but he knew he had to try.

He reviewed in his mind: fire the spell (he made the motions), don’t turn away too early or your aim will be off, then duck and hide and don’t even look for the result. Making a clean getaway is more important than trying for a second shot and getting caught. He stared down at his target.

The whippy tip of Jamie’s wand furled in the air. “Sanies abusia,” he said, not loudly but with as firm of conviction as he could manage. He was terrible at charms but this one needed to go off. The spell took a half second to travel, and it was weird to watch. When throwing a spell three feet you hardly noticed it; it just was some colored light. But with fifty feet to go he noticed it had a shape, too. Looking at the spell, he wasn’t watching what was happening down below. He saw a black robe duck down, but he couldn’t tell if it hit or it was just a delayed dodge from seeing the spell hit nearby. He ducked and was below the sill, safe from any eyes.

He crawled to the end of the short, windowed corridor and made his getaway, trying to put as much distance as possible as quickly as possible, thinking that being seen far from the scene might help with deniability, later. They were such jerks that they probably had plenty of enemies. Who could say it was Jamie? First year Jamie, bad at charms, can’t hit anything more than ten feet away, couldn’t possibly be! He was imagining McGonagall interrogating him and found it funny.

Chapter Text

Over a lunch of chicken stew with flaky biscuits, Jamie debated but decided not to tell August, Roc, or Sedgley about his encounter. The best way to be secret is to tell no one. Instead, he became embroiled in a conversation ten feet down the Hufflepuff table. It had started with fourth year Jamie knew, Matt LeBlanc, yelling a little too loudly to be appropriate in the Great Hall. He was accusing his neighbor, “Missy” Whims-Cotinden of jinxing his ink to be pink instead of black, and he couldn’t read anything he was writing. The change had happened mid-sentence with the phrase “results in a large, green” starting in black and ending in full pink.

“Wasn’t me!” Missy cried.

“Who else even knows the spell? I know you do,” Matt accused.

“It’s impossible. You didn’t even hear me speak and I’m right next to you.”

“Not impossible. You could have cast it wordlessly.”

That was the point where Jamie’s curiosity had been piqued. “Wordless casting?” he asked, comfortable enough around Matt from Friday nights in the common room to be able to butt in despite them being older.

“Yeah, it’s not so far-fetched,” he said towards Jamie. And back to Missy, “you cast it all the time.”

“What’s it like?” Jamie butted in again.

“Well, when you cast the same spell over and over again you can kind of feel what it’s like, it’s shape, and… color. And you can bring up the magic. I still kind of say the words in my head though. I can do a couple.”

Jamie lost interest at that point and stared across to the Gryffindor table that was adjacent. The argument continued without him as he stared. Two of the boys from that morning in the courtyard were sitting right there, and one had massive five-inch red and white tubules all down the side of his face and onto his neck, looking greasy and slowly dripping white fluid. It was his jinx.

He turned and sat back down and bowed his head, hoping he hadn’t been noticed. He smiled into his sleeve and almost burst out laughing. The urge to brag about his exploits was so strong he almost gave in, but managed not to. He gleefully imagined Madam Pierce being unable to undo it and the pustules still being there a week later, but he knew they would probably be gone that day. Still, a strong victory.

Chapter Text

Clara had made solid progress on the tincture ingredients in just two days, and Darragh had collected several already. Her biggest source had been the prefect Amelia. Most of the other first years didn’t bother her because she gave off an air of not wanting to be bothered, they said. It was true that she was always absorbed in something she was doing, and her black hair was always so perfect that it was unsettling, but Clara had never been afraid to approach her.

Clara had been afraid to ask Professor Connough for help after seeing his other side, the angry side just under the surface, and feeling uncertain. At first she had appreciated his teaching, and no one else seemed to have a problem, but thinking about going to his office – she didn’t want to be alone with him.

Clara started her conversation with Amelia with “please keep this in the strictest confidence,” but Amelia immediately refused.

“Sorry, I can’t do that if you’re doing something dangerous. Something as dangerous as trying this potion you didn’t make yourself, and don’t even know exactly what it does.”

Clara eventually convinced her, showing her the letter. “Look, it’s from Saint Mungo’s.”

Amelia cast several quick spells, tapping the letter and the ampoule with her wand. She spoke so fast that Clara could hardly catch what the incantations were. She seemed to be satisfied about something, and eventually said, “I can help with everything except the rabbit’s blood. It has to be fresh and I don’t want to get involved with that.”

Clara was grateful but failed to express herself well, walking away like an automaton due to a wave of culture shock. A fifteen or sixteen year old girl had just looked at a list saying you had to sacrifice a rabbit and was like “yeah, ok, that’s totally normal. I just don’t want to do it myself.” Well, thought Clara, they served rabbit stew a couple weeks ago and you ate it. So who are you to judge?

In Astronomy on Thursday, Clara asked Professor Trefoilan’s help to calculate the next couple of quarter moons, waxing. She didn’t trust herself to not make a mistake. Unfortunately they had just missed one on Oct 16. They would have to wait until Nov 15 at 9:54 AM. She calculated backwards the timing of the drops – that meant starting drops at four or five AM.

Clara was satisfied that everything was coming together, except the rabbit’s blood. No one had a pet rabbit or caged rabbits that she knew of, and she was unsure how to get one, and didn’t savor the thought of the task at all. She decided to rope Jamie in to help.

“Jamie,” Clara said just before dinner, “I need some fresh rabbit’s blood.”

“Clara! I know Halloween is coming but that’s taking it too far,” Jamie joked.

“No, it’s for a potion.” She took five minutes to relate to Jamie the whole story.

Jamie thought, and then looked askance at Clara. “So you need fresh rabbit blood and you thought of me to get it? Do you really have that kind of opinion of me?”

“Well, you know, you’re always the one to do the chicken or fish at home. I don’t even like touching meat.”

“Well… I’ve seen rabbits on the grounds… how to get their blood though… and what day did you say you need it?”

They discussed for a few minutes different options. Eventually Jamie asked, “since you’re on this trip of helping everyone, have you noticed how many kids have bad teeth? Like, really bad teeth.”

“Yeah, I noticed. And it’s not just muggle borns, it’s wizard born kids too.”

“Can’t they fix it easily?”

“Probably. I’ve thought about this. The crooked teeth? They just don’t see it as a problem. Nothing to fix, otherwise they would have. It’s the only explanation.”

Jamie nodded, and thought about his tough two years with braces. Would he have to go through that again in three years’ time?

Jamie expected the Friday night party in the common room to be muted due to the exams in the following week, but they were if anything louder and rowdier than ever. Which was just what Jamie needed. Giddy, Jamie a dozen other Hufflepuff first years exited the barrel, ran up the stairs, and out the main entrance onto the grounds. The moon was waxing to almost full and it gave them a strange kind of energy, to dash about the grounds and organize a game of Beast of the Willow until Hagrid chased them indoors, roaring in his superhumanly deep voice and threatening detention.

Trying to escape the tension in her sleeping quarters, Clara also spent her time in her common room. It was lively in its own way with animated discussions of magical theory and coursework, but she wished it was like the first few weeks of school with the four of them chatting and having fun.

On Sunday the expceted letter from Clara’s parents arrived. It was annoyingly later than the letter from Saint Mungo’s, but the pictures and treatment of the keritosis confirmed her diagnosis and helped her rest easier that she was doing the right thing.

Chapter Text

Exams were coming, and different students took it differently. Jamie was still shocked at the nonchalance of August and Roc. They had studied and prepared along with the rest, but were absolutely relaxed. There was no pressure to succeed or not, just to show up. Jamie wanted to study and work harder than ever, but Sedgley threw in his lot with August and Roc and that left Jamie the odd one out. He ended up spending more time with Clara, Alison, and Betty, but eventually had to strike it on his own because of Betty’s inability to focus.

For Betty, and she was not alone in this, it was not the exams but the upcoming Halloween night that was the source of anxiety. Betty still had no date. She had turned down several boys, she claimed, and then no one else had asked her. Alison was still date-less by choice, and happily practicing her Astronomy, Charms, History of Magic, and the rest.

Jamie also had to abandon the Library after not too long because he kept being interrupted – by ghosts. The famous Bloody Baron, Nearly Headless Nick, Catherine the Capashen, the Tartar, William of Oxford, the list of absurd names seemed to have no end. Jamie wondered why they had been absent for most of the semester and came out of the stone to harass students right before exams, but they were mainly trying to help. Trying being an important qualifier. Jamie left the Library to them and sought quiet places where he could freely practice Charms.

He eventually was compelled to complain about the ghosts and ask why they had all suddenly showed up. Ardwin the prefect looked at Jamie like he was stupid while replying, “ghosts are more active around Halloween.”

“But they’re interrupting all the studying!”

“Well that’s no way to behave. How would you feel if the one week of the year you come around everyone just wishes you to be gone? It’s bad enough with muggles acting like Halloween is supposed to be scary.”

“Ghosts showing up aren’t scary?”

“No, it’s the day the dead walk the earth. It’s not scary at all.”

“Right.” Jamie didn’t want to argue and the conversation ended there.

By Sunday afternoon Jamie was burnt out and slammed his Astronomy book shut, startling Clara. He lay his head down and muttered, “I just can’t force myself to learn this bullshit.”

“Jamie!” Clara was legitimately shocked at his bad language, though it wouldn’t have been remarkable six months prior.

“Sorry,” Jamie said, but he packed his books into his bag. “I just need a break. Why are we having exams anyway? I distinctly remember in the Harry Potter fiction books they had like zero exams except at the end of the year.”

“Well Jamie, I am not sure if having read those books does us a favor or not. Over and over again I’m finding them to be inaccurate.”

“Whatever,” Jamie said, and left Clara to work without him.

Wandering around, trying to find something fun to join, he happened upon some Hufflepuff first years – Sedgley, Carl, and Patricia. They were laying across benches in a grand hallway with tall pointed windows, one of the rare well-insulated and warm halls. Books were scattered about but they were not looking at them. Jamie flopped down on the carpeted wood floor next to them, the benches being taken.

“Hello,” said Sedgley, with no energy.

“Yo,” said Jamie. They lay there for several minutes.

Finally Sedgley spoke, and it was the simple statement, “all I want to do is play Minecraft.”

Agreement all around; they were all muggle born and understood completely. Jamie’s type-A personality made him say, “minecraft? But dude, you can do magic!” which was met with Sedgley’s “magic is hard. I need to rest.”

Jamie regretted saying anything, he was in the same mental place as Sedgley.

The void lasted another few minutes.

Eventually it was Patricia who added, “this is so much more work than my old school.”

Agreement all around again. Eventually, Jamie’s gaze drifted from the complicated stone vaulted ceiling to the window and he sat up with a start, “is that the first snow of the year?” he asked excitedly.

Nobody stirred and Patricia said, “nope, it’s ash. They’re burning something out there at the edge of the Forest. Can’t see what.”

“Oh,” said Jamie. He flopped down again and clutched his bag to his chest.

Their stilted conversation continued. The sun was setting at its early hour by the time they all got up and went to the Hufflepuff common room together. Jamie met up with Clara again after dinner and together they went through a check-list that Clara had made. Clara was super happy about everything – her strongest class was probably Charms. She hated History of Magic and hated memorizing potions ingredients, but figured she was good enough. Jamie was trying to hide it but the inventory gave him a sinking feeling. About twenty percent of the charms he couldn’t even cast properly. A test of his knowledge would be fine, like a written exam, but a practical exam could be a disaster. They hardly ever worked for him smoothly. Potions, Astronomy, Herbology, and History of Magic he felt beyond good at. With just an evening and a day to prepare, he decided to not touch those books again. He reviewed the papers. He had made a lot of check marks on Clara’s list of the transfigurations they should know, but he knew he was lying to himself. He put checks because he knew the motions and the incantations, but he could not do a single one completely. He decided to shelve Charms – it was his last hope for Transfiguration. Could he at least hope to not be at the bottom of the class?

Chapter Text

Monday stormed. It was an ill omen for the week of exams. Exams lasted over three days and ended on Wednesday, Halloween day. For the first years, Monday was empty as well. It was the last full day to prepare. That afternoon, Jamie bothered Geort again to supervise his transfiguration practice. Geort was nearly fed up with how much time Jamie had been asking for and resisted strongly. Jamie reminded him that his exam was the next day and it would be the last time, and then Geort tried to say that first year exams were meaningless but Jamie pointed out that his NEWT exam was still eighteen months away and finally Geort agreed. Jamie practiced until dinner while Geort studied distractedly for his own exams, mostly looking away from his papers and wistfully out the window. After dinner, Jamie tried to bother Geort again but Geort was having none of it.

He put his arms on the shoulders of a young witch nearby. “Hey look, it’s Mary! Mary will help you with your transfiguration.”

“I’ll what?” said Mary, annoyed.

Geory pleaded with her. “Mary, you have homework anyway, just sit next to Jamie so he can be monitored as he practices.”

She relented.

They went to a study room together; the common room was the worst place to be during exam week. It was full of students either jubilant or distressed, and in either case loud and disruptive. Mary unloaded the stack of books from her arms and pulled out her parchment and quill, barely noticing what Jamie was doing. Jamie gave Mary a brief smile and picked a fresh matchstick from his box. He was focused on matchsticks to needles, having given up on the more complex transfigurations and returning to the basics.

“Aciformum,” he said in an even, determined voice. The red ball of the matchstick became pointed but otherwise no change. He sighed.

Three hours later, Jamie was still at it. He had taken a couple breaks and read through the theory section of his transfiguration textbook again. At one point, Mary had shared some of her study snacks with him – chocolate and apples.

She yawned and stood up. “Look, kid, I can’t stay up with you all night.”

Jamie grew panicked, “but the test is tomorrow!”

“It’s just one grade, and if you don’t have it now you’re probably not going to get it in the next half hour. Get some rest.”

Jamie looked at his slightly shiny matchstick and resigned to failure, “ok.” In a last bit of energy, he asked, “can you show me once?”

“No problem, kid.” She barely muttered “aciformum” and nonchalantly tapped the matchstick. It was a perfect metal needle. “And now I’m going to crash. And you should too. You can’t learn anything when you’re tired.”

Jamie navigated the tunnels to his room. The common room clock had said it was after midnight; he had never gone to bed that late at Hogwarts. He entered the room as silently as possible and saw three full beds. He changed into pajamas and crawled under the covers, skipping brushing his teeth.

After five minutes, he decided he couldn’t sleep and had to get up. He couldn’t fail that exam tomorrow; he had never failed an exam in his life! As if he would magically figure out the secret, and suddenly be able to do the dozens of transfigurations he wasn’t even practicing.

He threw his robes over his pajamas and crept out the door again. He paused at the end of the tunnels and peered into the common room – it was empty. Only one fire burned low and a couple of lamps were lit. There were deep shadows in every corner. More bold now, he ran to the entrance and crawled out of the barrel into the hallway. He started in the opposite direction from the Great Hall, thinking he would be avoiding any other night owls. Not literal owls, he thought to himself humorously, something that goes without saying when you’re not a wizard. By the light of sparsely placed lamps, he passed door after door but all were locked. Turning a corner he found himself in a dead end with two windows at ground level. The moonlight coming in provided just enough light to see, so he decided to stop. Sitting on the floor, he took out his box of matchsticks and laid some out on the stone windowsill where the light was best.

“Aciformum,” he whispered, and nothing happened. He had the thought that whispering probably made it harder, so he said in his normal voice, “aciformum.” The match became thinner and shiny, as good as he had done before in the study room.

This is so frustrating, he thought. I’ve been doing the same thing for literally hours with no result. With a difficult math problem, you can start different ways and see where it leads you, combine different parts together, change the formulas around or do substitution, or work backwards from the solution. But this transfiguration is just to picture the needle and say the words. There’s no other way about it.

He thought again. Maybe that was his entire problem. He was doing the same thing over and over again. He couldn’t just think at it harder. He decided to try from a different angle. He touched the needle with the tip of his wand and imagined magical energy in his arm. He imagined the energy flowing through the wand and being stored in the matchstick. “Aciformum.” The matchstick broke into two pieces.

He hadn’t pictured a needle at all, so he did the same thing again but pictured the magic flowing into the matchstick and it becoming a needle. “Aciformum.” His eyes grew wide as the matchstick doubled in length and gained an eyehole, yet the entire thing was still wood. Progress. If only he had thought of this three hours ago. Mary was wrong about the value of staying up late, he thought uncharitably, not giving any credit to her ability to do the same spell without effort.

Next he imagined a needle but not small, as it usually was experienced, but as if it were huge and he was running along the top of it, from the eye to the point. The metal curved away to the horizon and he imagined the tiny imperfections in the metal he would see. “Aciformum,” he said, tapping the match. He saw a shiny shape and almost yelled out in joy but stopped himself, wary of getting caught out of bed. He had made… a metal match. It had looked like a needle in the half darkness. He sighed.

Let’s try something different again, he thought, pulling out a new matchstick and setting it on the cold stone. Instead of holding his wand against the matchstick the whole time, he imagined his body full of magical energy, being gathered in his chest and then moving down his arm to concentrate at the tip of his wand. It didn’t look or feel any different, but he kept imagining. Then he imagined a regular needle as clear as he could and said, “aciformum,” touching his wand to the match.

He scrambled back from the small, bright flash, but it was over in an instant. He heard a tinkle behind him and found the burnt match where it had fallen on the ground, no needle-like qualities at all.

“Hey, who’s there?” came a man’s voice.

Oh crap.

Within a few seconds, a Hufflepuff prefect came around the corner, holding a flickering and swinging lamp. Boris Greenwood. Jamie knew him by sight but they had never spoken because he always looked unapproachable. He always went to Ardwin.

“What are you doing here? Oh, I know you, you’re a first-year, right?”

“Yeah,” said Jamie.

“Well, what are you doing here?”

Jamie was terrified of the punishment for practicing transfiguration without supervision, but couldn’t think a a plausible lie. “My exam is tomorrow – matchsticks to needles…”

The prefect sighed. “I’m on night duty, so I’ll be up in the common room anyway. If you really want to practice, just do it there.”

Jamie was overcome with relief. He gathered the matchsticks and followed the boy back to the common room. The prefect laid back on a comfortable chair next to the fire and started organizing papers on a large table. Jamie sat at a small desk a little further away. He felt a little silly to do weird things in front of the prefect and was so tired that his head was nodding if he didn’t stay focused. He lethargically put a few matches on the table.

What to try next? He wasn’t short on ideas. He imagined the wood of the matchstick, melting down like wood would never do, and then snapping suddenly into the form of a metal needle. He played this image in his mind several times and then touched the match, “aciformum.” He sat in shock as the wood slowly melted, just as he had imagined, then TING flew away so fast he couldn’t follow. After several seconds, he heard the tinkle of it hitting the stone floor, over by the prefect.

“What are you doing?” asked the prefect, confused as to how the simplest of transfigurations resulted in launching a needle through the air.

“Sorry,” said Jamie as he rushed to find it and see the result. It took a minute but finally he picked it up – it was a needle, but without the eye punched out. He bent it in half to confirm it was metal and not wood disguised as metal. His best yet. He had just changed from a failing grade to, maybe, an Acceptable?

Exhaustion hit him hard and he decided to go to bed, the drive that was keeping him awake completely gone upon seeing something not a total failure. He said a shy thanks to the prefect and left him muttering over his papers. He crawled into bed without taking off his robes and fell asleep instantly.

Chapter Text

Clara woke up on Tuesday morning feeling perfectly normal, thank you very much. She laughed as the phrase from Mrs. Dursley’s lips crossed her mind, causing Betty, Alison, and Milly to give her weird looks.

“You’re laughing? On exam day?” Alison demanded, frustrated by her own anxieties.

Betty put her arms around Alison. “Come on, a hot breakfast will cheer you up. And some tea.”

Alison softened. They went up the flights of stairs to brush their teeth and Milly went down alone, saying nothing.

Breakfast was hot as promised, with bacon, potatoes, and crêpes. It was the first time serving crêpes and Clara was glad for the extra special treatment for their exam week.

For that first day, the Ravenclaws started with History of Magic, followed by Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration. “Trudged” was a perfectly appropriate word for how they entered the room set aside for their History of Magic exam. Their normal room was inconvenient for writing, with its dual banks of benches ascending around the professor. They say down and were surprised to see a different Professor, not the usual transparent Binns. Clara overheard Amelia explaining to Monica that Binns wasn’t allowed to proctor exams since he was so unaware of what went on around him that cheating had become rampant under his watch.

The Professor was an extremely tall, skinny woman in robes that strangely stopped just below her knees, like a dress. She was warm and welcoming but didn’t introduce herself. She simply guided them to individual desks, using her wand to send a thirty inch scroll to each. It was anti-cheating parchment, she explained. They had thirty inches to summarize the goals of all six factions who met for the Treaty of La Rue de l’Ocre, and who actually obtained their goals over the next century. Clara slumped down immediately. It was a good ten minutes before she had racked her brains enough to even remember what the treaty was about and approximately which century it was signed.

Clara was deep in her essay, trying to think it through carefully before writing each section since there were no redoes with parchment and ink, when another Ravenclaw girl interrupted her thoughts by loudly asking a question.

“Professor, excuse me, what time does the exam end?”

“There’s no time limit at all,” the Professor explained.

Clara wondered what time it was and looked around for a clock, but couldn’t find one. Several students had left already. Would she miss her next exams? But if she rushed, she might get a worse grade. Frustrated, she turned back to her page and tried to regain her train of thought.

An unknown time later, Clara was blowing carefully on her page to dry the ink before her essay curled up and smudged on itself. In the hallway, she sighed and leaned against the wall, then stretched. She started dreading the rest of her full day of exams.

Arriving at Charms, there was a short line outside of Ravenclaw and Slytherin first years. She observed and quickly realized they were waiting to be called, one by one, in no particular order. She barely started to mentally revise when it was her turn. She went in to find Professor Morsain at the head of the room and all the tables and chairs cleared to make a large ring of free space around her.

“Ah, Clara, of Ravenclaw. Please come up and stand on the white line.”

Clara did as she was told as the Professor shuffled some pages and made some marks in ink.

“Wand out,” the Professor chided, as Clara stood there feeling a bit silly and out of place.

“Right then. Please demonstrate the Brustlein Lamp.”

Clara relaxed – it was perhaps the one she knew best. She had cast it so many times as a study aid she felt she could do it in her sleep. “Afflozio,” she said calmly, moving her wand in the lemniscate pattern. The interlocking rings of light appeared in front of her, just above head height. She looked to Professor Morsain for more direction, but she was writing onto her parchment. Eventually the Professor looked up and was surprised to see Clara still standing there. “That’s it, you may go,” she said, waving Clara away towards the door.

After the extended History exam, Clara was confused but left the room with an even stride, glad to be free. Outside, she met Alison waiting in line.

“How did it go?” Alison immediately asked Clara.

“It was only one spell,” Clara told her, smiling, but Alison took that badly.

“Oh no! I know most of the spells but if she picks one I don’t remember I’ll fail the whole thing!”

Clara didn’t know what to say, so she shrugged. “I got afflozio,” she said, “and everyone in line took notice.” Clara waited for Alison to come out, and soon Alison returned.

Alison was so glad to see Clara that she rushed over and bounced up and down. “I got exogeus, I was so excited that my wandwork was too wild on the first try, but no matter I did it perfectly after that.”

They left together to go to Potions which was another difficult, long practical exam. It was only one potion but it was after the start of the midday meal when they got out. Their last exam of the day was Transfiguration, but they had no time schedule.

“Look,” Clara was exasperatedly saying to Alison, “our exam schedule just says Tuesday: History of Magic, Charms, Potions, Transfiguration. It doesn’t say where to go or when so I thought it was the normal class schedule, but it’s not.”

They decided to go to lunch as they were in danger of missing it, and ran into a prefect who explained to them that there was no schedule. In fact, they could have gone out of order if they wanted to. They sat down to a sparse meal of salads and toast and tried to find Betty, but no luck. Clara chatted with other Ravenclaws about the exams and got some tips about Transfiguration. With the whole afternoon in front of her, she debated whether to study more. She decided she couldn’t be arsed (she said to herself mentally), and went directly to Transfiguration.

Again it was a single test, to grow a pincushion to between double and three times the size, and she performed it without too much trouble.

Jamie’s Tuesday was another matter. The day started with sleeping so late he was bombarded awake by his roommates’ pillows, then immediately to Transfiguration, giving him no time at all to mentally prepare. He entered the classroom and stood before Professor Thistlethwaith as if awaiting the judgement of God. At least no other first years are in here, he thought ruefully. The spell he was requested was wood to marble, and a small wooden horse figurine set on the table in front of him. At least he knew the wandwork and incantation down pat. Now to see if he could cast it at all.

Wood to marble wasn’t too different than wood to metal. He wondered what would happen if he hit the desk rather than the figurine, since it was also made of wood. He raised up his wand arm as high as it would go, and then had to endure Thistlethwaith’s stare and raised eyebrows as he carefully imagined the wooden figurine melting and then popping back as marble several times. He cried out, “marmoriform!” and hit his wand onto the figurine’s back. The figurine seemed to bend to his wand blow in a way that wood would never do, and then suddenly flung upwards so fast that neither he nor the Professor saw which way it went. Several seconds passed before a crash and crack came from across the room.

The professor just stood there and Jamie took the initiative to fetch the thing. He brought it back – a pile of marble pieces that could have been a horse, maybe. There was a snout and some other features.

“Let’s try that again,” the Professor said simply, and placed another little wooden horse onto the table.

Jamie wound up his arm and pictured the horse snapping into marble. He intended to say the incantation a little less forcefully, but then focusing on needing the spell to go off he put all of his energy into it again. The figurine popped away again, too fast to be followed. A second later it landed back on the table, almost hitting the professor in the head. Jamie and the Professor looked. The legs had broken off but there it was: a marble horse.

“I have no idea what you’re doing, but I’m marking ‘Acceptable minus,’” the Professor said dryly, and dismissed Jamie. Jamie smiled and skipped out of the room, his knees flying high in the air.

Jamie barely stayed awake through the rest of his exams: Potions, Herbology, and ending with Astronomy. He walked out of Astronomy complaining a little too loudly, “well, that’s done. I never thought, in my entire life, I would know so much about astrology or that astrology was such a deep, convoluted field. It’s absurd how much time was spent to develop this nonsense into what pretends to be a consistent system.”

He got quiet when the looks he was receiving became too much.

Wednesday stormed again. On the way to breakfast, a window that hadn’t been properly shuttered blew open on a strong gust and rain came in, drenching Clara. With too long of a walk back to Ravenclaw to change, Clara showed up to breakfast wet. She complained to the girls nearby, “ugh! Isn’t this castle magic? Why is it always so cold and wet and dark?” They had no answer, despite being third years. Clara dried off her face with a napkin and ate more scones than normal.

Her day started with Defense Against the Dark Arts, a long practical exam that Professor Yugotich had devised, followed by a written exam. After navigating taming some Merdle Pixies and getting zapped by the Professor as they tried to raise their best shield charms, the Ravenclaws sat down exhausted, sore, and in Clara’s case still damp. Next a paper was placed before each of them and they tried to recall as many facts about periwimples, lice (the magical kind), and how to spot if someone is unknowingly under the influence of a piece of jewelry cursed with Rob the Cold’s Energy Wilt, or any of the related kinds of spells.

She was shivering in the chilled air as she dashed across the grounds from the castle to the greenhouses for Herbology. There was no practical, just a written exam, and Clara wished it had been held in a less breezy location. Fortunately, greenhouses being greenhouses, it was warm. It was pleasant to look up at the rain flowing off the glass roof when she had to stop and think or needed a mental break before continuing. After a bit she started to feel too warm and opened up her robe collar.

The exam took longer than any other, which she started to expect of Professor Longbottom. When she finally finished she didn’t jump up right away but sat back to mentally release all her tension. Sitting on her stool, waiting for the ink on the last page to dry, she looked around. It was dark enough from the clouds that the flickering lamps cast everything in yellow. She looked around at her classmates. Monica’s dark hair was draped over her page as she concentrated, almost concealing the page. Mildred’s furrowed brow. Libby looking confident and pleased with herself. Betty and Alison working away. And all the stupid boys. They all felt so familiar, even though they were strangers three months prior. And there was Milly sitting primly as usual, some sore feelings there. She got up and stacked her sheaves of parchment. Well, she thought, time to get dry, eat something… then Astronomy, and then… party time!

Jamie’s second morning of exams started with Charms and left him feeling crummy. When he had trouble with the first charm that Morsain asked of him, she asked some other things and he managed to squeak out a performance on rope coiling and and levitation. As Jamie struggled Morsain was watching him intently and it started to annoy him. As he cast corona restis for the third time, finally successfully, he stewed ruefully. What is so interesting now, that you have to watch me like I’m some research specimen? You had the whole term to watch me fail and you’re acting like you’re meeting me for the first time. Morsain seemed to notice his distress and actually patted him on the shoulder, which shocked Jamie. The cold and strict Morsain just did what? She spoke to him before sending him on his way. “Well, you won’t set the Thames on fire, but you get a passing grade.”

After he was dismissed from Charms, he was actually happy to go into History. He had so many ideas to write that he actually wrote his essay twice, the second time restructuring it into something he was proud of, something he wouldn’t mind submitting somewhere if there were such things as wizarding history periodicals. He ended the day with Defense and was in high spirits by the time he was released. Unlike in Charms, the few spells he had to cast came off successfully – though he had no idea how his shield stacked up against the other students. Everyone’s shield was eventually broken, so only Yugotich knew how much he had to put into his zapping spell to get there. The written exam was, again, a breeze. A massive, rolling thunder rocked the building just as he left the classroom and his mood interpreted it as a good omen, like he was singled out of everyone for the universe to say BOOM!, exams complete.

Chapter Text

It was impossible to contain the chatter at the usually somber formal dinner. Headmistress McGonagall ended it early and sent everyone out to get changed, which confused Jamie and Clara. It turned out that most of the older students had special dress robes with some amount of color or style to them, but just-black was ok too. The first years hung out in the entrance halls or meandered to the second floor. They usually self-separated by House, as broom practice showed, but cross-house friend groups and nascent couples mixed them all back together again, back to how they were on the first day in the station, huddling together and confused.

They were soon let back in and the Great Hall had been changed. Orange mood lighting, a stage where the teachers usually sat, bats flitting from the rafters and cobwebs that Clara hoped weren’t real. There were drinks and snacks that no one was interested in. The benches cleared, the Great Hall felt large, too large and cavernous. But once it filled up with students, the mass of black with hints of color poking through, it was warm and no longer too large at all. An acoustic band made its way to the stage, what looked like half students and half older wizards and witches that Clara didn’t recognize. Clara and Jamie hardly associated with students more than a few years older than them and it was weird to be all mixed together.

The wide difference in age and maturity between the first years and the rest of the students was immediately obvious. The oldest students were the smallest class because not everyone continued for NEWTs, and, looking around, Jamie guessed that many had skipped the dance entirely. But fifth years immediately dominated the dance floor. As soon as the first fiddle struck, they were at it as only old friends do. For the first years, their House loyalties were momentarily forgotten but they were still divided by gender. Everyone was self-conscious and afraid to be the first couple to break the detente.

Fortunately some friend groups started to move and mingle, and that led Clara, Alison, and Betty to dance together. They danced with their arms locked in a ring, they danced two making an arch and the third underneath, they danced crazily with their arms flailing outwards.

Even though they agreed to be each others’ date, Jamie and Clara didn’t enter the dance together because they didn’t want to be too obvious. Jamie hung out with a group of mostly Hufflepuffs, but he kept looking over to see what Clara was doing. He started to get weird thoughts in his head, like what would he do if she started dancing with some other guy, but told himself he was silly. Somehow, being back in that environment of a school dance took him emotionally backwards. Maybe not all the way to eleven, but to the high school dances he remembered, and the drama. He would rather not remember that right then.

Clara, for her part, was wholly absorbed and was surprised when Milly suddenly appeared beside her. Actually, Milly had been there a while but hadn’t said anything to draw attention. Clara smiled but Alison and Betty gave her a look to say, “so?” They missed Milly terribly, but were waiting for an apology, an explanation, or some other signal.

The group that Milly had been hanging out with stood ten yards distant, the “hot” Gryffindor boy (as Betty called him) and his friends, though Betty probably wouldn’t call him hot anymore after he turned out to be snobbish. Clara looked over and saw them watching. They were all from pure blood families and proud of their status.

Milly was shy at first, but started with, “so, the music is great, right?”

Betty responded, “it’s like the pubs in my mom’s village we go to, kind of. The fiddle always makes me want to moooove!” She said the final part dramatically, giving a wild spin. After that it was like the last weeks were forgotten, their chatter grew more animated as the continued until they were gesturing wildly and the energy was like to make up for missed time.

But that excitement was halted by a sour voice, cutting through their laughter.

“Come back over here, Milavicent.”

Milavicent dismissed it. “Give me a minute,” she said, waving her hand turning back to the girls.

But Conrad wouldn’t let her alone. “You’re better than that, Milavicent. You come from an old wizarding family. Just like us.”

Milavicent paused mid-story for the second time, and turned towards Conrad. “I don’t care, they’re my friends.”

“Milavicent, come on, they’re mudbloods.”

That word, mudblood, finally broke Milavicent. She realized she should have been shocked, should have been looking around to see who else had heard, her indignation and that of everyone around her should have been paramount. But she felt that she was not surprised at all. In that moment, she finally realized that talking about old wizarding families needing to stick together was just code words for blood purity. Why was one acceptable and the other not? It was all a trick. She stamped her foot.

“Conrad you ass. I’m done with you.”

Another word that should have elicited shocked looks, but didn’t. No one involved questioned whether Conrad was an ass.

Milavicent continued. “You were so worried about showing up to the dance without a date – well guess what? Now you’re a loser without a date.”

She strode off quickly into the hall towards the stage. The three Ravenclaw girls quickly followed. Across the room, Milavicent started to try and apologize and say she was wrong and she missed them all, but she didn’t get far before Alison, Betty, and Clara all were past it and ready to dance again. Milly quit talking and the four of them danced until they annoyed too many older students with their yelling and bumping into people. The went to check out the snacks.

In between bites of squash tart, Betty poked Clara in the ribs. “Clara, why aren’t you with Jamie?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know,” Clara demurred.

“Come on, I know you like him, it’s sooo obvious.”

Clara blushed and internally laughed at herself. Why was she blushing? Her three friends pulled Clara around the dance hall until they found Jamie talking to some Hufflepuff boys and girls.

“Hey Jamie,” Betty called, “Clara has something she would like to say to you.”

“Oh, really?” Jamie asked, feeling nervous with all the attention.

“Ummm… Jamie…” Clara started, then her cheeks flushed and she looked at the ground. Finally she finished, “would you like to dance?” Somehow she had become caught into the mood, the excitement and nerves of the first school dance. She had never dated anyone before college and had skipped all of her school dances, so it really was her first real school dance. In that moment, she felt eleven. She waited and got Jamie’s disappointingly plain answer.

“Sure.”

Clara looked up into his eyes and blushed even deeper.

They didn’t dare hold hands in front of everyone, but walked together onto the packed and wild dance floor. Jamie and Clara looked back at everyone, who were still watching, then the music stopped. They had to stand around awkwardly for the next song, and it began slowly. The frenetic pace gave way to the first slow dance of the evening. Jamie took Clara’s hand while putting his hand on Clara’s hip, and they moved together. Their hands were sweaty.

Clara whispered into Jamie’s ear, “we haven’t danced since our wedding.” She tried to ignore the “oooh” of some voices behind her when she leaned in.

“Too long,” Jamie agreed.

After two songs, a loud fill from the drummer woke everyone from their reveries and the band went wild again. The room filled with cheers and people from the sidelines were pulled onto the floor, making it so packed that it was hard to dance. Milavicent, Alison, and Betty joined them, and Sedgly was dancing with Betty. The later it got, the more ghosts were in the room and the more wild they zoomed. Clara bumped into someone behind her and turned only to be scolded by a see-through skinny woman in medieval court dress. Clara had danced right through the ghost lady and bumped into her dance partner, an older boy.

They danced for an hour and a half and only stopped when it felt like their legs would give out. Eventually they rested on the side, sipping punch, and watched the Halloween ball wind down. They left for bed well before the last partiers.

Chapter Text

Clara wished she could give Jamie a parting peck but held off; they had no privacy. They started back towards Ravenclaw and Clara felt full, physically and emotionally rejuvenated. It was great to be walking with all four of them again, Milavicent included. But they didn’t get as far as Ravenclaw.

At a signal between Alison and Betty, they took a different turn, to loop back to the main entrance via the third floor, trying to avoid anyone. They had to clue in Milavicent.

Alison explained, “we’re going to make a pact, to bind us as friends for life.”

Clara joined in. “We chose this portentous time and a portentous place – to make it feel more official.”

“Yeah, the grave of Albus Dumbledore,” Betty said mischievously.

Milavicent had to stop them forcibly. “Wait, girls, this is dangerous. You chose a special night, and a special place, those things really have power.”

“But it’s not a real spell,” Betty countered, “it’s something we just made up.”

“But where do you think spells come from?”

This stopped Betty, as she thought. “Actually I don’t know – where do spells come from?”

“Well, someone has to make them up at some point,” Milly explained without explaining.

They were quiet while they all weighed the risks in their heads. Alison finally said to Milavicent, “here’s what we were going to say,” and told her their “spell.”

Milavicent tentatively nodded, “yeah, it sounds safe enough. There’s no punishment specified, even if… even if it works, somehow.”

Clara proudly took credit for most of it. “I worded it carefully.”

Betty was growing impatient. “Do you want to be part of our coven or not?”

“What’s a coven?” asked Milavicent.

“You know, a group of witches, that all are together, like friends.”

Clara found it strange that Milavicent never knew the word. Real witches didn’t have covens? Then who made up the idea? The Church?

After thinking again, Milavicent still equivocated. “It just seems too risky… messing with magic you don’t understand.”

“But is it magic?” asked Clara.

“Oh yes,” Milavicent said, her eyes wide, “you don’t know but there are a ton of spells like this. My uncle died from an unbreakable vow… my mum would never tell me what it was about, but apparently they worded it in a bad way that he could never fulfill it. He wasted away until it took him. My mum said everything has power, if you do it with meaning.”

“It’s supposed to have meaning,” Alison said. “We agreed, together, the three of us, that we wanted this.”

Clara was less sure, now that Milavicent was there telling her they might be doing real magic and not a silly friendship pact.

But Betty was also sure. “And we wanted you there, too, but you were too busy with Conrad,” she said, spitting his name.

Milavicent hesitated one last time, and agreed. In the face of that, Clara couldn’t back down.

Outside the gate, they passed through the stone arches. It was still raining, but lightly. There was almost no light pollution around Hogwarts. If it wasn’t for the waning gibbous moon it would have been pitch dark. In that dim light, the dirt and stone paths shone against the darker grass and earth. They were able to find their way easily after their eyes adjusted. Knowing the way, they were soon back to Albus Dumbledore’s grave.

“I wonder if his ghost will come out?” asked Clara, remembering that ghosts were more active around Halloween.

“I don’t think he became a ghost,” Milavicent stated matter of factly, “otherwise someone would have seen him by now.”

“But still,” continued Clara, “the barrier between the living and the dead is supposed to be weak tonight, All Hallow’s Eve.” Clara was surprised at herself for taking it seriously. What did it mean for muggles? If she was back in the States, could she connect with her grandma?

Around the circle, the limbs of the trees were dark against the half cloudy sky. The four of them formed a circle at the edge of the rocky plinth, away from the grave itself, facing each other but several arms lengths away. Or maybe it was a cross. Clara noticed that by chance they were aligned with the cardinal directions. Probably because the sarcophagus was aligned North-South. Betty explained to Milavicent that they planned to point their wands together and say the phrase seven times. Why seven? It just felt magical, that’s why. Milavicent had to wonder if Betty knew more than she let on. Seven was a magical number, all wizard-borns knew it. But did Betty choose it by chance?

The three muggle borns had carefully memorized what to say, but they had to go over it several times with Milavicent. Finally they decided they were ready, even though Clara was annoyed that the first rhyme was ruined by the change of three to four. Just as some clouds cleared from the moon, they pointed their wands together though the tips were a foot apart. Betty started the chant and the three others joined in. By the third repetition, Milavicent had it down perfectly and her voice grew stronger. All of their voices grew stronger with each repetition, until they were yelling the last one.

Young as we are, we witches four

Pledge even after our end be never free

Of each others’ love and laugh

Kindness and support even from our cenotaph

From what we need and what we give

Our pact and coven are to be lived

Forever us witch-friends shall be

 

Make the world as we desire

Obstacles we will set on fire

Through the flames and through the rain

It’s us against all until sunny again

All for one and one for all

All support when one may fall

Forever us witch-friends shall be

Silence. A bird chirped.

“Did anything happen?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Maybe I felt something?”

Clara led the way back to Hogwarts. Betty was right, she did feel more witchy since they had done their silly ritual. She had not yet internalized her new identity, but she was a witch, whatever that meant. It meant spells, and potions, and herbs, and secret doors in pubs and a secret society. All in all, it was something cool. Clara had never been cool, or particularly proud of herself. She knew, on paper, that she should have been immensely proud to have gotten into and out of medical school. But she had never really felt it. She was always anticipating the next thing and not being satisfied with where she currently was. In this case, with being a witch, it wasn’t really pride she felt, she hadn’t done anything to feel proud about – witching came for free. But it was a sort of… accepting yourself. And being comfortable with yourself.

Betty put her arms around Alison and Milavicent’s shoulders. “We’re glad you’re back, Milly,” she said. Clara stayed apart but felt no less a part of the group. She swirled her robes and felt her wand in its pocket. The ritual had meant something, deeply, for the four of them. But she could only wonder if there was any real magic in it.

Chapter Text

Jamie woke up to a room lit by a blazing fire in the grate and not light from the windows, which surprised him. The sleeping quarters’ fires usually weren’t lit except evenings and weekends, when they were more likely to be occupied. Still in bed, he peered out the high windows. The overcast skies threatened to storm again, but there was no rain yet.

He wondered what time it was. He wondered if the others were still in their beds. Groggy, he rolled over and slept again for an unknown period. Eventually he woke up again and felt rested enough. The other beds all had their curtains pulled back, so everyone else was out. He put on fresh robes and stumbled into the common room and looked at the clock first thing – it was just after ten A.M. Students were milling about and he waved hello to a few other first years.

The pangs of hunger in his stomach made him wish that he hadn’t missed breakfast. Lunch was still a long ways off. And after lunch, their grades would be reported in the afternoon. He wondered how much trouble he could get into by going to the kitchens again.

Thinking over what he should do, he realized that he was free until Monday. The feeling was slow to build, but eventually he felt it. Totally free. Four days. No homework, no exams. Well, free within the confines of Hogwarts. He had heard older students planning Hogsmeade trips but he was banned from that for a couple more years. No matter, the castle itself had plenty to offer. What to do? He decided to take the longest bath of his life.

Jamie was one of the first to the Great Hall for the midday meal. In fact, he was so early the food hadn’t been served. He took a seat and made sure to keep his hands clear for the food to appear from below, but he didn’t sit for long. With the relief from exams being over boosting spirits, everyone was more social and as soon as other Hufflepuffs started to arrive, Jamie was caught up in conversation.

Stuffing a spinach pastry in his mouth, he saw Clara enter the Great Hall – and go straight to Slytherin. He watched agape as she smiled and talked to some older Slytherins for several minutes, before finally sitting at Ravenclaw. He remembered that time practicing for exams, when she hung out with some Slytherins. What was she doing? They were literally evil, what was Clara doing? He accosted her after their meal was over.

Without even a hello, he started with, “why were you at Slytherin?” with a repulsed look on his face.

Clara was confused. “I was just talking, I mean asking. I’m going to start violin lessons.”

“Violin?” It was the last thing that Jamie would have guessed. He was too surprised to be indignant any more.

“Yeah. Seeing the musicians at the halloween party, and they were students too, made me want to start. I always regretted not playing an instrument growing up. So now’s my chance for a do-over. I asked her at the dance, I mean Anna.”

“Anna? But she’s a Slytherin?”

“Yeah? So? She was really nice. I was just asking her where I could get started and she offered to teach me herself, ten sickles a month. She has two students already.”

Jamie slowly calmed down and accepted it. It was Clara’s choice anyway. And it wasn’t like the violin would be a gateway drug to… other Slytherin activities. “Ok,” he said finally, and then was able to get excited. “Wow, that’s cool actually. The players were so good at the dance, I didn’t even realize they were students. But where will you get a violin?”

“Oh, she said I can borrow one until I can buy my own at Christmas break. We are still going to London, right?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jamie agreed with enthusiasm. “And since you can buy it with muggle money you can get a pretty good violin, not just a crummy beginner one.”

Clara was kind of annoyed that Jamie acted as if he controlled their purse strings, but let it slide. She changed the subject. “So what are you up to?”

“Dreading grades and trying to plan something special to make these four days feel awesome.”

“Oh, I was just planning on relaxing.” Actually, Clara was thinking about The Mimsy Records, but also relaxing.

Jamie shrugged and left as Sedgley was calling his name. He wanted adventure.

The exam results were released at two in the afternoon, on giant boards set up outside the Great Hall. Jamie and Clara arrived separately, and found the wide corridor packed. Too short to see over anyone’s heads, they were quickly lost in the throng. Born by the same instincts to not fight for no reason and a natural aversion to crowds, they met by chance at the far side of the hall by a window. They surveyed the scene: mainly older students were at the front, not only being bigger and able to push through, but getting there early, knowing to expect crowds, and having more at stake in their grades. Groans and cries of happiness came out, the loudest from the fifth years who were using their grades as a proxy for their potential OWLs. Fortunately, it wasn’t long before the corridor started to clear and Clara and Jamie could move forward.

The boards were tall with small print. Over six hundred students multiplied by the number of classes – they were grateful that it was alphabetical but they had to search one by one, class by class. Jamie didn’t like that it was public, it didn’t feel right. But Clara didn’t seem to care, she was too busy telling Jamie about all the names she recognized and their grades. Jamie wondered if he was sensitive because he expected his grades would be bad.

“Look, Jamie, Betty’s name again on ‘Exceeds Expectations’ for Charms. I thought she was kind of a ditzy gossip, but she might be the top in the class! I think half her grades were Outstanding.”

Clara didn’t realize that Betty was standing right behind her as she said it, but Betty wasn’t hurt. Soon the four girls were laughing together. Jamie was glad to see even Milavicent was joining in. He knew Clara had been out of sorts the whole time they were fighting, even though Clara hardly ever mentioned it. Clara’s grades were Exceeds Expectations in Potions, Defense, and, Transfiguration, Acceptable in History, Herbology, and Astronomy, with one Outstanding in Charms. She was satisfied.

While Clara chatted away, Jamie was alone poking around the boards for his grades. He could hardly breathe as he searched for his name. He didn’t want to share that probably embarrassing moment with anyone, especially not Sedgley or August or Roc. He kept repeating to himself, “grades don’t matter until OWLs, grades don’t matter” to keep his nerves in check as he scanned for his name in seven different lists. He found the seventh time his name was written. And Astronomy, EE, that’s ok. He was done. That was the last one. He reviewed in his mind. History and Herbology: Outstanding. Potions, Astronomy: EE. And A for Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. He had done it. His lowest grade was an Acceptable. He felt like crying and laughing at the same time, alternating with dread about how he would get through the rest of the year in Charms and Transfiguration. He couldn’t sustain the kind of effort it took to squeak out those Acceptables. There was one additional fact that made him glow. Since everyone’s grades were there, in a line, he could see almost nobody got an Outstanding in Herbology, in any year. Professor Longbottom was not generous – how did Jamie receive his Outstanding?

He had been planning on where he would hide for the rest of the day if he had received failing grades, but knowing he held a brace of Acceptables he was ready to join his friends. He found Sedgley hanging out with several other muggle-born Hufflepuffs and discussing whether magic in Lord of the Rings was cooler or less cool than real magic.

“But memorizing endless ingredient lists – it’s tedious!” he was complaining. Patricia pointed out that Gandalf’s time was mostly spent poring over old books and traveling across the countryside to find more old books than actually doing any magic.

“Yo,” said Jamie, interrupting them.

“Hey, Jamie,” Sedgley replied, “how did you make out?”

“A mix of A, EE, and O. Okay I guess.”

“Dang, you got some Outstandings? I didn’t get a single one.”

Jamie shrugged.

“Did you talk to Roc and August? They had so many EE’s.” Sedgley shook his head, “how did they do so much better than me when we always studied together?”

“Well,” Jamie said with a quick response prepared, “that’s the advantage of knowing a ton of magic before you even get to Hogwarts. Or, you know, potion ingredients and herbs being normal household things.”

“Yeah,” Sedgley agreed, hesitatingly forgiving himself. “What are you doing now? It’s cold outside but we’re thinking of a Cups and Swords tournament. There’s even a bunch of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws joining. It’s first years only.”

“Heck yes!”

For both Jamie and Clara, the next four days were less relaxing than they had originally planned. The castle was livelier than ever, with mostly unsupervised students running through the halls, outdoors, and in the grounds. Not that it mattered to first years, but the borrow-brooms were oversubscribed. Jamie found out because of loud complaining in the common room about the queue. Of course, only students too poor to afford their own broom were in the lurch.

The castle was a mad house and Jamie ate up every minute of it. Clara, on the other hand, was stressed that the only time it calmed down was during the formal dinners. She reveled plenty, but also sought out quiet corners where she could pull out The Mimsy Records and try out some spells. With the four of them now freely sharing the book, they were making good progress. It was easier to find out what certain spells did if you had a partner, such as the paper messenger spell. Clara had puzzled over it for hours, trying to understand what the picture of angular doves and cryptic notes were. But with Alison, Betty, and Milavicent, they figured it out within half an hour (destroying an old book by accident, sending many pages flying across the room). Even with practice, though, their messages usually fell short and landed within ten or twenty feet. They thought they could cast it easily, since it worked the length of the classroom, but further tests proved that they were just too inexperienced to cast it well.

Sunday night came and both of them felt ready to return to class, rested and fulfilled.

Chapter Text

Classes resumed. Regular meals, set working hours, no errands, no pointless meetings, no chores, no commute, no traffic, no being on hold with IT while they tried to figure out why your domain account had been locked out. It was work but it hardly felt like work.

Jamie was more productive than the last decade of his life. His biggest worry that week was when he ate too many greasy sausages and was missing Tuesday afternoon Charms while he sat on a toilet. He might not have cared so much, but Professor Morsain had started noticing him. He couldn’t wander in late without a care like so many students did. She hadn’t said anything, but he could feel her eyes on him in class, watching him practice when she thought he was too focused to realize what was happening.

After class, he dumped his books on top of his trunk and sat on his bed, mussing the knit quilt. He thought he had no worries, but in that quiet moment they all came rushing back. Charms. The biggest problems in his life were probably Charms and Transfiguration, which remained impossible for Jamie to keep up… or maybe being separated from his family and friends for seven years with hardly a phone call. If they returned to America they would likely be detained by MACUSA, according to McGonagall, so even the summer was out. They went on a two week vacation in London and, poof, can never return home for seven years. Jamie laid his head in his hands. How was he going to get through the next seven years?

The door slammed open and Sedgley came in in a bluster. “Yoo….” he trailed off. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”

“You know, just worried about, like, Charms and Transfiguration.”

“Jamie, how are you sad about your grades? You got, what, two Outstandings? Did you not look, almost no one got a single one! How did you manage to get two!?”

“Yeah, it was in History of Magic and …”

“Let me see your History exam.”

Jamie dug through the disordered stacks and rolls of parchment in his trunk, eventually producing the exam sheet that he had just got back. He handed it to Sedgley.

Sedgley read it out loud, “Although the political upheaval in the years 1789 to 1811 were tumultuous, with as many competing interests as people, the motivation of the myriad factions can be understood in terms of one common impetus: securing pro-wizard seats in the newly formed Gamotgobtobob, or Goblin Senate. Ironically this would upend the Wizengamot and…” Sedgley stopped there. “Oh my god Jamie, your writing is so small. And your essay sounds like a newspaper, or magazine or something. You deserve your Outstanding.”

Jamie asked, “can I see yours?” and Sedgley obliged. The letters were large and, while the complete answer was there, with all the major points, it was not well written at all. It was like an eleven year old wrote it.

Jamie shrugged, unsure what to say. He handed it back to Sedgley, who took it and stared at it a bit before taking out his wand, tapping the page, and uttering “incendio.” The page burned neatly and left nothing but a small wisp of smoke hanging in the air which was slowly sucked in to the chimney draft.

Sedgley sat down on one of the small, plush chairs they had in the room, and didn’t say anything. It was to Jamie to start conversation again.

“So, are you leaving for Christmas?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah, of course I’m going home. You aren’t?”

Jamie had to think. If he wasn’t lying about his life he should be going to Cornwall for the break. “Yeah, I’m going. But I might come back early. Because the break is so long and my parents have work.”

“Oh. I’ll be gone the whole four weeks. I am not sure I like it though. All my friends will be there, from my muggle school, but I’m not supposed to tell them anything? What do I even say? I’m not a liar.”

“We can owl each other if you get lonely.”

“How can I owl? Where do I even find an owl post in Woking?”

“Wizards have to be able to do something. Let’s ask Roc and August later. Or literally anyone that’s not a first year muggle born like us.”

“They own their own owls. I can’t buy a magic owl!”

“Oh yeah, I forgot that since we never see them. Have you used the owlry here? It’s kind of cool if you haven’t been up there.”

“I sent one letter to me mum in October, but didn’t get any response. I wonder if it arrived.”

“Well, let’s get out of this room. The one place in Hogwarts where there’s no answers to anything.”

They changed into clean and pressed robes so they would be ready for dinner, and left their room.

Chapter Text

Clara’s week started with her first violin lesson from Anna Fitzsimmons. They met deep underground, three flights below ground level. Clara had never been down there before and as she tromped deeper and deeper, she started to feel worried. Her mind envisioned her being locked in some dungeon somewhere and no one could hear her yelling, or a spell made her lost forever, wandering the damp, dripping stone passages. But there were other students around, almost all Slytherins, and she forced herself to relax. She arrived at the hall that Anna had described – broad and round with six paths branching off, and the ceiling two floors up. It felt good to be in a more open space. It was well lit and you could almost forget you were underground, except for the damp chill. She didn’t wait long before Anna was tapping her on her shoulder.

“Hello, Clara!” Anna said, smiling.

“Hi.”

“Let’s go over here, there’s a bunch of small rooms I love to practice in. They don’t have horrible echo-y acoustics and the doors are so thick and heavy that they’re almost private. You can squeak away and not be self-conscious.”

Clara followed Anna into a room and shut the door, muting the noise from the hallways. Anna set two cases on a wooden bench next to the wall. She opened one of them, a beat up leather case, and took out a violin and bow, handing them to Clara. Clara took them awkwardly and held the violin gingerly as if it would break at the slightest touch. Anna took out the second violin and held the neck confidently between a few fingers as she used both hands to try and get Clara set up in the proper position.

Anna started the lesson after a bit of small talk. “Ok. So at first we aren’t going to use any sheets. You want to play with people? You need to be able to use your ears.” Anna played her lowest string, and then sang the same note. “Sing with me, Clara.” She sung a major scale starting at that note. “Do, re, mi…”

The second time, Clara followed along.

“Good! See how easy it was to follow my notes with your voice? With enough practice, you can do the same with the violin. The violin is your voice.”

After several minutes of singing, Anna switched over to the violins that they had been holding the whole time.

“We’re going to play open strings at first. I tuned it for you. It won’t stay in tune forever, but that’s fine for now. So take your bow.”

Clara put the violin under her chin, took her bow and laid it across the strings. The whole thing felt awkward.

“Not too hard, not too soft, and pull the whole length.” Anna bowed a long note, rich and beautiful, holding it for over ten seconds as she slowly went the whole length of her bow. “Now you.”

Clara bowed. The screech was horrendous. She tried again and again, and eventually a note was coming out. She could only make a good note by going a bit fast, and there was no way to keep it going for ten seconds like Anna had done. But Anna was satisfied.

“Now let’s try all four strings. Do one at a time.” She demonstrated, four notes going from low to high.

Clara tried and squeaked all over. It was hard to pick out one string at a time, but after several minutes and Anna’s encouragement, it was starting to sound better.

“Here,” Anna said, “the bow should be perpendicular to the string, always.” She corrected Clara’s right hand in a way that felt so awkward, like she was reaching out. Trying to play like that, she was back to scratchy noise for a bit before she adjusted.

“Now for the fingers. Wrap your fingers around this way.”

They spent another ten minutes trying to play notes with each finger in turn. Clara’s left hand was already tired and aching, but Anna went on.

“Ok, the last thing for today. Just like we sang before, sing it and play it at the same time. Your voice knows the correct note, but your hand does not. So match the violin to your voice. Like this: do re mi fa so la ti doooo.”

It was just playing some basic notes but Clara felt like the lesson was too fast, she hesitated and Anna jumped in with even more instruction.

“See, you just use your first, third, and fourth finger. Not the second. Do re mi…”

Clara tried and squeaked out an out-of-tune major scale using the bottom two strings. She felt ridiculous, but Anna smiled and clapped. “Good job! You’re doing it! Now just practice that every day this week, on every string. You can pick any two strings and do the same.”

Clara wasn’t sure. A whole week without playing a song? Well, she signed up and had paid ten sickles, so if this was learning the violin then ok.

They played and sang together and pretty soon Anna was packing up. Forty-five minutes had gone by but it felt short, like they had hardly any time for anything. Clara thanked Anna as she rushed out the door, leaving Clara alone. Clara’s hand ached so she decided that was enough for now, but she took a moment to look at the violin more closely. The brown wood was beautifully stained. It looked so delicate. She touched the scroll and plucked one string, dunnnng. Given the time to notice, the neck and body were covered in dents and scratches. There was a glue chip coming off where the top face joined the side. Clara loved every part of it and gave it a little hug before resting it in its case.

Chapter Text

Jamie spent much of the week in the library – they had the comfiest chairs and fires constantly blazing. He hated studying in his own room and the Hufflepuff common room was impossible with the amount of activity and noise. Clara was assisting in the hospital wing three evenings that week, so couldn’t hang out with her. Plus, she was always with her Ravenclaw friends.

Not that the library was perfect either. On one occasion, Jamie was trying to focus through the sounds of giggling and wet smooching coming from the nearby stacks. Eventually he had to move across the library, which was fortunately labyrinthine. He had to complain about it to Roc, August, and Sedgley later, “why would they go to the library to do that? There’s endless secret corridors and empty former classrooms and storage. It’s like they want to be seen!” to which the three of them shrugged or made faces like they were disgusted at the thought of kissing for hours.

The golden scarab made an appearance, and Jamie wasted twenty minutes debating whether it mattered enough to bring it to someone’s attention. He wanted to ignore it and not care, but he remembered what the other kids said about magical objects that had a real voice – they were rare and special. He ended up deciding to leave it alone.

Another day he was deep in thought when he was interrupted by, “hey, Hufflepuff.” It was actually the third time he had been called, he was so focused… on his daydreaming. He turned to look across the oaken slabs to a student on the other side. It was a first year he recognized, but couldn’t remember the name.

“Huh?” Jamie asked, his mind still half into his own thoughts.

“You’re Jamie, right?”

Jamie nodded.

“What are you reading?”

“Oh, uh, I was just looking at these books on magical buildings, or spells for buildings.” Jamie was slightly embarrassed, “I know I can’t cast any of these, but, you know, just seeing what is possible. Maybe I’ll do my own house some day.”

“Oh, that’s cool. My parents house has an extension charm on the back wing, but otherwise nothing because it’s just in Henckleypoot.”

“Henckleypoot?”

“That’s a wizarding village.”

“Oh.”

The stilted conversation paused.

The boy started again, “you study a lot but you don’t hang out in groups like the other Hufflepuffs. You think you should have been in Ravenclaw?”

Jamie’s heart started racing. He recalled the beginning of the year, his absolute dismay at being placed in Hufflepuff and wanting a do-over, wishing the hat gave him a choice… but then he remembered all he had been through in the last three months. “Naw, I like Hufflepuff.” He was surprised at his confidence in that answer. “Anyway, what’s your name?”

“Anatole.”

They nodded at each other and said nothing until a brief wave goodbye, hours later.

Chapter Text

Clara was overjoyed to be allowed in the Hospital Wing for several evenings that week, even though she wasn’t finding much to do. Madam Pierce was not forthcoming with much instruction or guidance. She decided she was ok with that; she was ”young” and knew nothing, so it was enough to observe how Madam Pierce worked. Clara wasn’t even trusted to fetch potions or ingredients, but did get to assist on setting an arm so that the bone would fuse properly when Madam Pierce cast the spell to do so.

The work itself was fascinating because it was completely different than regular medicine. Many of the problems were physical injuries, but sometimes they got magical mishaps. There was no differential diagnosis or standard interview like in a hospital. Madam Pierce relied on her own wand and potions to somehow investigate the problem, and Clara didn’t understand a single thing that the Head Healer did.

There was also a lot of down time, just waiting for a student to show up. It was quiet and peaceful there, since Madam Pierce didn’t offer conversation and Clara quickly learned to not bother the nurse. The nurse, who was there probably sixteen hours a day, was a wizened old witch with long hair that was always bundled up above her shoulders. She handled admissions and took down copious records, said almost nothing, and acted bothered the few times Clara tried to say anything to her. Clara decided to leave her alone.

Instead, she spent time in the small collection of reference books on magical healing, which the Head Healer consulted only once in all the time Clara had observed. Paging through the books, she didn’t recognize a single description of a disease. What did witches do when they had, for instance, a common melanoma? She wondered if all the diseases in the books were magical or if they were just funny names for things she already knew.

One item that stood out was a cure of myopia. This she already knew, there was a spell which had been performed on her at Saint Mungo’s. But she found out that there wasn’t just the spell, but there was also a potion that was to be applied to the eyes while staring at a full moon. Clara grew immediately excited. She could send the potion to her parents with instructions!

Madam Pierce was intimidating, but Clara broached the subject immediately, as the ward was empty. She was shocked by the response, almost of anger.

“Send a potion to muggles? To muggles?” Madam Pierce said, her voice rising in pitch as she grew agitated at the thought.

“But they already know all about Hogwarts and…”

“No, we do not treat muggles!” Madam Pierce was disgusted. Clara grew sad and gave up the argument.

Later, in the corridor, she was incensed. How dare they deny healing to her parents! She internally became more firm in her conviction to learn magical healing. It would be a lot harder to deny healing to her parents and family as they aged if Clara could just do it herself. She went as far as the door outside of McGonagall’s office, stomping the whole way, before stopping herself.

She took deep breaths. What was she doing? It wasn’t McGonagall, as if she was an old friend. It was Headmistress McGonagall and she didn’t need to be bothered with a silly first year’s problem. Her parents had been living with myopia for decades; they could wait a few more years until Clara could cure them. She was sad and frustrated, and skipped going to the Hospital Wing the next day. But returned, sheepishly, the day after. Madam Pierce was kind enough, or perhaps rude enough, to not say anything and let Clara continue learning.

Chapter Text

It was Clara’s turn to send the owl to their parents that week. On Saturday morning she climbed the steps to the owlry and clutched her letter and cloak close, glad that she didn’t have to walk outside to get there. Simply being up in that breezy tower full of open holes was enough chill.

They had received the last letter from their parents a week prior, and in it they asked about Christmas recess. Clara had to break it to them that they would be going to London, not America. Seven years of no Christmas together was going to hit hard. She was fully open about the reasons. At least the Statute allowed that far, with her own parents. She wondered if her letters were read before being delivered. If she said something she shouldn’t, would they catch her? If she started sending owls to her friends, would they be stopped? She had no plans to test the limits.

The rest of the letter was full of platitudes about school, nothing important. It went on long; Clara realized she liked writing letters. It felt more personal and somehow more connected than email or even a video call. She had also filled it up on purpose, with the knowledge that with the long time for letter delivery they might only get back one more letter before the break. Her mind wandered rapidly from topic to topic. Should she order gifts for her parents once they got into London? They might still arrive before Christmas if they did it right away.

It was strange, these letters. Without them she would completely forget about her life outside of Hogwarts. All her past cares felt quaint and silly. But she had new cares, like how would they possibly pay for the rest of their school supplies.

She waved her hand and one of the school owls flew down, landing on the horizontal beam in front of her. She took a length of string and tied on the letter. She looked left and right to make sure she was alone, and then whispered to the bird’s ear hole, “they’re for my parents, in America. Jack and Robin Sandoval.”

The owl hooted lightly and left in a flurry of feathers, making almost no sound.

Chapter Text

November twelfth. After a satisfying Defense Against the Dark Arts, Clara was in her tower room watching the sun set. Dismayed at the short days, she had started spending that last hour of sunlight, after her last class, in the Ravenclaw Tower. The sun lasted a little bit longer up there, without any tree or tower to block it when it was low. She looked up from being distracted in her thoughts and saw that the sun had dipped fully below the horizon, leaving only a deep orange glow absent of the disk of the sun itself. She glanced at the clock – 3:58 PM. That was the first time the sun set before four.

There was more than a month to go before the days started getting longer again, and Clara resolved to get outside midday, every day, instead of her sunset ritual. It was just not enough sun to keep her spirits up. In the doldrums between Halloween and Christmas, no leaves on the trees, no snow and no snow expected, it was trying on her soul. Clara listened to a light wind whistling around the tower, unable to see anything through her black windows. The Hogwarts hallways felt colder than ever and she found herself favoring those that were well lit, with fires crackling. She was surprised that the castle no longer felt like a labyrinth; she knew several ways to go and never got lost. When she was with Milavicent, Betty, and Alison, the cold didn’t penetrate as deep and they took the shortest route. But when she was alone, she took the extra time.

Evening came, which meant time for the second violin lesson. Parting with Anna the week prior, Clara thought she was going to be bored by playing and singing a single scale. But she hadn’t. Even just bowing the open strings, inspecting the violin all over, felt special and exciting. It kept her going. Even with the amount of time she had put in, with the lesson imminent she felt like she hadn’t even practiced enough. A half hour each day, it didn’t feel like enough.

The lesson started and Clara squeaked along whenever she changed strings, though she felt proud of the rich sound that she produced out of the open strings.

Anna tried to be encouraging, though she actually dashed Clara’s spirits when Clara was ringing out her “doooo” and Anna interrupted to say, “don’t worry, your tone will get better with time.”

Anna continued, “it’s just like wand work. The most subtle pressures, angles, speed, everything matters. You need to feel it. It takes practice.”

Clara nodded, but didn’t internalize it.

Anna continued on. “The more you play the violin, the better your wand work becomes. They both require such fine control, that they go hand in hand. Or at least it did for me.” Anna picked up her own violin. “Now for this week, you can continue with the scales, but we’re going to start with some simple songs. Just like the scale, we’ll pick songs you already know, that you can sing. So play and sing along, and match your playing to your voice.” Anna started playing a simple melody that repeated a few times, then ended differently. Clara definitely didn’t recognize the song. “So that’s it! The Unicorn Romp, just like your momma sang to you.”

“Uh…” Clara started, but Anna didn’t notice.

“And here’s The Tin Glass Cup, notice that it only takes two strings just like the scale.” She played and sang a jaunty melody.

“Uh…” Clara tried to say again, but Anna had another song.

“And lastly, Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. Notice that all three of these songs just use two strings, and only your first, third, and fourth fingers in just the position I showed you.”

“Sorry,” Clara finally cut in, “but I only know the last one.”

“What?”

“Maybe because I’m muggle-born?”

“Really? I thought, at least the Tin Glass Cup isn’t a wizard song? Wait, it must be, since the lyrics are about transfiguration…” she laughed. “Well, you can learn it today!”

Clara squeaked through the songs a few times, though they never got to the end because Anna always interrupted to correct Clara’s bow hand, or the bow angle, or her posture, or how the violin rested on her chin, or a myriad other faults she always found. Just like last time, the forty-five minutes went by and Clara felt like they were just getting started. She packed the violin and left the room, unsure if she could recall The Unicorn Romp even five minutes later. Oh well, Milly could help her.

Chapter Text

With her resolve to get out and get some sunshine, Clara dragged Jamie partway around the lake. Actually, he went willingly. The sky was overcast without rain and the wind was low, so they were both enjoying themselves even though the weather was keeping most students indoors.

As usual, they chatted about nothing and about everything. Jamie was still stuck on not having easy access to spells he thought should be taught day one, “like a windbreaker, for the chill breeze today,” he gave as an example.

“That’s just how it is, Jamie, magic is hard and requires years of study,” Clara said.

“But it’s magic,” Jamie countered, slightly annoyed that Clara was dismissing his concerns. “Why can’t we just do whatever we want. Like, turn this rock into charcoal so I can cook my dinner?” He threw the rock in question into the lake. It skipped several times before sinking. “Why do I need to read a book to do that? Can’t I somehow just… do it? Like underage magic.”

Clara nodded, remembering the day the Ravenclaw girls were sharing their stories of underage magic. They hadn’t read a book. Libby wanted her dad to stay home and disappeared his keys, just by wanting to.

“How are new spells made, anyway?”

“I didn’t think about making a spell myself, but I didn’t think it was too complicated,” Clara said. “You should see the Ravenclaw Common Room some time. It’s beautiful but I never spend time there because it’s full of people trying out new magics, new gadgets they’ve made. It’s totally absurd and honestly feels dangerous some times.”

“Really?” Jamie was intrigued. “There’s nothing like that in Hufflepuff. So these older kids are just experimenting with magic all the time?”

“Yeah, but I’m not really sure what they do. I never really paid attention?” She laughed at the shocked look on Jamie’s face. “Yes, I know, you would be unable to ignore it. But I had my classes, I was busy, what’s there to see?”

“Clara, you know I’ve been obsessed with these kinds of spells, and you never told me?”

“What about you, wasn’t it first week you told me about some girl in Hufflepuff that had made her own hex?” She laughed again. “It cost you house points, and set the trend for your year of being a bad kid, tsk tsk.”

“Who’s the bad kid? Haven’t you been sneaking off with some boy all the time?”

Clara mocked pushing Jamie into the lake.

Later, on the way back to the stairs to climb up to the stone arches of the Hogwarts main entrance, Clara reminded Jamie about the fresh rabbit’s blood she needed.

“Don’t worry,” Jamie said, “I have a plan. But it’s good you said something, because I totally forgot that was today. It’s today, right?”

“Yes, I need it tomorrow night at the latest. You won’t have any trouble?” she asked, worried.

“Should be ok,” Jamie said to assuage her fears, though he felt uncertain himself. He actually had no idea how he was going to do it.

That afternoon, after his awkward Charms class, Jamie sought out Keelan MacLeod, his authoritative reference on skirting rules and getting away with it. And hopefully not asking too many questions. Jamie was hoping to find him before dinner where he would be forced to publicly approach him, and by chance saw him crawling out of the barrel to the common room with two girls behind him. His broad shoulders barely fit. Jamie was nervous but shoved that aside. He had no choice, this was the perfect timing and he needed the deed to be done that night.

“Keelan!” Jamie called out, too loudly.

Keelan turned from his friends to look at Jamie, surprised that someone was calling him.

Jamie pushed on, at a more normal volume. “Hey, could I get your advice?”

The monstrous seventeen year old came up to Jamie and said, pleasantly, “sure, about what?”

“Well,” Jamie looked left and right in the most suspicious way, “I need rabbit’s blood. Fresh.”

Jamie knew he asked the right person when Keelan didn’t even raise an eyebrow to question. He responded straight away.

“The best way is with a sanguine needle and vial. Here.” He pulled out a thick steel needle that was hollow, and a glass vial with a cork stopper.

Jamie returned the favor of not asking questions and tried to not look weirded out that Keelan had been carrying it on his person. But he had to ask, “so what, I just stick the rabbit? But I don’t want to kill it.”

“Just go shallowly into the back leg, about here,” Keelan said, gesturing to his own leg. “And the blood will flow down the needle, and into the vial if you put it up to the end. And of course the rabbit is asleep. Did you learn the soft stun?”

Jamie shook his head.

“The incantation is nos, and the wandwork is left, pulling back, then right, pulling back, then center and the single syllable. It’s a beautiful little spell for when you need to get things done. Unlike the stuns they’ll teach you, this one lasts only three to ten minutes and the person, or animal, wakes up a little disoriented but none the worse for wear.”

“Ok,” Jamie nodded, but had no confidence in himself. He pocketed the vial and climbed up to the barrel as Keelan left. The interaction had been so short that his two friends didn’t have time to wait, wonder, or be annoyed. Jamie was impressed and weirded out. Keelan was like some KGB agent from a movie – or something. Was that cool or scary?

Chapter Text

It was dark.

Jamie was out on the grounds with August, Roc, and Sedgley, hunting rabbits. He felt absurd. They had spent the time before dinner preparing the stunning hex they just learned. They were bad at it and had horrible aim. Since the spell left them “no worse for wear,” they practiced on each other, and found that none of them could reliably hit anything more than ten feet away. It was hard to point the little wand stick. Sedgley half-jokingly suggested some sort of sight or laser pointer to be added to wands, and Jamie’s analytical mind had to spend five minutes considering the practicability of the solution. They also discovered that if you didn’t hit the head or torso, only the limb would go to sleep. This led to a slapping fest after they stunned each other’s arms and had nothing to do for five minutes but swing them comically around like a rag doll.

At dinner, Jamie’s heart sank when he saw what appeared in front of him, on fine china, was rabbit stew. It was a slap in the face; why was he hunting rabbits when the kitchens below were full of rabbit blood? But he quickly realized it was actually chicken. He wolfed it down and sat in his chair in agonizing anticipation, wanting to get out but required to sit until dismissed from the formal dinner.

Outside, the four truant Hufflepuffs crouched behind a craggy rock so they would not be visible from the castle windows. All four of them were energized and didn’t feel any cold despite their cloaks hanging open.

“So what, we just sit here until rabbits come by?” August asked. That stung Jamie, since he was also doubting his own plan and ability. But Roc was optimistic.

“I’ve seen rabbits out here often,” Roc said. “In fact, look at that brown and white–”

Before he could finish, Jamie yelled an excited “NOS” and the blue ball of his stunner shot out… and hit Sedgley in his wand arm, putting him out of action.

Sedgley was annoyed at not getting a shot at the rabbit that was rapidly running away from Jamie’s yell, and also was just a squirrel. “Hey you jerk!”

“It was an accident.”

“There’s another!” Jamie raised his wand again but Roc slapped his hand down and the stunner hit the earth.

“No, look. That’s a badger.”

They all grew quiet, in reverence for their House animal. The badger was poking around in the bushes and within a few minutes had moved on.

They sat for another twenty or thirty minutes; it was hard to tell when none of them had a timepiece. Eventually Jamie, the de facto leader of the expedition, admitted, “there’s no rabbits out here.” He considered. “We need to look somewhere else.” Together, they moved down the hill, skirting from rock to rock, though most were tiny and no good hiding place. It was the same grounds they practiced brooms on. They all had their eyes and ears trained for the sound of any small animal, but no luck. They reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest and Jamie peered inside. The undergrowth was thin there, at the edge, and with the leaves down for the winter it was lit enough to pick a path. Jamie wondered if they would have more luck there than an open field. He started to enter the Forest proper but stopped when he realized no one was following.

He looked back. He had to complete his mission, so he tried to convince them to follow. But they refused, citing their last scare. Jamie was resolved. They could continue in the field, but he would be just at the edge of the Forest, like a hawk surveying a field for mice – or rabbits. “I’m just going in a tiny bit,” he was saying, but–

Yelling and a light coming down the hill interrupted him. There were multiple tall figures, all coming from the direction of the castle. All four of them froze. Soon, the shapes resolved into Morsain, commanding, Thistlethwaith, looking bedraggled and out of place, and two others Jamie didn’t know. They lit the whole area with magic, shining light on everyone, except Jamie.

“What are you students doing out here?” Morsain demanded. “We can see your flashes of spells from the castle.”

August, Roc, and Sedgley stood sheepishly on the turf. Jamie thought, the right thing to do is to stand up and just be there with them, so why aren’t I moving?

“I repeat, what are you doing out here?”

No one spoke.

“And first years, to boot,” a deep voice scolded.

“Ten points from Hufflepuff, for each of you.”

“Come on then.”

The young Hufflepuffs were ushered, shuffling, back towards the castle. Jamie lay in the dark as their voices diminished until all he heard was some birds and the wind. Even the crickets and frogs were asleep for the winter. He was deeply aware of how alone he was, five feet into the Forbidden Forest. Unable to go back to the castle without getting caught, he crouched in the bush.

He waited. The dew was settling on the brown grass, scrubby bushes, and his robes. He wasn’t chilled yet, but his skin was clammy. He couldn’t stay out there forever, but he was still afraid that someone from the castle would be looking. The lawn was dimly lit by the moon, he could find he way to the castle, but into the Forest itself was all shadows.

Then, something was moving on the lawn. Jamie peered, and squinted and peered again. Yes, it was a rabbit. He had given up, was just waiting for a chance to go back inside, and there was a rabbit. He pointed his wand, having never put it away. Aiming slowly, as best as he possible could, he muttered, “nos”

Did he hit it? He was temporarily blinded by the light of the spell. His eyes readjusted to the darkness and he saw nothing on the ground going up the hill. Wrapping his cloak around himself, hoping its blackness would help conceal him from the castle, he crept forward to confirm.

There it was. A rabbit. Brown. Not as cute as pet rabbits, it was long and lean. He couldn’t believe he had done it. No longer nerves of fear, he was beset by nerves of excitement. He had to steady his hand as he pulled out the needle and poked it into the rabbit’s rear leg, just as instructed. No blood came. He poked harder, and still no blood. He tried another place. He looked closely. He was not poking hard enough. He hadn’t broken the skin at all. Steeling himself, he tried again. Some drops of blood came out and he tipped the needle back, collecting some of it into the glass vial.

Oh my god, he thought, I’m like Voldemort, in the Forbidden Forest taking the blood of innocent creatures in the darkness. If “good” magic is like this, what the heck is bad magic like?

Leaving the rabbit to hopefully recover and hop away safely, he crept along the Forest’s edge north. The light of Hagrid’s cabin shone in the darkness, but he saw no movement anywhere. He made a dash for the small wooden door that was back access to the castle. It creaked horribly, as usual, and he opened and shut the door as fast as possible, hoping no one saw. On the completely wrong side of the castle, it was a fifteen minute walk back to Hufflepuff. The corridors were sometimes unfamiliar with their flickering lamps or few candles, but he made it somehow.

August, Roc, and Sedgley assured him they didn’t blame him at all. A few points were no problem and they had escaped detention. In the morning, he proudly delivered the vial to Clara at breakfast.

“What did she say?” August asked when Jamie returned to the Hufflepuff table.

Jamie sighed. “It cost us a stunned arm, thirty points from Hufflepuff, and maybe nearly our lives. And she hardly even said thanks.”

Roc shook his head and returned to his toast.

Chapter Text

It was Wednesday morning and all Clara thought about, from the moment she woke up, was the complicated ritual she was supposed to perform late that night. At breakfast, Clara took the vial and stowed it in her shoulder bag. Without a word to Jamie, she left for the Gryffindor table.

Darragh expected her, and stood up to follow her out of the hall at her beckon from the end of the tables. They discussed their plans and the timing.

“I have the rabbit’s blood. One last thing – did you figure out what ‘still wild water’ means?”

“Oh yeah, I found that out weeks ago from someone in Gryffindor. It just means like a natural pond, not moving water like a river or the ocean. I scoped it out. The lake is often choppy but there’s a little inlet we can walk to pretty quickly. It’s always still no matter the weather, with weeds.

“Ok, then let’s mix it up.”

They faced each other to hide what they were doing and added the rabbit’s blood to the tincture. It changed color to purple. Darragh pocketed it and left to sit alone, yet again, at Gryffindor. “See you tomorrow morning.”

Clara took a few minutes to calm herself before walking in to rejoin the girls at Ravenclaw.

Thursday. The quarter moon, waxing was at 9:56 AM and Clara met Darragh briefly to confirm that yes, he had been doing his drops since 4 AM. Clara was grateful that breakfast was hot that day, porridge and sausage and steaming, fluffy eggs. She tried to escape from Milavicent, Betty, and Alison, to head out to the lake while they were going to Defense, but they didn’t buy her excuses. Why was she wearing her heavy cloak? She eventually gave in and told them everything, that she was helping Darragh of Gryffindor.

“That boy with the wizard pox?” Milavicent asked, shocked.

“It’s not wizard pox; actually it’s not contagious at all.”

They took some convincing before they believed that Clara knew what she was doing and would be safe; she had to go as far as showing them the letter from Saint Mungo’s. Soon, Clara was walking out to the lake with Darragh, taking the moment to savor the sunshine instead of being in a classroom all morning. The weather was fortunately favorable, because they would be out there no matter how cold or rainy it could have been.

They got to the inlet with hours to kill. Clara read a book she brought, her first book of wizarding fiction ever. She had missed reading for pleasure and had picked it up in the library specifically to fill the time that morning. They hardly talked. Darragh was a quiet guy and Clara didn’t feel like forcing conversation. Clara tried to not worry about missing class.

Darragh’s pocket watch hung from his neck on a chain, and he checked it constantly. He took the last drop around 9:30 and then it was time to get to work. They crouched around Darragh’s cauldron that he had set on a patch of sandy dirt after cleaning it of leaves.

Together, they mixed up the remaining ingredients. Clara was surprised when all the hairs and powders fully dissolved, leaving it the same translucent reddish color. Truly it was a magic potion. They looked down at their work. In the cauldron was only about twenty milliliters, and it had to be rubbed over his whole body? It didn’t look like enough. But Darragh, excited, got to work. He dumped a small amount on his hands and started rubbing it all over his arms, then his legs. Then stripped off his robe. Clara looked away.

But Darragh protested. “I need you to do my back, my back!”

Clara cringed at the thought of touching his greasy back, but relented when he asked again. She dipped some of the fluid onto her hands and started applying it. It is strangely slippery and a tiny bit went a long way for coverage. She wondered at herself, standing behind this boy in his underwear, but it felt innocent. They’re only eleven and twelve, anyway.

Darragh started to go towards the lake but Clara stopped him. “Wait, it’s only 9:46. You have eight minutes!”

“But it’s so cold, I just want this to be over with!”

“You know what, I didn’t quite account for our exact latitude and longitude, I wonder how accurate that time is… maybe I should try and figure it again?”

“Argh!” Darragh screamed, in anger, agony, and joy as he leapt off the bank and into the still, reedy water. It was only a foot and a half deep and he had to splash in to be fully covered. As he went under, he left behind a red, foamy scum. Soon he resurfaced and stood up. Clara couldn’t see, but Darragh was rubbing his arms. He dove in again, then stood up, a piece of seaweed hanging off his shoulder, and started laughing.

Clara had never seen such a look of pure joy. He rubbed his arms and legs and stared at them, as if in disbelief, and started laughing again.

“Did it work?” Clara asked, walking closer to the shore.

Darragh waded back towards her and she could finally see, his arms were chalk white with no redness at all. He reached the shore and she grabbed his arm and felt along it – no keritosis at all. He climbed up onto the shore and took no heed to the coldness of the morning or that his feet were getting covered in dirt or that he was dripping from his underwear onto his robes. He was pure happiness.

Later that afternoon, Clara was with Milly, Betty, and Alison and saw Darragh again, in the halls, running around with his sleeves pulled back and his robes tied around his waist, leaving his legs bare. His skin was shockingly white, like whatever layer of tan he had had been stripped off, but it was clearly free of “wizard pox.”

The three girls laughed at him but he didn’t care and beamed at them. Their laughter was only half mocking, half sharing in his irresistible positivity.

Chapter Text

After the ordeal at the lake, Clara was exhausted and skipped out on helping in the Hospital Wing on Friday. After yet another History of Magic where she did her best to ignore Professor Binns so that she could actually learn the History of Magic, she dumped her books and scrolls onto her bed. Betty and Alison were in their shared room chatting about life outside of Hogwarts – it was probably the Christmas break coming up that prompted them. Both being from Cornwall, they were discussing how to meet up some time during the winter recess. Clara left them arguing over whether they were just a half hour drive from each other or longer than that. Being unable to look it up on the internet, they could only assert their opinions. Clara, being “from Cornwall” too, was going to get in trouble if she stayed because she had never figured out quite which part of Cornwall she was supposed to be from. Dodging out of the room, she continued into the common room to find it busy and dangerous as usual.

She thought – I want something fun that is out of the ordinary, out of my routine. Considering that she normally never spent time in the common room, partly out of fear, partly because she didn’t like the bustle and didn’t want to get in anyone’s way, she took a look around. Pops and sparks flew out of some box in a corner and the three older kids gathered around jumped back. There were some girls petting that cat that was supposed to belong to Catherine Roycroft, though Clara never saw the two of them together.

Amelia was there, familiar Amelia, but acting in an unfamiliar way. She was actually laughing, full belly, with some other older students that Clara didn’t really know. Looking closer, she could see what they were laughing at – there was a doll of a man in some pre-20th century military uniform, and they were taking their turns pointing their wands and making his expression turn into something ridiculous. One of the boys went next and gave him a comical look with wide-O mouth and eyebrows so high they went under his hat. Clara chuckled, it was pretty silly. Their noise had drawn attention and Clara got closer, along with several others.

“Where did you find this spell, Amelia?” a girl asked, and Amelia tapped her nose to signal it was a secret, only to be shoved and pestered for the truth, but she didn’t give in.

“Haha, that’s what should have been on our OWLS,” a boy was saying, then took his own turn to give him a grin as broad as the cheshire cat.

“Tony! That’s just creepy! Change it quick,” someone else said, in mock fear, but their smile broke through the charade.

Soon they tired of the game and were breaking up. It felt like no time at all, but Clara saw on the clock that they had been there for over half an hour. She approached Amelia.

“Hey Amelia.”

“Hey Clara,” she said in response, “what’s up?”

“Just hanging out, I guess,” Clara said lamely. “That spell was pretty funny. You can pick the face just by what you can imagine?”

“There are limits, though. It has to be, like, a similar style to the original. Speaking of which, I guess this doll is forever silly because I can’t even remember what the original face was like exactly.” She laughed in a tinkle.

“Hey,” Clara said in a conspiratorial tone, “just where did you find the spell? Why can’t you tell?”

“Well,” Alison said, leaning in, “since you pulled out your own special spell last month, I’ll tell you where I got mine if you tell me where you got yours.”

Clara had to pause and think. Should she tell? Amelia watched her consider and finally decide.

Clara told her. “I found a book in the library, The Mimsy Records. It has spells that some friends put together, a hundred years ago.”

“Interesting,” Amelia said, tapping her temple with her eyes up and to the right as she thought about it. “Well, mine I invented myself.”

Clara’s eyes grew wide, “wow!” she started to say, a little loudly, but stopped herself. She dropped her volume. “I mean wow.”

“But you cannot tell anybody, not anybody.”

“But why?”

“Students aren’t supposed to be experimenting with new spells. It is too dangerous, they say.” She said the last part mockingly, as if she thought little of their rules for her own protection. Clara saw a new side to the usually rule-abiding, tight laced Amelia. But maybe it made sense. Amelia tried to do what was right, according to her own rules. It was just that usually her personal rules coincided with the actual rules.

“How did you do it?” Clara asked, in a whispered awe.

Amelia stood back and spoke in a normal volume. “That, I won’t tell you. I am still a prefect in charge of your safety.”

Clara huffed in annoyance, but she wasn’t too upset.

“Where are your friends tonight, Milly and the like?”

“They’re all upstairs, I’m looking for something fun or just… different.”

“Well then, may I suggest the Hall of Tapestries?”

“What’s that?” Clara wondered – there were a lot of halls with tapestries.

“That’s the one in the South wing with the two story windows that face the lake, on the third floor. You probably know, there’s all those upper level Defense rooms that open off that hall.”

Clara nodded; she could picture it in her mind. “What’s there?”

Amelia tapped her nose again and grinned, “not telling. And don’t tell anyone it was I who sent you there.” She swung around and went across the room to some other older students, her robes swishing as she turned.

Clara shrugged, why was strict Amelia being so carefree? Another mystery. She decided to follow Amelia’s suggestion and left the common room, on her way out letting in three first year boys that had been trapped by the riddle. The heavy door shut, leaving her alone in the silent hallway.

Chapter Text

Clara approached the Hall of Tapestries down one of the rare fully wooden passages. The dark, thick beams above and below contrasted with the ornate wood tracery around the windows. That passage was dimly lit by only two candles, which made her even more aware of the flashes of light reflecting off the wall from the Hall ahead, accompanied by yells. She couldn’t see anything yet and wondered if she should turn around. Reaching the end, she pushed open the oaken door fully and peered out to the left with just her head poking out.

There were a couple dozen students there, mostly older, and wearing strange robes. She saw a lot of green and blue, perhaps signifying Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but it was more color than she was used to students wearing. The so-called Hall of Tapestries was broad and deep, as big as halls in muggle event spaces that Clara had been to for conferences. The floor was tiled in a complex pattern of muted red and off-white. Tiles were also a rarity in Hogwarts. As advertised, tapestries of all shapes and sizes rose from the floor to ceiling on three walls, the fourth wall being pierced by regularly spaced ten foot tall windows with gothic arches on top, rising from floor level in stone.

The students formed a sort of ellipse. Clara was confused, they were just standing around. She realized her fear made her wait too long to look; the spellcasting had stopped. Then a voice rang out, startling her. “Send your fourths!”

The speaker was wearing ornate multicolored robes and was standing near the center of the ellipse. It was a tall, young looking man, probably a student that she didn’t recognize since she never paid attention to anyone over the age of fifteen.

The “fourths” came out, one student in blue and bronze and another in green and silver, long haired boy versus short haired girl. With those colors, it was clearly Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. But why were they wearing such ornate, almost ceremonial robes? They faced the speaker until he gave a wave at which signal they sharply faced each other, wands up. They circled and eyed each other menacingly. A dozen seconds passed.

”EIGERFLUME!” the Ravenclaw yelled, sending three jets of water out which circled towards the Slytherin. But the Slytherin had managed to fit in some spell, so quietly and quickly it was uttered that Clara hadn’t even noticed, but from the time between EIGER and FLUME a red glow started spreading outwards from the Ravenclaw’s stomach.

The boy in blue tried to hold his spell, grimacing through some pain, but the girl in green was chanting to slow the arms of water to the point where she could dodge them, and the boy had to give up. He bent double and was furiously using his wand on his own stomach. The instant the water was dropped, the girl cast another short, quick spell. Clara thought she recognized a sleep spell she had read about but hadn’t learned yet, but couldn’t hear properly. Due to their separation, the girl had to raise her wand into a trained position to aim properly, but that was no time at all. The duel was over.

But wait! The jinx traveled almost instantaneously, but by watching the girl’s arm and mouth the boy had timed a dodge! He moved only a couple inches to the left, and the crowd went from silent to deafening cheers and boos in the same instant. The girl cast again, and the boy cast back at the same time from his kneeling position. They both choose fast spells over anything flashy. But apparently the boy hadn’t stopped his momentum from the dodge. He rolled fully onto his side, causing his spell to fly wildly to the ceiling in a yellow blob while causing the Slytherin girl to miss again!

In the perfect position to keep casting, another red bolt came from the girl and hit the boy’s arm. It probably wasn’t where she was intending to hit, but it was his wand arm. It looked like his arm had turned to jelly and his wand dropped and rolled. He spun on the floor to grab the wand with his left hand, but that was plenty of time for another spell, one that took a little longer to cast, somnium. The duel was finished, in less than thirty seconds.

The director of the match gave some signal, and the boy was woken and spoken to by a group of Ravenclaws. It took longer than the match itself, but eventually the two were facing each other yet again and bowing.

“Send in your fifths!”

At that, Clara moved into the hall. She was still worried about being hit by a stray spell, but wanted to be closer to get a better view. She hadn’t been able to hear half the spells in the last match. She moved up behind a group of Ravenclaws and was able to see that their robes were even more ornate than she thought. With metal and fabric embroidery, they must have been expensive. Also, she noticed that not everyone was wearing the blue robes. There were a fair number of plain black robes.

In fact, there was a set of robes with long red hair hanging down. Clara moved up and confirmed – it was Katy Weasley. They had never become friends, but Clara was glad to find someone that felt familiar that she could talk to.

“Hello Katy,” Clara whispered.

Katy turned and recognized Clara, but whatever was going to be said was interrupted by the start of the next match.

This time it was a short Ravenclaw boy that Clara recognized as Alfred, a sixth year, and a comically tall Slytherin that Clara didn’t know the name of, but recognized after seeing his head stick out in the Great Hall and in any crowd at all.

The Slytherin started casting some complicated shield charm. It was beautiful in the way it shimmered without occluding your sight through it.

“Ergodium,” the Ravenclaw said, so slowly it was almost lazy. Green tendrils left his wand and penetrated the shield as if it wasn’t there, binding the Slytherin’s arms and legs. The match was over and the Slytherin boy was angry. But Clara hardly noticed as the Ravenclaws started cheering and she joined in.

Clara took advantage of the break to talk to Katy again. “Hey!” she whispered loudly, “this is cool. What’s going on?”

Katy was obliging. “It’s a mast duel.”

“What? Mast?”

“Yes, a duel for house honor. The Slytherin quidditch team was absolutely rude lately. They need to be put into their place.”

“Why is it called a mast duel?”

“I don’t know how it got the name, but that’s what it is.”

“Oh.”

“With that last match, we are almost guaranteed to win. That’s four to two, and only two matches left. The worst we can do is tie and go to final rounds.”

“What do we win if we win?”

“Honor,” Katy said with conviction. Clara wondered why Katy cared so much about honor; she liked Ravenclaw but wasn’t as attached as Katy seemed to be. They were again interrupted and turned back to see the next match.

It was brutal, the two young witches that had stood up were both limping, scratched, and had torn robes by the end. A flurry of spells were exchanged without regard to defense. The spells were a mix of jinxes, none of which were debilitating enough to end the match. So the Slytherin girl was bleeding from her leg, dragging a literal iron arm around, with half her hair burnt off, when she was finally felled by a whip from an animated tile that laid her flat. She was still not out, but signaled her surrender.

Clara was turned off. Surely both of the witches knew plenty of spells for sleep, stopping vocalizations, paralysis, being confused or otherwise charmed. So they were deliberately picking spells to hurt each other without ending the match? Did they hate each other that much?

With the match decided for Ravenclaw, that was it. The last match went ahead but the Ravenclaw boy barely tried – he spun and dodged a nasty curse, put up a shield for a bit, and eventually was hit by a relatively innocuous sleeping spell.

The sixteen challengers lined up one last time with the director at the head. Clara was cheering for Ravenclaw along with the rest and was caught off guard when the room suddenly became silent and solemn, accidentally throwing out one more “woo!” into the stillness and then being embarrassed.

The sixteen bowed to each other. No one was smiling, no signs of pride or shame, though everyone knew the result. Then Clara was caught off guard again by the start of a fiddle, viola, and drum. Smiles all around, and dancing, and Slytherins dancing with Ravenclaws and Ravenclaws dancing with Slytherins.

Clara had to turn to Katy and ask again, “what?”

Katy shrugged. “Once the duel is over, the conflict is settled. It’s in the past!” Clara wanted to ask for clarification, but Katy was constantly interrupted by other students talking to her, small talk with older students, and competitors that Katy tapped on the back like she was a coach or friend, consoling or congratulating. After a bit, Katy took Clara over to a table with refreshments – cakes with cream piled on top, savory miniature pies, and some drinks. Katy handed a drink to Clara. “Here.”

Clara stared at Katy. Who was this girl, eleven or twelve, who felt so at home amongst ritualized duels, Hogwarts house honor, and the goings on in house quidditch? Katy carried herself as if she was absolutely at home, and confident. Amongst sixth and seventh years that Clara never associated with, and didn’t even know their names. Was this what it meant to be part of an old wizarding family? To show up with connections pre-made, and a purpose? But Milly was not quite like this. Milly was not this kind of social center that tiny Katy, just started at Hogwarts, was.

Clara sipped her drink and almost spit it out. “It’s alcoholic!” She said, shocked.

Katy shrugged again. “I thought you needed it, to help you enjoy yourself.”

Clara again stared.

“Well, go and find someone to dance with. Preferably from Slytherin. Look – there’s a boy only a year older than you.”

Clara looked to see a normal looking boy in black with green vertical stripes, blond hair well groomed, laughing at some joke. She made a face at the thought of dancing with him and turned back to Katy, but Katy was gone. Clara drank a third of her drink in one gulp and threw the rest away, then went to go talk to some older Ravenclaws. She regretted thinking it wasn’t worth her time to know them – but that could change.

Later, Clara found Jamie in the library. She went there knowing he was almost certainly there despite the late hour. She plopped into the seat next to him.

“Hey Jamie, what’s up?”

Jamie’s eyebrow raised. “Clara, do you smell like alcohol?”

“I probably had like a half shot worth of something.”

“What? Where did you possibly get that? And why?”

“There was a secret party, for Ravenclaws and Slytherins only, and only for the cool kids,” she answered, tapping the side of her nose comically.

“O… k…” Jamie decided he didn’t care enough to ask more questions. If Clara wanted to, she would have told him straight away. “So what’s up? It’s late and I was about to leave anyway.” Jamie shut the book he was working out of, and compiled his parchments.

“Oh, I wanted to tell you,” Clara said, “about what I learned about spell creation.”

“Oh?” Jamie perked up. “What’s that?”

“Just that it’s really hard and dangerous.” Clara grinned.

“Oh.”

“It was from the prefect. She told me that she invented a spell, but told me to not tell anyone she did it. Apparently it’s dangerous enough that you could be expelled or something, just for trying.”

“Expelled?”

“Well, she didn’t say that.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Ok then. So I am in the same place I was. I also asked some older kids in Hufflepuff and also Ardivat, and was always rebuffed. Like, calm down you’ll learn it later.” He pulled out a book that was in a small stack across the table. “I found some examples here, but it seems like all the real discussions about spell creation are in the Restricted section. So annoying.”

Clara wasn’t as piqued. “I have enough to do just learning spells that already exist, and that feels like enough for now. There’s years ahead, remember.”

“But, I just need to know! It doesn’t make sense. Like, since the words can be in any language, or even fake Latin, then they don’t matter, right? And the wand work? What does that even mean? But both do matter.” After searching through the book he had picked up, he pointed to a page. “Look at this. Someone wrote down words and crossed them out several times.”

Clara looked.

Verto

Vertigino

Vertag

Polyvert

Ivvert

Vertavi

“But what does it do” Jamie asked. “And what is the wand work?”

Faced with a real example, Clara was starting to get interested in the subject. “Even our Charms book mentions details some times, like that the memory charm was first invented in 1720. That’s hundreds of years timeframe for the content of our Standard Book of Spells to become, well, standard.”

Jamie shook his head. “It doesn’t make any frickin’ sense.”

Clara admonished him. “Well, don’t mess around with it. You can literally die.”

Jamie had a look like he wasn’t going to take it seriously, so Clara grabbed his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Tell me you won’t try any spell creation until you actually learn about how to do it, at minimum.”

“Fine,” Jamie agreed, seeing the logic in that. Besides, Clara wasn’t asking him to never do it, just to not do it until he learned more. That was something he could agree to. “So tell me more about this party only for cool people, where they serve alcohol to eleven year olds?”

Clara told him the whole story.

Chapter Text

On that lazy, dreary weekend, overcast and brown, Clara found herself favoring those corridors and rooms that were the coziest – and so did others. Since the inter-house duel, she started to notice things that she had prior ignored. Before, older students, stuck in their deep studies and with their own friend groups established for years, were like furniture to her. They were things that she had to walk around to meet up with her friends or other first years.

The Great Hall was lively and warm only when it was full. Even with fires blazing in every grate, it was too airy and the ceiling too lofty to be cheery when most of the tables were empty. Simply to have a place to be that wasn’t their own House, Clara, Milavicent, Alison, Betty, Amelia (the first year, not the prefect), and Libby were in the so-called Green Room, a room on the second floor, not a far walk from the Great Hall. It was set up as a study lounge but also with fat, plush couches and got its name from the hand painted “wallpaper” on all four walls, a repeating pattern of green vines and leaves and the rare pink flower. It was a sizable room but with two large fireplaces and only one bank of smaller, square windows well fit into their casings. It was the place to be when you wanted to close off the outdoors and not even look at it.

The room was well known and full of students. Usually Clara would continue chatting with her Ravenclaw friends, but in that crowded space, that day, she took note of everyone around her. There was a Slytherin boy and girl, talking closely. She recognized the boy as one of the duelists, the one who had lost immediately, though she hadn’t gotten his name. There were four Ravenclaw sixth years, three of whom she knew from Friday: Gregory, Sif, and Kairen. Maybe the last one was a seventh year? Strange that she wasn’t sure who was fifth, sixth, or seventh year. She thought she could usually pick out the seventh years because there were fewer of those and they often were absorbed in their own studies, with one foot out the door and uninterested in the bustle of the rest of the school. But maybe she was just fitting people into an image she made up herself.

Who else? Esther. She knew Esther from Potions; she was a Slytherin first year. Memorable because she was one of the few dozen students who weren’t English, Scottish, or Irish. Esther Bukhari, with curly black hair, big eyes, light brown skin, and who had worn her robe hood up constantly for the first month of school before apparently giving it up. Esther was talking to three older students, one Slytherin fifth year Clara knew as of two days ago, and two girls. They were speaking to her in some, perhaps middle eastern, language, but the girl was responding in English.

“…but that is not what my daddy says.”

Some more words Clara didn’t know.

“But, I must consecrate my magical skill to Allah.”

Some words from one of the girls, then English mixed in, “consecrate is a Christian word.”

Esther looked put out, and paused before continuing. “But the community, we must all together…” but was interrupted.

After a bit, Ester tried again, “it is not right with Allah unless we are all working together, muggle and wizard…” and was again interrupted by some words with English mixed in. It was kind of funny to Clara to hear the plain, almost unaccented English thrown in between a string of words she couldn’t understand at all. “… all together … The Secret … ”

“Clara?”

Clara’s head turned around; Milavicent had said her name. “What?”

“I was asking you what you thought, since you lived in America for a time,” Milavicent explained without explaining.

“Uhh… what are we talking about?”

Libby interrupted, “ugh, since Clara is zoned out, let me tell you, I’m right…”

And the girls’ lively conversation occupied Clara for hours, all the way until dinner.

Chapter Text

The weeks clipped along, though the anticipation for the second quidditch match sent buzz around the school for the whole week prior. It was to be Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor, and Jamie found the Hufflepuff common room simultaneously vibrant, energizing, and unbearable once he’d had enough and wanted to talk about anything other than quidditch – but couldn’t. August was lamenting that he couldn’t try out for the team and was relegated to constantly critiquing the Hufflepuff team strategy, sometimes too loudly. Sedgley, for his part, was also excited but by the end of the week burnt out and just wanting the match to be over so that they could finish a game of Cups and Swords without devolving into talking about quidditch. He won more games that week than he had all year, since he was often the only one actually paying attention. He was to be disappointed when the following week was filled with post-game micro analysis of every turn and formation.

Monday night was Clara’s violin lesson as usual, with the addition of a few more wizarding nursery rhymes. It’s a good thing I’m doing this, I’ll be ready to have a wizarding baby by the time this is over… she had to stop herself mid thought. A wizarding baby. Being twenty-nine it was too real to think about, too many emotions.

Since she was able to play more in tune, and didn’t have to hunt for notes, playing together with Anna was one of the most fun things she ever did. While Clara played the basic tune, Anna would sometimes play around her, going high and low, slipping in notes, even playing outside of the beat. It was grand fun.

Tuesday night Clara finished her solo violin practice early – it was not nearly as much fun without Anna together. By chance she was walking back from her quiet space to Ravenclaw and glanced through the open portal of a heavy oak door and saw Jamie there. She found him hanging out with a large group of Hufflepuff first years in a small, cozy room on the third floor, far from Hufflepuff House and closer to Ravenclaw. The group was lively, but Clara saw Jamie sitting apart and mostly observing. She set her borrowed violin down and plopped into the chair next to him.

Jamie looked up, surprised to see her but pleased. “Clara, what’s up?”

“Nothin’ much, buttercup,” she said, and then had to look around and be relieved that no one took notice of her saying something so embarrassing.

Clara was flushed and slightly sweaty from playing, and it emphasized the contrast to Jamie’s sober demeanor.

“How did you find me anyway?” Jamie asked.

“Luck, or magic,” Clara joked. She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially and continued in an overly dramatic voice, “deep magics beyond your ken.” She laughed and then stopped, thinking. She thought about the Harry Potter novels’ emphasis on the magic power of love and sacrifice, and wondered if she had accidentally said something true.

Jamie didn’t follow up or respond, and Clara had to ask, “why so dour?”

“It’s just the weather, I guess. No daylight, brown everywhere.”

“Or it’s because you need something interesting to do. Something that’s not reading books and not lounging around.”

Jamie shrugged as best as he could while sagging into a poufy chair.

“You’re in a literal world of magic, in a thousand year old castle full of secrets, and you’re mopey and uninterested?”

Clara stopped herself. Putting it in words made her realize that it was absurd and there might actually be something wrong. She sat in thought, and Jamie said nothing either. They were interrupted by Roc leaning over and directing a question to Clara.

“Is that a violin?”

“Yes,” Clara nodded.

“Let’s see!”

Clara hesitated, and then opened the case and pulled it out, offering it towards Roc, but he shook his head.

“No, I mean can you play something?”

Clara laughed. “Nope!”

Roc wasn’t going to push her, but Markus and Hefnia had no such reservations. “Come on Clara,” Hefnia was urging.

Clara rolled her eyes and set the violin on her shoulder, then set the bow on the violin. I’ll just squeak through one song and they’ll stop pestering me once they know how bad I am. She started on The Tin Glass Cup, a song she was more comfortable with since she had been on it for two weeks. Squeak squeak hum squeak she played, and by halfway through the first verse both Hefnia and Markus recognized the song and added the lyrics in.

“And the witch was scared and the dog ran fast…” they sang in unison.

The other wizarding children soon joined in and Clara soon found herself the quietest part of the ensemble. As the energy of the song built up, the pent up physical energy of the first years broke free into singing while standing, then belting it out, and finally a ridiculous jig. The muggle born children were mostly confused.

They sang regardless of her missed notes and at a pace where she struggled to keep up, but after a few verses she had it down. Clara had never learned the full lyrics and wasn’t sure when to stop, but after eight verses the witch had successfully outwitted her cousins and the authorities through successive transfigurations and the song came to an end. Clara was full of energy and, in that moment, loved the violin more than she ever had. She looked down to see Jamie smiling at her. Clara put her violin away, but they stayed until the group was forced to break up for bed time.

Chapter Text

Clara stayed at Potions on Wednesday extra long, well after most had finished, due to the complexity of the work. It was a potion to lengthen hair that was applied topically. According to Professor Connough the hair lasted a week before falling out and leaving you bald, so instead of testing it on themselves he had a cage full of brown field mice. The result of the long class, besides feeling bad for a bunch of mice with hair so long it inhibited their scurrying, was that Clara took her cauldron and supplies with her to the Great Hall so that she wouldn’t miss lunch time. She ate with Libby and Isabelle as her room mates had already finished and left.

Returning to her room in Ravenclaw to stow her cauldron and pick up her afternoon books, she opened the door of the tower room to find Milly frantically chasing papers flying about the room.

Milly tried to explain. “I just opened the window because it was so warm today, but it’s just so windy!”

Clara looked. Two windows were open and the wind in the room was intense. Clara dropped her things and rushed to help, gathering what papers she could and closing the windows, having to latch them firm against the buffeting. Her hands full of papers, she looked down and couldn’t help reading it – they were all the letters that Milly had received from her mother. Clara’s eyes happened upon a phrase, I am still hearing that you are with those muggleborns. I hope you haven’t forgotten your ancestry.

Clara kept collecting papers but Milly caught the brief pained look on Clara’s face. When they had all the letters in hand, Milly flattening them into a nice pile, she asks, “what did you read?”

Clara paused and thought before confessing. In the past she may have tried to lie to smooth things over, but since Halloween night that felt wrong. She confessed, “that your mother wishes we weren’t friends.”

“Oh.” Milly looked at the floorboards, saddened, and pressed the pile of papers again before speaking. “My mother is a good person. She is just proud of her family, and my father’s family. But you know I’m not like that, right?” she looked into Clara’s eyes, wondering.

“Yeah ok, that was clear when you broke up with Conrad at the Halloween dance.”

The awkward atmosphere cleared, and they both felt better.

Milly put the papers gently into her trunk. “Thanks. Please don’t tell the other girls about my mom. They don’t need to know… just yet.” She looked into Clara’s eyes for confirmation.

“Ok, I won’t,” Clara said immediately, and they knew they could trust each other.

Chapter Text

The week marched on and the anticipation for the quidditch match grew. Jamie had been so glad when he had entered science and found that almost no one cared about American football, because growing up it had dominated almost all social interaction. Burnt out on the talk, Jamie and Sedgly took a different route than the rest of the class between History and Charms on Thursday morning. The relief was immediate as they turned a corner away from the chatter. Going up one level before crossing the castle, they passed many students, but fortunately most weren’t discussing the game. Older students seemed to stop caring as much, and they passed more often students from the two Houses not participating on Saturday who weren’t endlessly analyzing the matchup.

Jamie wrapped his robes tighter against a breeze coming from up ahead in the hallway, and soon they came across a group of students, all under fifteen, leaning over or against an open-air railing and giggling nonstop. Jamie and Sedgly had to look out to see what was so funny, and found the railing overlooked an interior courtyard two stories down full of students crossing every which way to get from one class to another. He was confused what was funny at first, until the spells started.

The kids were sending charms down on the unsuspecting scurriers below – shoe tying charms causing them to trip, magically lifting a book from someone’s arms making them think they dropped it, or sending a quick wind into their face. They were trying to outdo one another with the cleverness of the charms, shooting out the charm and then ducking back to avoid getting seen while giggling.

Well, Jamie thought, Clara did tell me to get involved in something different and interesting. So he racked his brain for a good charm. He thought of the banana peel charm to make someone slip and laughed to himself at the image in his mind before he even cast it. He readied himself with his wand and stood up amidst a new round of laughter, wanting to see the result of whatever the loco aventis that was just cast had done, when he spun and found himself looking straight into the eyes of Deputy Headmistress Abernathy.

“Detention for all of you!” was the first thing she said. Within seconds she had magically recorded all their names on a slip. “Report to the dungeons after dinner tonight, the lot of you.” The students had sobered immediately and stood there, until one student couldn’t suppress a final giggle. Abernathy grew incensed, “now back to class! NOW.”

The students scattered like pigeons in a park.

After running the full length of the hallway, Jamie and Sedgly stopped.

“But it’s not fair! We were just standing there,” Sedgly complained.

Jamie was also shocked. “I’ve never had detention before,” he told Sedgly.

“I wonder what they’ll make us do?”

Jamie thought about Harry’s experiences hunting strange unicorn-eating beasts in the Forest and having lines brutally etched into his hand. “I’m not sure, Sedgle, I’m not sure.”

That evening after dinner, Jamie and Sedgly showed up together. They had to ask for more specific instructions than “the dungeons” but it turned out to be a specific room for detentions. The dungeons were cold and damp, so the cold cut through their robes even deeper. They walked slowly, both in fear for what was coming. Jamie’s mind kept inventing scenarios of what would happen, each one worse than the last. As they entered the room, cautiously, they saw a dozen students in chairs but were startled by a barking voice from an older man who had been just inside but not visible from the hallway. He was grizzled and his robes were torn. His long curled hair hung down wildly like he never combed it. “Names?”

“Sedgly Fairgrieve.”

“James Coddington… the third.” Jamie had almost forgotten to add “the third.”

The man consulted a twenty inch parchment he was holding and then gave his order, “Sedgly you take a seat there. James, you are to come back Saturday at 1.”

Jamie was confused and stood there.

“Well, go!” the man barked again.

“But…” Jamie wondered what happened but was at a loss for words in the moment.

“Jamie,” Sedgly started, “I talked with a prefect this afternoon, tried to talk with de Lethe actually, but she wasn’t available as usual, and explained that we had just been standing there. But they said it didn’t matter, and since you had been caught with your want out, it doubly didn’t matter.”

Jamie grew nervous. Caught with his wand out? True, but he didn’t want a worse detention because of it. He had already been dreading it.

“I mean, that’s their words, ‘doubly didn’t matter’ as if I speak like that.”

“But…” Jamie tried again. But he was interrupted.

“Sit!” the man yelled again, and Sedgly had to sit.

This is because Sedgly complained that he had just arrived, but Jamie had his wand out, so he gets a worse detention.

Jamie slunk away, leaving Sedgly behind. The walk back to Hufflepuff felt even colder and damper without his company.

Later that night, the two friends met up in their bunk room before bed.

“How was it?” Jamie asked, fearful.

“I almost freaked when I saw the chains on the walls and ceiling, but they had us cleaning it! We all cleaned the walls and floor and scrubbed these chains with bristles until they shone. It was creepy.”

“What? That’s so weird. Why? Is it some weird intimidation thing? Like, do this again and you’ll be in chains?”

“No, they said they needed the rooms sorted to bring in some creatures for some upper level class. But they didn’t explain beyond that. That old man is also a creep. He didn’t even say his name, I had to ask as we all left. Anhan. Gregory Anhan. Never seen him because he’s not a professor.”

“Yeesh,” Jamie half-shuddered, “what animal needs to be cared for in a dungeon wrapped in chains?”

“So Jamie, your detention is Sunday – what about the quidditch match?”

Exasperated, Jamie explained, “I’m going to miss it.”

“What? One of only three matches our House is in?”

“Yeah, I asked Ardwin and he said Sunday is the standard time for extra bad detention, and getting it on the weekend of the match is just shit luck. I mean bad luck.”

Sedgly shook his head in sympathy.

Chapter Text

Jamie was woken up much too early Saturday morning. The noise and hubbub surrounding the upcoming match – Hufflepuff’s first match of the year – could not be contained to the common room. Clara, on the other hand, slept soundly until well after eight in her quiet tower bedroom. The match was between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

After the noon meal, Jamie had to forlornly leave his friends and house-mates to turn towards the stairs to the dungeon. As he went down, the din quieted and the heavy stone walls seemed to swallow all noise. With almost every student and professor out on the grounds, he could even hear the slow drip of water from somewhere down the corridor. It was a taste of what Hogwarts might be like without any students. Instead of the brightest and liveliest place he had ever been, it was cold, quiet, dark, and felt unwelcome. Jamie wondered where the entrance to the Slytherin common room was and was glad that he didn’t have to sleep in such a place. Hufflepuff was also underground, but barely, and so cozy you often forgot there were no windows except high up. Maybe Slytherin was cozy too, once you got inside.

His reveries were interrupted by his arrival at the detention meeting room. There were only two other students, both quite older and not anyone Jamie recognized. The man, presumably Anhan, was standing at the fore, of medium height, skin a little brown, his face wrinkled from too much sun, and his slightly unkempt long, curly dark brown hair matching his slightly unkempt black robes. Jamie gave his name to Anhan and took a seat. Soon, Anhan signaled with his finger and Jamie was led, alone, out of the room. The worry set in deeper – where was he being taken? If something happened to him no one would find out for hours, or ever.

“We have grunt work for you today, first-year,” Anhan was saying as they walked. “Since you’re almost useless with magic.”

Jamie couldn’t do anything but nod, though Anhan couldn’t see him, walking ahead. Even amongst the first years he felt useless. He had to keep reminding himself that his grades were actually in the top half at least, despite his struggles with charms – or rather anything to do with a wand. He instinctively felt for his wand and found it reassuringly in his pocket, then noticed himself doing so and was amazed that it had become instinct. The wand had, in a way, become a part of him.

It wasn’t too long before they entered a thick wooden door that had been already propped open. Inside the room was larger than expected, having judged from the small size of the door. Stacks upon stacks of dusty, bound tomes, many in disrepair, filled the back half of the room.

Anhan handed him a small six-inch parchment. On it were the names of thirteen books.

“See this list? Find them, you put them here, by the door. Not on the list? Put it over there, in the corner. To be burned. Once you finish the room, you’re free. Don’t leave before that or you’ll see me more times than you could fear.”

Anhan gazed at Jamie to make sure he understood, while Jamie surveyed the room. It would be hours of work without a wand. Couldn’t someone do this in fifteen seconds with the right spell? It felt like such a waste – but then, it was supposed to be a punishment. Anhan left before Jamie said anything.

He looked at the list – the thirteen all looked like textbook names. Not one to waste time, he took the few paces to the first stack. The book on top was so covered with dust that he couldn’t read it, and he ruined the sleeve of his robe wiping it off. Abelard’s Apiary. The contents were different kinds of magical bees. Checking the list, it was not there. Looking down and shuffling the stack, they were all the same book. One pile down, hundreds to go.

Moving the pile over, he wondered the value of the books. Galleons were so valuable, it could be worth the trouble to lug some of them out instead of burning them. But how would he even move them? And how would he sell them? Should he take just one copy for himself? He sighed and stacked the books as told.

With only half the room done and an unknown amount of time having passed in the dank underground room, his arms ached and his body was covered in dust and cobwebs. He dreaded the rest of the work. Would they know if he just started throwing all the books in the burn pile to save time?

He inwardly laughed at himself for having wasted more time browsing the books, completely unnecessarily, than it took to check them against the list. His curious mind wanted to read each one, though he could see why many were not to be saved. Many were badly written with weird, useless contents, and probably there was book or two on the same topic but better in the library upstairs. He had made a mnemonic of the first word in each title on the list, so the sorting was going quickly anyway. He shrugged his ankle to clear some cobwebs and went back to work.

Wandering out of the dungeons, alone, unsure if he was supposed to find Anhan first but unable to anyway, the din of the school came back. The quiet like a burbling stream of conversation became a torrent of chatter and yelling. The match was over and the halls were full of students.

Finding himself in a sea of blue and green, Jamie headed towards the Hufflepuff common room to find anyone in Hufflepuff. He was rewarded with the faces of Roc and Hefnia.

“Roc!”

“Oh, Jamie!”

Jamie ran to close the distance, but before he even made it Roc yelled the news to him.

“We were churned to cream! Two sixty to thirty!”

Jamie stopped running. He wasn’t sure if he was crushed or not. Quidditch was too new to him, but in the last couple months he had developed some level of House pride. He found himself grabbing Roc’s lapels and yelling, “noooo! Why?”

Hefnia laughed while Roc recounted the failure of Hufflepuff’s chasers and beaters. “Our goalie was the only guy who stood up to them.”

Hefnia nodded, “he must have stopped triple the goals that went in.”

Roc looked down and realized his robes were chalky white with dust from Jamie’s handprints. “Jamie, you’re so dirty!”

“Yeah, I was sorting old books – by hand! I wish I could have just waved my wand and done it. I had hours down there so I was thinking through the spells we’ve learned and nothing would have helped me. We’ve learned a lot of random stuff that is maybe useful only if you’re really clever in how you use it. What about more practical stuff?”

Hefnia jumped in. “Well, this is only first year. My brother can pack his bags and put his clothes in the closet.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” said Roc.

“He’s older – he’s twenty-five now.”

Jamie was not impressed with packing bags, “what about cleaning clothes and washing dishes?”

Hefnia nodded proudly. “My mom has a magical clothes washer. But I think my brother takes his to be washed once per week.”

“Why doesn’t your brother just wave his wand to clean his clothes?”

“I don’t know. Nobody does that.”

Jamie stared at her before dropping the subject. “So is there some sort of party even though we lost?”

“Of course! Let’s go back to Hufflepuff. August is being an arse about how he would have saved the team, but you can ignore him and get some cakes.”

Jamie took his notebook and made a note in his list of useful spells. Next to ”clothes cleaning” he wrote “doesn’t exist??”

Chapter Text

Jamie's Monday felt routine. Upon realizing it he was dismayed. All of the whizzes and bangs and pops and secret passages and trick stairs and spells had already become normal to him. To fight against this, he brought Clara up to a high window overlooking the lake after dinner, to watch the sunset together. Sitting in an epic fantasy castle watching the sun set behind a lake was still something special to him.

A light wind was blowing and the sky half covered in clouds lit from below by the setting sun. The Forbidden Forest was dark black but the lake and the face of Hogwarts still glowing. The ancient stones felt solid beneath them and above them as the towers rose high above the loch.

“Look Clara,” he said, gazing out at the light sparkling off the slightly choppy water, “I can't believe we are here. We get to live in an enchanted Castle for the next seven years, and then what? Make our own enchanted castle in the south of France? Or the Mediterranean? Or just travel? It feels like the whole world is beautiful and open to us. It feels like the whole world is… magic.” He had sought and couldn’t find a more appropriate word.

Clara sighed.

Jamie paused for a bit and then continued. “Break is coming up in just a couple of weeks. What do you want to do?”

Claire's answer was immediate. “Let's go back to London if we can. I need to be able to video call my family over the holidays. And it will be fun. I'll ask and see what everyone else is doing but at least let’s go there for a bit.”

Jamie agreed. Even though spending galleons was not wise, staying for a few weeks in the Muggle world was easy on their budget. A vacation in London over Christmas would have been a dream even for his old muggle self – and the idea of visiting Diagon Alley again only made it better.

Clara interrupted the reverie after not too long to go to her violin lesson. She was excitedly explaining how she had made progress on a few new simple songs and her tone was improving, hardly squeaking as all anymore, but had to rush off or be late.

Chapter Text

Their taking time to enjoy sitting with an open view of the lake and warm breeze was well chosen as the next day suddenly turned cold, reminding them all that winter was coming. Students changed the way they moved around the castle. Usually the fastest way from the Great Hall to the southern side of the castle was along an arcade that cut across the side of several buildings. In the summer it was beautiful to briefly feel the fresh breeze and to see the sunlight and maybe some greenery, but the empty voids between the stone arches didn't do anything to block the winter wind. Jamie took it anyway. By crossing quickly, by the time he was pulling the iron handle on a big wooden door at the end of the passage, it still felt nice and brisk – not like the cold was nipping at his fingers and nose.

Clara too felt the cold, unprepared for it after the mild fall. She rushed into History of Magic with her robe wrapped up. She wanted to be early so that she could sit in the chairs closest to the fire. Alison and Betty came late but squeezed in next to her.

Class was only half over and Professor Binns was droning on about something Clara wasn't sure about since she had been giggling with her friends, but something about his discussion of the political reform in some medieval era struck her. She started to pay attention. Binns continued to describe how a group of monks who were all wizards successfully got the requirements for wand registration tightened against those who were not loyal enough to, of all things, the muggle king. In his typical style, he continued on with useless information after that. Instead of talking about motivations, ramifications, or something that mattered, he was saying, “each wore a gray colored robe called a habit. It was made of wool with a hood, like the dress of a beggar. Around their waist they wore a rope called a cinture with three knots to remind them of their vows of poverty, chastity and obedience…”

What struck Clara was that this description matched a portrait that she walked by on her way to Astronomy every week. The portrait had stuck in her mind because of it's being life-sized with vivid colors. It rather caught your attention. The monk intThe portrait was fat and jolly which made her laugh about supposed vows of poverty.

She thought back to her own grade school education, in history class, when she would try and imagine what people's lives had actually been like in historical periods. How could you truly understand someone who lived in a completely different time and place? Their entire worldview and assumptions about reality were so different that you could never approach it. And that was without even considering technology. Heck, there were people in the world today that she couldn’t possibly understand without living for several years where they lived. Was it possible to actually understand historical peoples? She had thought at the time it was an impossible question, but with portraits perhaps it was not. Perhaps the portrait could talk to her and she would have someone to interview directly!

Whatever Binns said for the rest of the class was lost on her as she imagined what kind of questions she would ask and what kind of answers she would receive, and what other periods of history she might be able to access. It briefly occurred to her how weird it was that it was not more common to discuss this, but, like muggle history, there are some people who spend the effort to interview primary sources and carefully write about it, and then there's the average person who can't be bothered.

As soon as her classes were over for the day, she wasted no time and left to visit that particular portrait. She ran past at least 50 others on the way, but she had a reason – most of the portraits in the castle seem to be later than the mid 19th century. They would also be interesting to ask, but not quite as interesting as a literal medieval monk. The 19th century was already the industrial revolution and after the Enlightenment. It was modern in comparison.

In true Hogwarts style, Clara took a wrong turn and stumbled upon something else interesting on the way. Monica and Esther, the Ravenclaw and Slytherin first years, were on the floor in an otherwise unused room. She almost ran in thinking they were hurt, but blushed and quietly backed out when she realized that they were actually praying. Kind of weird, she thought, Britain is legally Christian in a way that would be weird in America, so why are they hiding like that? It was something she continued to ponder while she looked for the portrait, having not exactly remembered where it was.

Finally she came upon it. She approached at a slow pace, breathing slightly heavily. Faced with the actuality of having to talk to this man, her nerves grew. The monk was fortunately present in his portrait. He was actually eating some grapes and cheese off of a table while standing behind it. She approached and gave an awkward wave, not sure how to start. He eyed her, his hand stopped on the grapes.

“Hello Mr. Monk.”

“I am not a monk.”

“Oh, what are you?”

“I am a friar.”

Awkward start, Clara thought, but pushed ahead. “What is your name?”

“Thomas.”

“What years did you live, Thomas?”

“Oh, I do not remember my birth. I remember it was anno domini thirteen twelve when I entered the friary.”

Clara thought. “Can you speak to me in old English? I’ve always wanted to hear what it sounded like.”

“Old English?”

“I mean, like how you spoke when you were a child.”

“I… am sorry. I do not remember. Am I not speaking the same as I always did?”

“Ok…” Clara felt she was learning something about how portraits worked, and it was not boding well for learning about history. “Let’s talk about something else. You were – sorry, you are a friar, right?”

“Excuse me, what do you mean by right?”

“You are a friar, correct?”

“Oh yes, oh yes.”

“Tell me about that – what age did you become a friar?”

“I lost my parents when I was young. I grew up with the friars, and joined them when I was old enough.”

Clara sighed. He was forthcoming enough but his answers were short. Either he did not want to talk to her or this was another limitation of portraits. She tried another direction. “What did you usually eat for breakfast?”

“Eggs, milk, bread, vegetables, that is all we ate. Such beautiful vegetables they were. And I never felt wanting after having a whole egg in the morning.”

“And where did you go after becoming a friar?”

“I didn’t go, I stayed to tend the farms. For many years, I took care of the goats.”

“What about God? You prayed every day?”

“A friar’s life is a consecration to God, we pray seven times daily, and have morning service every day. I always looked forward to matins, in the pure calm of the morning.” He sighed in remembrance and the green and yellow hues of his portrait helped Clara to picture it as well.

“But you’re a wizard too, right? What did the other friars say about that? Did they know?”

Thomas seemed to be thinking before answering. “I… sorry, I… when I would take the goats to pasture, there was a man. He taught me, and I… told the Prior… and…”

“How did you end up in a painting at Hogwarts? Who painted your portrait?”

“I… don’t remember.”

Clara was wondering where to go next but was interrupted as the ghost of Helena drifted down the hallway, her chin held high and her posture perfect, as usual. “Do not waste your time, child. There is no great knowledge there. They are not like us deceased, they are only imprints of a personality.”

“But Helena, Miss Ravenclaw, why is he like this, that he can barely remember his own name?”

“Over the centuries they diminish and fade. They become corrupted by talking to other portraits and people, and seeing the world progress. You cannot trust anything he told you – he probably made it up to fill his empty memory.”

Clara leaned against the wall and processed that. They are not like us. She called out to the ghost, seeing her already far down the hallway. “Miss Ravenclaw, you lived in the eleven hundreds, you can tell me what it was like?” But the Grey Lady took a sharp right turn and disappeared into the wall.

Chapter Text

Late in the week, Jamie was up late alone in front of the fire in the common room, having gone out there because he missed Clara, suddenly, and irrationally too since she was not that far away and though they hadn't had meals together all week he had seen her several times.

He was lost in his thoughts when a strange clicking and chirping drew his attention to the present. It was the beetle again that he had mostly forgotten about. Jamie was a little frustrated and not in a mood to talk to the thing, so it used the space to start its own monologue.

“Ahh Hufflepuff...” it waxed, “Hufflepuffs are the greatest friends you can have, until times get tough and they betray you."

At no response from Jamie, it continued for several minutes in the same vein. Jamie stared into the fire.

“… And if you think that’s not bad enough, let me tell you the story of Cedric. He was the star of Hufflepuff in his day and everybody loved him and was his friend, or so he thought. Until he was killed by Voldemort.”

Jamie started at the mention of the name because it was one he had not heard since Diagon Alley before school.

“Yes, he was killed by Voldemort but everybody denied it. So here was a student, dead. They're supposed to friends, and what did he die of? A silly accident because he was incompetent? His own stupidity? The House was in tatters for months. Nobody could properly mourn when they were not allowed to talk about how he died, even behind closed doors within Hufflepuff.

“A student was gone and all that was left was a weird hole, nobody stepped up to defend him or his honor or his memory. Just look at you, clearly down and in need of a friend. And where are they? Not here.”

Jamie shrugged. “If you have such a grudge against Hufflepuff then why do you keep coming back here? Can't an ancient magical mechanical beetle go wherever he wants?”

The beetle responded, its voice rising in volume, “what grudge? You want me to tell you what grudge? I saw it all, I was a first year”

Jamie stood up in shock. He felt like something had just shattered in the world – a first year?

His body reacted before he knew it intellectually. He had goosebumps and cold sweats and then the feeling of being in deep danger set in. It took a few seconds for him to decide on an action. Without consulting the prefect he grabbed the beetle in two hands and ran out of Hufflepuff to the headmistress’s office.

Somehow he made it without being stopped despite the large amount of noise his tennis shoes made on the stone flags. The beetle was making some buzzing and high pitch noise the whole time, probably speaking, but Jamie could not hear.

He knocked on the door violently and was meant with silence. He stood there in the semi-darkness breathing heavily. He knocked again and heard a noise above him. It took another minute for the door to open and and McGonagall to meet his distressed eyes with her own inquiring gaze.

“Professor,” he got out, “I need to show you this beetle.”

McGonagall did not waste time on questions and invited him inside. She removed several items from a wooden table and gestured for him to place the beetle.

Jamie hesitated. “Sorry, I think it might run away if I set it down.”

The Headmistress fetched a wide glass jar with a stopper and then he put it inside. She gazed at it while Jamie spoke, but it lay inert.

Jamie began rapidly, “this beetle has been in the Hufflepuff common room all year. Sometimes it would talk to me about old times at Hufflepuff. I thought it was just an annoying old magical toy.” He took a breath and continued, “I say the toy was annoying because it was constantly negative and so pessimistic and I even threw it away once but it came back.”

McGonagall interjected into Jamie’s pause, “it would be quite the impressive artifact if you could hold a conversation with it. That is not common at all.”

“Yeah, someone else at Hufflepuff said the same thing, I had no idea since I was born a muggle, I don't know which kooky things are normal kooky and which are kooky kooky.”

Jamie jumped to the distressing part, worried he would be dismissed. “The reason I brought it to you is because it was just talking to me again and said that it had been a first year during the year that Cedric Diggory had died.”

McGonagall's face, which had been relatively calm and inquisitive to that point, joined Jamie in distress. She pulled out her wand. Gazing at the beetle intently as it sat in the jar in the desk, she muttered something Jamie could not catch and moved her wand in incredibly subtle movements.

“Wait right here,” she said, and retreated to the back of the office. Jamie waited, taking in nothing of his surroundings due to his stress, while it sounded like McGonagall was consulting with some headmaster's portrait.

She returned and unstoppered the jar to reach in and hold the beetle while she performed some more spell work, this time with her wand in contact with the beetle’s metal back.

Jamie's sweat started to dry while he waited. He felt cold.

“This is not the magical artifact you think it is,” she finally stated. “This is a conduit. Someone is controlling it from a distance. It is difficult to determine the direction but it is not at hand, definitely not Hogsmeade.”

Jamie wondered if he had been targeted due to his own history, and how much danger that meant. He tried to reason with himself that it could be harmless, but he did not manage to convince himself.

McGonagall continued. “There are traces, but it is not work that I can identify. Jamie, has anyone else been talking with this person?”

“Um, I don't know. I always talked to it when I was alone in the common room late at night. But I mentioned it to some other students a couple times and nobody said anything about seeing it too.”

McGonagall took time to think, again, and then made a motion of finality.

“Thank you for bringing this to me Jamie, that was the right thing to do. Now I think it is best that you return to Hufflepuff and get a good night’s rest.”

Jamie felt dissatisfied with that – but he didn't want to ever argue with McGonagall. He nodded and left the room slowly.

It was fortunate that McGonagall had the presence of mind to give him a slip of paper allowing him to be in the hall after hours because he ran into, of all people, Anhan, and it would have been bad for him without that paper.

Chapter Text

As the Hufflepuffs left Defense Against the Dark Arts having just worked together to best a Flaügingen, bouncing it off of pink wards as it tried to escape and eventually cornering it and getting it into a silver bird cage, Jamie, flush with adrenaline and red cheeked, called out, “man, I’m really starting to like Yugotich. He’s practical, doesn’t waste time in class, and sometimes fun.”

Keira poked him, “and for some reason you like it when your life is in danger?”

August agreed. “I’ll take a little adventure over sitting with books all day, but maybe Yugotich takes it too far. I’ve heard he trained at Scholomance.”

Markus oohed. “That’s nuts, he’s basically a dark wizard. How did he get a position at Hogwarts?”

Padraig, being muggle-born, had to ask, “what’s Scholomance?”

Keira filled him in, “I didn’t know he was from Scholomance. That’s an ancient wizard school in Romania. They teach dark magic outright and when you graduate you have to make a pact with the devil himself.”

“And their whole school is underground, and the students aren’t allowed to see light for seven years or else be expelled!” Markus said.

“Seven years in the dark?” Jamie asked, disbelieving. But Markus and Keira nodded.

Markus added, “the top student of every year is chosen to become a new master, serving the forces of the dark forever.”

Jamie shook his head, still not believing. But it put doubts in his mind – they did face some pretty dark stuff in Defense Against the Dark Arts, was Yugotich preparing them for the dark side? He had to laugh at himself, the dark side? This wasn’t a stupid Star Wars movie.

Chapter Text

The weeks before Christmas break were rushing by. Having been subjected to pre-Christmas exams his entire life, Jamie felt immeasurable relief that he just had to attend classes and be done with it. Unfortunately, that also gave him time to worry about what McGonagall was doing or saying around this mysterious person he had been conversing with for months. Jamie had confided in Roc, Sedgley, and August but they weren’t taking it as seriously as he was.

The four of them stood up from the long oak table from the midday meal and were heading to Charms when Sedgley thumbed over at a kid sound asleep, head down on the lunch table. “Haha, Rob’s gonna miss class.”

It was the Slytherin table, and the student was Robert Abby, who Jaime had never spoken to because he was a known bully and an ass, unnecessarily confrontational. Despite that, they were almost out the doors of the Great Hall when Jaime stopped and turned around.

“Jamie! What are you doing?” demanded August as Jaime approached Rob.

“Jamie! This is the Great Hall. If you do something to him while he’s sleeping you’re going to get in major trouble!” added Sedgley.

Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus, thought Jamie to himself as he shook Rob’s arm until Rob woke up with a confused look.

“You’re going to miss class, dude,” Jamie said, in his nervousness reverting to slang from the wrong time and the wrong country.

Rob didn’t respond right away so Jamie left before anything could happen, catching up with his three friends and rushing down the hall to be clear of any reprisal. But reprisal for what? he thought.

Chapter Text

Clara was sitting in the library along with dozens of other students of all years, but almost nobody was actually studying. With the break around the corner, nothing about school felt important anymore. Clara was, in fact, semi-studying. She was taking another close look at The Mimsy Records but finding it hard to concentrate. The quiet was interrupted by a frantic Jamie, almost bowling her out of her chair as he shook her shoulder.

“Oh my God Clara!” Jamie’s eyes were wild.

Clara’s heart rate increased precipitously and the adrenaline started pumping. Before she could ask, Jamie spit it out: “I was just talking with Rienzel, and he said apparition isn’t really a thing!“

Clara said nothing as she waited for something more important or dramatic, but since it wasn’t forthcoming she eventually just rolled her eyes. “Jamie, calm down, I thought someone had died.”

“But Clara, I was looking forward to popping around and never commuting anywhere ever again!”

As the adrenaline stopped pumping Clara felt slightly cold and sweaty. She sighed. “So who says apparition isn’t real?

“Rienzel.”

“Who is Rienzel?”

“Hufflepuff fifth year, you know, from our train ride?”

“Oh, ok.” Clara didn’t remember at all.

“I was in the common room and made a joke about once we were all able to apparate around and everyone’s giving me weird looks.”

“Jamie, just please tell me calmly. I am messed up about something else and don’t need you yelling at me.”

“What something else?” Jamie asked, concerned.

“Nevermind, just tell me!”

“So apparition, just teleporting all over the place with a thought, is basically not done. Only the crazed or like, hubristic lore seekers try to learn it. It’s considered dark magic because a lot of people died in horrible accidents. So yeah, probably Dumbledore could do it, and Riddle, but who else? I don’t know. Its pretty rare. Thomas said his aunt could do it, but admitted he had never seen her do it, just heard that she could.”

“So… didn’t McGonagall do it twice?”

Jamie sat back. “She must be a crazy powerful witch, and crazy.”

“It doesn’t add up…” Clara was saying, but Jamie said, “but it was a bunch of older students around who all agreed.”

Jamie shook his head, “so my dream of never sitting in traffic again, popping around from my country estate to Diagon Alley to my friends’ houses to the beach to whatever, cannot happen!” The volume of his voice went up again at the end of the sentence; he couldn’t control himself.

“What about floo?”

“Ok. Floo is real. I asked about it too. I also asked about riding griffins and dragons and thestrals and… that’s all bullshit. It was pointed out to me, in a really rude way, how absurd it would be to have to memory charm a million muggles every time the dragon decides to fly around, even if you could corral it into not eating anyone.”

Clara sighed, slowly coming to Jamie’s side although without his excitable way. She thought about it a bit, to digest it, and looked at the table as she mumbled “…and the whole world just got a whole less magical.”

“Yes, thank you for understanding me. Nobody else seemed to care!” Jamie’s voice was rising in volume again but at Clara’s look he calmed down.

After a moment, Clara’s eyes met Jamie as she asked quietly, “and what about unicorns? And centaurs? And giants?”

“Bunk, bunk, and bunk. Not even flobberworms. It’s just us sad and alone humans, inventing myths.”

Clara simply stared for several seconds. Then let out a long ”fuuuuuuck” that didn’t so much as end but trail off until it became inaudible.

Jamie was shocked that Clara would swear so loudly, and looked around. Yes, several people heard her plainly. He grabbed her elbow and steered her out of the library, down the corridor, and into an open-air courtyard, empty due to the cold weather.

Clara was finally coming around to Jamie’s excitability. Clara hugged her arms around herself, not against the cold but against the knowledge that there wasn’t magic lurking around every corner if you only just knew how to look. Jamie said nothing for a bit, and then added, “time travel is bunk too.” Clara shrugged – that was less important to her than dragons and unicorns.

“But, magical plants exist, so why not magical animals? And of course boggarts and that Maximillian’s shade, and vampires and werewolves, and ignus fatuus.”

“Well, the shade, vampires, and werewolves are also just people. Or made by people. Ok fine, I don’t have all the answers. Do the fool’s fire things, like, procreate? And boggarts?” Jamie made a disgusted face as he considered boggarts procreating. “It seems as if all magic is just people, at the root of it.”

“I’m not convinced – you still didn’t answer about magical plants.”

“Well, back to travel… so there’s brooms and floo. Floo is regulated by the Ministry and there’s a yearly fee to have your home connected, which isn’t cheap. But most wizarding families have a floo connection. And stores.”

“So instead of a multi-hour train ride, can we just floo to London from Hogwarts?”

“No, because there’s a range limit. And no floo in Hogwarts, you have to go to Hogsmeade. To make a journey that long you would have to do multiple floo hops, through random people’s houses.”

“Why doesn’t the Ministry just run floo like public transit? You could put a floo into a little unmarked cottage hidden from muggles or something, number them and distribute maps, so you could get anywhere in the country with a floo and then short broom ride. The way it is now, if you want to go to the northeast of England you probably can’t floo there because you’re not friends with any of the families that live there. Plus, even if you have friends can you just pop into their kitchen whenever and use their house as a subway station? No.”

“I don’t know, Clara, I don’t know. Oh wait, there’s apparently a super-floo that connects London to Paris, and from there you can go on to other major cities. Since Paris is the wizarding center of Europe that’s where all the connections are.”

“Jamie.”

“Yes?”

“This is not good…”

“And hinkypunks or nifflers or gnomes or whatever magical animals? Yeah, of course they don’t exist because there’s not enough wizards in the world to be constantly memory charming everyone.”

“How could Rowling have lied so baldly…”

“Oh, and patronus messaging isn’t a thing. It might work but almost no one knows the patronus spell. It’s hard to cast. Think, have you seen any patronuses running around? With such a useful spell that even a 14 year old can learn in a few hours, everyone would be using it constantly.”

“Jamie stop.”

“Yeah, owls are the best we’ve got for magical communication, and they’re worse than email.”

“So magical animals do exist!”

Jamie was satisfied to actually have one of the answers to Clara’s probes. “I asked. They’re normal owls that have had a spell cast on them by humans. They’re not a special kind of wild, magical owl.”

Milly entered the girls shared room in Ravenclaw Tower and found Clara laying on her bed on her back, staring at the bottom of her canopy. Milly stopped, surprised. “Clara, is something wrong?”

“Milly, tell me if it’s true.”

“What?” Milly asked, her voice wavering due to Clara’s weird behavior.

“Milly, are there small, cute, or dangerous magical creatures hidden around every corner, just waiting to be found?”

“What?”

“I thought the world was full of magical creatures like unicorns, gnomes, little sprite things, or dangerous elf guys lurking in the shadows, but is it real?”

Milly’s voice was still nervous, as if she was afraid of what Clara might do next. “Uh, no? You want there to be dangerous elves lurking in the shadows?”

“No magical creatures at all?”

“There’s goblins of course.”

“Milly, what are goblins.”

“You know, the short guys with big ears, that run the banks….”

“Yes, but what are they? Are they just short people?“

“I… I’ve never thought about it.” A brief silence followed.

Clara thought and said, “oh, and there’s house elves too. Hey, if they’re called house elves, are there other kinds of elves?”

“Not that I know of.” Milly’s eyes went left and right, thinking. “Clara? Are you ok?”

“Yes Milly, I’ll be ok. I just need to lay here a bit.”

Chapter Text

Thursday was December 6^th and Clara started the day bummed because there was no candy in her shoe, despite leaving it in front of the small fireplace in her tower room. In response to her house mates asking questions about her digging in her shoe in the morning, she had to explain all about Saint Nicholas Day.

“It’s one of my favorite holidays because it doesn’t have the big performative grandeur of Christmas, and the fighting over who got better presents, and the disappointment. You put our your shoe and get a little chocolate or something to start your day with cheer.”

The girls nodded without really understanding. Clara forgot that eleven year olds don’t usually say “performative grandeur.”

“Muggle holidays are silly,” said Milly, “who wants candy to be ruined by being in a stinky shoe?”

Clara was confident that magical holidays would be ten times sillier, but unaware of them she couldn’t retort.

Allison’s critique was also valid, “did you really expect candy? Who would have put it there? The real Saint Nick?”

Having brushed and washed their faces, they went down to the common room and met a surprise.

It was Betty who noticed it first. “Hey Clara, does that doughnut have your name on it?”

In fact there was a doughnut on the table with a brown paper tag stuck in it.

Clara picked it up gingerly, her mind first thinking of a prank before anything else.

“So?” Allison asked, “going to eat it?”

Clara took a bite and found it delicious – with jelly inside. She smiled, “who’s silly now?” She said, jelly in her teeth, as the girls looked on with a bit of jealousy.

“And it doesn’t even smell like shoe,” Milly added.

They left and went down to the Great Hall for breakfast, and happened to cross Jamie, Roc, August, and Sedgely leaving together.

“Jamie!” Clara called out, “it was you who put out the doughnut in the common room, right?”

Jamie smiled sheepishly in front of all their friends, “yeah, I knew somebody had to be Saint Nick. I actually asked this girl to put it in your room but I guess it didn’t make it that far.”

Clara saw his embarrassment and held off hugging him, but gave him a wink as they girls entered the Great Hall, chatting about nothing.

Within moments they discovered where Jamie had gotten the doughnut, as the tables had a partially picked through pyramid of fresh doughnuts every dozen feet, in addition to other breakfast items. All the girls got to enjoy a doughnut, and Clara had three. It didn’t matter to her that her treat had been cheap – where was Jamie supposed to get chocolates anyway, when they couldn’t leave the grounds – she still was happy he thought of it at all.

The marker of Saint Nicholas’ day reminded her how close Christmas was. She usually appreciated it as a little treat at the beginning of December to kick off the season, but their Christmas break came early at Hogwarts, and was only a week away. One week! It felt like she was on break already. Classes were low stress, her friends were friends again, and everything was bright.

Chapter Text

The week ended with an uproar as it was Gryffindor versus Slytherin on Saturday. Without the pressure of classes, and with the historic rivalry between the two Houses, it was unceasing din for two days leading up to the match. There were so few matches throughout the year that it still felt new and exciting to both Clara and Jamie. They sat together and, this time with better knowledge, got excellent seats mid-field with full view of the acrobatics. Jamie spotted the snitch several times when the seekers weren’t even aware, but he had no preference on who would win and didn’t call it out like some other students were doing.

A frigid rain had started before the snitch was caught but the stands were still packed. Injuries had been numerous and both sides were playing like their lives depended on it. It ended up 250 to 120, Slytherin winning, but a close match that could have gone either way. The snitch was caught and the Slytherin seeker almost finished with his lap of the stadium before the crowd became fully aware that the game was over, and then the stadium was in a literal riot.

Wands out and barrier and protection spells flying, professors herded the students back towards the school in different bunches. Jamie and Clara moved in the center of a crush of students, not wanting to be a part of insanity, and made it back to the school safe.

Everyone made it back safe, as the students turned out to be behaved enough to not be actually casting dangerous spells around, but just taunting and yelling. A little physical separation of the schools kept everything under control.

Chapter Text

Jamie sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes. He was in the History of Magic lecture hall and Binns had finally stopped talking. He was late leaving the hall and had to run to catch up to the other students on their way back to the Great Hall. It was Monday again and he just couldn’t bring himself to care much or exert himself for the last week of school before break.

“Hey Roc,” Jamie said, poking Roc in the back, “I zoned out the end of the lecture today – can I see your notes?”

Roc handed over his parchment scroll and Jamie looked it over while walking. The first thing that caught his eye was the name at the top, Roc. He laughed. “This whole time I thought your name was Rock, like a stone.”

“A rock? No, it’s just r-o-c.”

“Like the bird?”

“No, it’s Catalan. After Saint Rocco. Why would anyone be named rock, like stone?”

“It’s not weird, I thought it was like, you know, Peter means rock in some language. Hebrew or Greek or something.”

“Oh. No.” Roc shook his head.

Jamie tried to memorize the important gist of the notes but was interrupted by August joining them as they met at the crush through a narrow doorway connecting one stone corridor to another.

“What are you guys talking about? Yule ball?” August asked.

“No, nothing,” said Roc, as if he wanted to avoid the conversation.

Jaime had to ask, “what’s Yule Ball?”

Roc shook his head for August to see, but Jamie caught it too.

August explained, “Oh right, you may have not been invited. The Yule Ball is not thrown by the school. It’s done by students only, as an unofficial thing. And it’s by invitation only. Sorry, I didn’t think about the fact that you might not go.”

“Why wouldn’t I get an invitation?”

“Well,” said August, without pulling punches, “it’s a noble and ancient house thing. My parents even sent me a letter about who to talk to and about what. It’s rather annoying that they think I need schooling on who I should be friends with and who I should hate because of something that happened two hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Or five hundred,” added Roc, in a tone that implied he would rather drop the whole conversation.

August nodded, “yeah, I honestly don’t care except for the rotters who joined with You-Know-Who without any reservation. Except I have some distant relatives who did and apparently blood trumps anything.” He rolled his eyes. “Nobility requires noble acts is what I want to say, like my family has done for generations.”

Typical August, Jamie thought, not unkindly, the good hearted elitist. He wondered at Roc’s reticence.

He didn’t ask any more as they chowed down on Cornish pasties.

That evening, Jamie tried to find Clara to talk about being cut out of wizarding life because they had no family history, but he had no luck since she was in a room under the castle having her weekly violin lesson, the last until break.

Down under the castle, Anna was telling Clara that she was making good progress. Clara felt like she was getting nowhere so it rang hollow. She stood there shoulders drooped as Anna explained, “in the Spring we’ll start with sheet music. You don’t need to learn it but you’ll be pretty limited if you don’t. Actually, there’s a reason why I started you without it. If you learn just from sheet music you never develop your ear and ability to use the instrument as your voice, which would also limit you forever. Do you feel it becoming your voice?”

Clara thought about it and shook her head.

“Oh well,” Anna remained positive as usual, “it will come in time. By the way – speaking of voice – you will get your own violin over the break, right?”

Clara nodded. She was looking forward to it. She had imagined many times how she would walk into the shop, the smell of wood and rosin everywhere, beautiful instruments around, and slowly try and pick an instrument. Almost like getting a wand, it would be an instrument just for herself.

“You have someone to help you pick one, right? I mean, as long as you go to a reputable shop you probably won’t be taken advantage of, but it is easy to be disappointed. Some violins are bright, some are dark, some are temperamental, some never stay in tune, some have a muddy low end but excellent middle, and some have certain notes that will never sound because of some defect. Those are wolf tones. You really need someone with an ear to aid you.”

“Yes,” Clara said, “I have a friend from school who actually played for a few years, and her father plays.” Clara was only half-lying. The “friend” was her mom’s friend who was an accomplished player. Clara had a vague plan to make some recordings and send it to her. She didn’t want to make a problem for Anna and figured she would be all right anyway.

Carefully cleaning the rosin off and putting the loaner violin back in its case, Clara felt sad, like she was losing a friend. She handed the closed case with bow and violin to Anna, who was impatient to head out, one violin in each hand.

“Oh, by the way,” Anna said as they left together, “we’re doing another concert Thursday night for end of term. It’s a Hogwarts thing this time so it’ll be all formal and we’ll be in the choir chamber – that’s down the green corridor from the Great Hall and through the double doors with the purple velvet.”

“I’ll definitely be there!” Clara said. They parted, Anna deeper into the tunnels beneath Hogwarts and Clara to ascend stair after stair to Ravenclaw Tower, feeling light on her feet but with a heavy heart as she had no more violin.

Chapter Text

Jamie sought out Clara at breakfast to talk about being snubbed for not being a noble and ancient family.

“Do you know about the Yule Ball?” Jamie asked without any sequitur.

“Oh yeah, Milly is bringing all of us,” Clara replied.

Jamie huffed deeper. “Well, Roc or August didn’t invite me or Sedgley.” He was more annoyed that they apparently could have invited him, but chose not to.

Clara was placating, but to no effect. “It’s silly anyway, Jamie, it’s not a big party like Halloween or Christmas, at least Milly said that.”

“It’s just too much,” Jamie complained. “It’s hard enough coming into the wizarding world with everything being unknown and new, with no real introduction, just thrown out there to fumble around – and even money is impossible to deal with! We can afford to buy our textbooks next year but we’re going to burn through a crazy amount of money just to do it. How to regular muggleborns manage?”

“You’re right about that,” Clara conceded. “I’m glad we’re fine at least, but you’re right. It does seem silly that we have to buy textbooks at all – can’t Hogwarts afford it or just magic everything into existence?”

“How about this: we’ll write a book for muggleborns, the introduction that they need but doesn’t exist.”

Clara didn’t seem convinced, so he continued.

“Think about it, besides money and exchange and banking, what about a guide to Diagon Alley, Floo, Quidditch, Noble Houses, all these Hogwarts traditions, the fact that you’ll need to struggle for supplies after your first year…”

“You’re right, all that would have been super useful to read over the summer before coming here, but you do realize that you’re going to write a book disclosing all the intricacies of wizard society… a society that tries extremely hard to remain a secret… even using magic to do so… magic that traces you! Jamie, nobody is going to like this.”

“But Clara, I feel like it has to be done. It’s not just the simple stuff to get oriented. Like this Yule Ball. Everything is stacked against you if you’re muggleborn. I was asking about wizard law because August mentioned something about some estate dispute from his family holdings. Those of a noble house have codified legal advantages. Plus, in many cases, the laws don't actually matter and the judges and wizengamot just rule what seems sensible, not by precedent.” Jamie’s voice had been steadily rising in volume and he was standing by that point, with his hands on Clara’s shoulders. “Compared to contemporary muggle life it's almost anarchy, ruled by those who can seize power. There is no concept of equal under the law.”

“I get it Jamie, but please sit down. All this from being disinvited from a crummy party.”

“Well ok, maybe it does annoy me more than it should. But now I’m thinking, if we write this book and get a galleon for it from every new muggleborn starting at Hogwarts, that could solve our money issues.”

Clara, visibly exasperated, was willing to say anything to get Jamie to change the subject. “Ok then write it, but I don’t actually want to.”

“Ok I will.”

“Ok then. But seriously, check the content with McGonagall or someone trustworthy, to make sure you don’t end up in wizard prison for breaking the International Statute of Secrecy.”

“Agreed, then,” Jamie said tersely.

Leaving the great hall, Jamie was startled by a flash of neon light which stuck itself to the wall behind him. Loud voices followed, both deep booming that carried down the corridor. He looked around and then yelped as he was yanked behind a display case.

He turned to see Rob Abby, the jerk of a Slytherin first year that he had hardly spoken to. He stiffened in anticipation of some attack but relaxed when he saw Rob’s calm demeanor. Clara and Roc were already crouched there, filling up the hiding spot, having hidden themselves while Jamie stood out in harm’s way like a fool. Most other students had left the corridor, but Jamie could see students in twos and threes trying to safely watch what was happening.

Rob spoke, at an elevated volume so as to be heard amongst the yelling in the hallway. “Duck behind here and we’ll save ourselves a jinx or two.”

“What’s happening?” Jamie asked.

Clara shook her head; she didn’t know either.

“Well, listen for yerself,” was Rob’s answer.

Jamie listened, and as they crouched there he had the time and boredom to notice all the details on the strange wooden and brass rods and badges in the display case next to them.

The yelling was so loud they could clearly understand the two combatants.

“This is for Irchester!”

“Irchester was a joke and your pap wasn’t even born yet, so get off.”

“Bluebells! Bluebells!”

“Haha, remember Morwen Mercian?”

Then the spells started flying. The fight was not like anything Jamie or Clara had seen, not even the interhouse duels Clara got to observe. Spells and counterspells flew; spells were begun and interrupted. The pace was astounding. In a fight where a single silly jinx, well landed, could instantly end it, somehow the incantations and counter incantations continued for minutes. Sometimes there was a brief pause while both sides reconsidered and tried to gain tempo, but it was an almost continuous stream of casting from both sides to the point where Jamie could not distinguish where one spell ended and another began. The air sang with magic while the walls melted or sported growths as the spells demanded.

Finally it was quiet, and after thirty seconds Jamie did sneak a peek to find one of the students involved spinning slowly a few inches off the ground and apparently held immobile except for their right arm which was trying to reach anything, but couldn’t. The winner was long gone. And where were the professors?

“I still don’t understand what happened – why were they fighting?” Jamie asked the air, and Roc provided the answer.

“Old blood feud, probably brought on by something related to the Yule Ball. I know the winner. That was John Mareev, Gryffindor 6th year. I know him because I’ve seen him at some family parties when we go West, but I think he’s only distantly related if at all.”

“So what is bluebells?” Clara asked.

“I don’t even know,” said Roc, and glancing at Rob’s face he didn’t know either. Roc gave Jamie an apologetic look. “See? This kind of annoying ancient history is why I didn’t invited you to the Yule. It’s mostly a burden.”

Jamie saw Roc in a new light. Roc hardly talked about his family, his supposedly rich and well connected family, and so it was a new face he was revealing.

“He’s a sixth year?” Clara asked.

Roc nodded.

“So, that kind of spell casting, that will be us in just a few short years?” Her look of awe was dampened by Rob and Roc’s expressions meaning “of course” having been exposed to magic their whole lives, but Jamie joined her in being awestruck and whispered, “wow.” Rob and Roc appeared calm, while Jamie and Clara’s hearts were still racing despite the duel being over for several minutes.

Parting ways, as they all had different directions to go for the remaining half hour before afternoon classes and different classes to go to, Jamie reflected and decided he still didn’t accept Roc’s explanation that the Yule Ball was more political than fun. Jamie thought about how all the muggle prime ministers and government officials in England were once all schoolmates at Eton. It’s the same scenario in this wizarding world and he’s going to be left out? But he’s not even British and has a fake past, he reminds himself… and has zero interest in politics. It may have been a response to the high stress of being in the middle of a miniature war zone, but he became introspective, a mood he couldn’t shake for the rest of the day.

When he had time to dream what did he dream of? Both before and after finding out he was a wizard, he had some idea of having a grand rural estate and vacationing a lot, but also having time and space to do… something. That something used to be science. Now what? He thought of Clara getting involved with being a healer. At the beginning of the year he didn’t care anymore about anything. He saw magic as a way to live a carefree life of luxury, free from the requirement to keep working until retirement, not to any other end. But what kind of life was that? Was that really what he wanted?

Chapter Text

With almost no assigned homework, the week flew by and it was soon time for Clara to visit Anna at her end of term concert. She convinced Milly, Betty, and Alison to go with her. They found the room quickly by following the trail of students heading the same way. There were about a dozen players on an elevated stage and nowhere to sit, so the friends crowded in as close to as possible. They weren’t near the front, but with maybe fifty students in the room they weren’t far and could hear and see everything.

The players included violins, violas, a bass, a harp, some guitars, something else like a funny long and seven stringed guitar, and two drummers. They played in groups for two to six, rotating every song. It was Clara’s first time seeing live acoustic music since middle school, and there was no comparison between the stadium sized pop concerts she had been to and this intimate gathering. The evening felt magical, Clara thought to herself, and then laughed inwardly at being in such a magical place and finding the one thing that had absolutely zero magic in it to be magical.

Anna wowed her in every song she played in, taking the lead only once, but the other students were just as good. How long until I can be like that?

The final two songs were jigs with well known lyrics that turned the whole room into a dance floor. Clara tried to dance but grew embarrassed at her inability and stood to the side to watch Alison, who turned out to be quite good.

Clara bustled past the small crowd after the concert was over to find Anna, beaming with energy and a sheen of sweat from the busy final songs. “Anna that was wonderful, you have to invite me to every concert in the new year.”

“Of course, the schedule is published somewhere usually. I’ll try and get a copy since I never remember the dates.”

Sheepishly, Clara had to ask, “how many years until I can play a song like you did tonight?”

Anna gave a small laugh. “Be patient. Look, you’re playing songs already.”

“Yeah, but not anything anyone would want to hear.”

“We’ll do some fiddle music in the spring. You need to start working on your rhythm anyway.”

Clara stood awkwardly, and saw Anna was being tugged away to chat with her musician friends. She made eye contact and said a final, “thanks for inviting me tonight.”

Anna shrugged, “Of course!,” confused why she was being thanked. But Clara had been earnest.

Friday, the last day of classes, nobody was paying attention. Up in the Ravenclaw tower it was conspicuous that the sun didn’t peek over the horizon until half past eight. For Clara the day went by in a haze, for Jamie it felt like a minute passed between waking up and the end of their last class.

Starting the climb down the astronomy tower, he shook his head. “No exams? That’s it? We’re just done? 3 PM on a random Friday in mid December?”

“Well,” said August, “almost everyone is leaving on Sunday morning, so there’s still a day.”

“I feel like there should be more of a celebration, or ceremony, or some grand dinner and talk by the Headmistress, or something.”

“Well, we won’t be there, but I’m sure Hufflepuff will be on fire. You and Sedgley can enjoy that.”

“Yeah, probably,” Jamie said, remembering that most of his friends and even Clara would be at the Yule Ball without him on Saturday. Jamie thought about hugs and goodbyes, but realized it would be silly because they would all be getting onto the train together on Sunday morning. Anyone he knew was staying over Christmas? No one close, anyway.

Chapter Text

On a chilly day Clara walked with Milly, Betty, and Alison and several other students to the Yule Ball. The sun had set hours ago, in the afternoon. The mood was quiet, not chatty like it normally would be when a bunch of friends were going to a party. The mood was weird. They had unconsciously followed the lead of Milly and the other “noble” students and started to be punctilious and cautious in what they said – which meant saying nothing while their robes whisked through the halls. It gave time for Clara’s mind to wander and become introspective.

Clara wished she had internet access to look up when it was going to get brighter again. Or maybe regular access to a Hogwarts weather report (she had never seen or heard mention of one – maybe one existed in the Hogsmeade paper she could get). She wondered, when was it going to snow? Due to the scattered firs the forest was green in patches, but the view out the windows in December was mostly the muted green-browns of the low scrub. It wasn’t ugly, not like the dead brown sticks of a hibernating forest, but it also wasn’t as nice as having piles of fluffy white snow. It still hadn’t dropped below freezing. There was often fog or mist, but no real rain. It wasn’t a hard winter at all. She had only worn her fur-lined winter cloak on two days, and it was almost Christmas.

Winter cloaks were one place where you could tell who came from money – and the other was ball gowns. With the everyday clothes, the stipulated black robes, you had to pay attention to cut and fit or richness of the dye to pick out the higher quality ones. But cloaks had more pizzazz.

The “Hogwarts Special” cloak was flat black and thinly lined on the interior with silvery or white fur and was completed with a voluminous hood that was supposed to go over the hood of the regular robes. (The hood kept dropping into Clara’s eyes and she wondered if the size was wrong or she was just doing it wrong.) But for those who didn’t have the Hogwarts Special, their cloaks were unique. All custom made as if the industrial revolution never happened. They could have different colors and thicknesses of the fur lining, simple cut versus multi-layered with vents, colored piping on seams, and apparently the fashion was broad shaped shoulders that, to Clara, looked impressive on the older boys but silly on anyone else. The cloaks could have designs down the back in traces of silver or some color. Clara was jealous. She had never been into designer clothing, but those custom cloaks were a thing of beauty.

And ball gowns were extremely varied in design. Not knowing that she could have made use of more muggle clothes, Clara was wearing her standard blacks, but thankfully she wasn’t the only one. And Milly’s “fancy” gown was black with blue sequins, understated, so it wasn’t like Clara had shown up to prom in jeans.

They arrived at the ball to find two house elves acting as doormen who checked the student’s invitations before they entered. The door opened to reveal round tables scattered around the room, set for dinner with white porcelain. In the center of the room was a foot high elevated platform of wood planks, currently empty. They were early, apparently, as the tables were mostly empty too.

The room filled within a half hour, a four piece string band had started playing, and they had been given warm butterbeers. Clara’s mood was good. Some students had come and gone from their table, saying brief things to Milly, but it was mainly the four friends being chatty, a much-needed final evening together before parting ways in the morning. Clara was at first weirded out by the “ball” being staid, with hardly any dancing, lots of side conversations and whispers, but she decided she preferred an evening of butterbeers and good cheer with her friends. Why all the weird whispering anyway, what would the children be bringing back to their parents? She thought Milly was staying out of the politicking, but then she had the thought that Milly bringing the three of them, none of an ancient House, was a political statement, against Conrad specifically. She was proud of Milly.

They were eventually served dinner and cake and some fizzy drinks with fruit flavors, and then it was time to wrap up. The party was over all at once and everyone crowded out. Just outside the door Clara stopped and gave Milly and then the others a hug, saying, “I’ll miss you guys a lot.”

A few tears were shed and Alison said “I think I’ll miss you guys more than I’ve missed my parents. I want to see them but really I can’t wait to come back.”

Then they awkwardly stood around, realizing they were all heading back to the exact same dormitory room and going to sleep five feet away from each other and it was too early to say goodbye. They shuffled off towards their beds talking about classes and boys and giggling all the way.

Chapter Text

Sunday arrived, the day of the train ride back to London. Clara and Jamie didn’t see each other in the castle or even outside, each following the straggled bunches of students of their Houses down towards Hogsmeade station.

For the first years it was their first time seeing Hogsmeade during the day, despite its proximity to the school. It had been months since they were there last; the time felt both long and short to Jamie and Clara. The village’s cute timber frame buildings weren’t a total surprise as some rooftops and streets were slightly visible in the distance from the towers of Hogwarts, but it was still exciting as their first time actually being there.

They didn’t have to struggle with their trunks as they were left behind, only a backpack with a change of muggle clothes and essentials such as cell phones for Jamie and Clara. Free of the burdens of school and their trunks, and looking forward to the coming break, spirits were high. The day was overcast yet not so cold – Jamie even had his cloak open and fairly pranced his way through the forest to Hogsmeade, him and his friends hanging off each other and laughing together.

As she boarded the train, Clara looked wistfully at Hogsmeade with its adorable one to three storey houses packed side by side, most with steeply sloped roofs with curled edges like dripping water. The houses and shops were a mix of browns, tans, and creams with dark trim, but many were decorated with spots of bright color whether flags, signs, or art. She wished they could spend more time rather than simply congregating in the first couple of streets. It was a strange design that the train station anchored the north side of town, surrounded by forests on three sides, rather than being central.

The clanging bell of the train warned the students that it was departing soon, and the children milling about moved on to the platform and started to sort into their carriages. A few students were lagging as they finished a heartfelt goodbye. Clara realized that made sense despite the hours long ride ahead of them. It would be hard to find a specific person as they were all in their separate cabins. As Milly, Alison, and Betty mounted the step up inside, she saw a handful of professors had come to see them off and she took the chance to wave at those she knew – Abernathy, Longbottom, Hagrid, and surprisingly Professor Awl, the head of Ravenclaw House who was almost never seen. His white beard had grown longer over the semester. Several professors were also boarding.

Clara’s pause gave Jamie a chance to find her – he rushed up just to say, breathless, “Clara! Just wanted to make sure you made it on, I’ll see you at Waterloo!” and then dashed off, and entered the train four cars down. Clara finally went inside to find Alison standing in the aisle at the other end of the car and waving her over to the seat.

The ride itself was uneventful, the friends chatting and playing games, and Clara spent a lot of time with her eyes glued to the window. The view was beautiful and fascinating how they moved from the rolling hills, scrub, and lochs of the Highlands into a full blown snowy winter wonderland and then to brown stick forests and then to patches of green holly or grass standing up against the season. Once the view became first industrial and then houses of increasing density, it was time to change clothes.

Changing back to her muggle clothes that she had prepared and feeling constricted by the shaped clothing, Clara realized she had come to prefer the comfortable wizarding robes. She fairly fidgeted in her seat for twenty minutes before acclimating to jeans and a T-shirt again. It was also absurd and incongruous to see her friends in muggle clothes.

Soon the train was chugging into the station and whistling its stop. The doors opened and the noise of the city was, for a minute, overwhelming. Clara stepped off to a blast of warm air, the squeals and whistles of trains, the screeching of bus brakes, engines roaring, and thousands of voices all fighting to be heard over the background noises. Some students had brought their trunks and a team of porters were either helping load trunks onto trolleys or directing students and parents.

Jamie joined Clara, Milly, Betty, and Alison at the pile of trunks. The trunks being impossibly heavy for a twelve year old to pick up, the girls were glad for the help of the porters. The four friends gave each other one final hug – quickly because Betty’s and Milly’s parents were already waiting and Alison said she had agreed to meet hers by the passenger pick-up area quite a distance from where the train platform was. They left the entrance from Platform 13 ½ to the station in general and took a breath. The station was so busy that the hundreds of Hogwarts students quickly got mixed up in the busy muggle crowds and were indistinguishable.

The two walked past families and children, some trundling their trolleys through the station, past dozens of platforms and entrances for the underground or bus services and finally arrived at the street entrance and its familiar absurd design of several lines of high speed and high volume traffic blocking pedestrians from getting from the station into the rest of London.

Jamie shrugged, apparent to Clara in discomfort at his shirt and zippered jacket combo. “I definitely did not miss the constant sound of traffic.”

“God, I forgot how loud it is. Or stopped being used to it.”

Back in the muggle world.

Chapter Text

As they left the station, Jamie sighed and subconsciously flattened his coat. Surrounded by the bustle of a modern train station, he could feel the wonder and mystique of Hogwarts flow off from his head to his toes and run away into the gutters. After a minute he stood there with a feeling that perhaps it had all been a dream. He shared a look with Clara, who had similarly been taking it all in, saying nothing and feeling like she couldn’t get a word in between all the transit noise.

Finally Jamie spoke. “Ok, dumped in London with nothing but a backpack. Fortunately it’s 2023 so all we need is internet and money to solve all our problems. Money is here in my bag, so we need to get somewhere to charge our cell phones and get internet. Probably should get right on booking a room near the entrance to Diagon Alley, then hire a driver to get there.”

“…Or mobiles as they’re called here,” Clara said. “Look, ‘mobile charging station’ over there. Those tables in front of the Starbucks. We don’t even have to pay.”

Jamie was inwardly amused that he had gotten used to calling fries chips but being at Hogwarts had given him no experience in changing “cell phone” to “mobile.”

They sat down, plugged in, and began the five minute wait it took to get a base charge before they could boot their mobiles. Clara pointed at a massive advertisement banner across the hall. “Huh, the new iPhone was released while we were gone, the whole 15 series.” Jamie nodded dismissively, not really caring since he was a dedicated Android user.

Their phones finally on, conversation stopped as they each scrolled through months of emails and messages. Clara’s phone kept dinging every fifteen seconds as messages were slowly delivered and she had to turn off the sound to not draw attention. Eventually Jamie interrupted Clara, who was drafting a multi-paragraph text to one of her friends, to share a few rental listings he found. “These are too expensive… but this is an ok price right next to Diagon Alley… and this one has an amazing view of the Thames but it’s almost a mile from the Leaky Cauldron.”
“I want the view.” Clara immediately responded.

Jamie booked it and informed Clara they couldn’t check in until three, so they would have to find lunch or something.

Clara shrugged. “My butt hurts from being in the train for five hours, let’s walk.”

After another twenty minutes of messaging they’re were ready to go. They picked up their bags and exited Waterloo directly in front of several lanes of high speed traffic. While they waited for the light to change, their gaze tended towards the church plaza across the street where they were first oriented to get the train to Hogwarts.

“Everything is different,” Clara says.

Jamie nodded but then said, “what?”

“I am thinking about this place, my impressions of it four months ago when we were here last, and who I am now. Everything is different. I am different. The world is the same but I feel so… detached. From the muggle world I mean.”

Jamie quickly agreed and pulled Clara’s hand to get her across the street before the light changed again.

“How about this,” Clara said, “we need more muggle clothes for our time in London so let’s get that over with.”

Jamie checked the map on his phone. “Well, let’s see. Right here is… Ted Baker, Calvin Klein, Levi’s…”

Clara rolled her eyes. “I didn’t come all the way to London to buy fucking Levi’s.” Clara smiled at being able to swear again. “Let me look… oh! Covent Garden! I wanted to go last summer and it’s supposed to be so cute around Christmas time.”

“Do they have clothes?”

“Probably not. But let’s go.”

They took the underground three stops and stepped out into a busy market street. The three blocks to Covent Garden were lined with the same brands as could be found in any mall in the States, but entering the Covent Garden center itself made the trip worth it. The entrance, large hall, and independent stalls were decked out for the holiday season though it was too balmy to feel fully like Christmas to someone used to the snow.

Leaving with their arms full of bags of cakes, cured meats, hats and scarves, and many other things they had no real need to buy, Jamie was glad they had at least scored some outfits for the week – two for Jamie and three for Clara. And bonus, they didn’t look like children’s clothes but were well cut and classy. Thank God for stylish London.

It was past their check in-time but with no mood to stop the party, they got seats at a high dollar Italian restaurant and split an entrée and tiramisu for dessert, food that would never be served at Hogwarts. Jamie thought his Coca-cola never tasted so good.

They stepped out of the restaurant to find it still light and Clara looked around, weirded out. “Isn’t it past six?”

“Yeah, how many hundreds of miles south did we travel today?”

“Anyway, how do we get to the rental?”

Jamie checked the map to see that, by coincidence, they were a half mile away. They decided to walk straight to the Thames and take in the view along it instead of going the direct route, and still made it by seven. Clara was awed by the view of King’s College, though their view of the river was often blocked by an ugly high speed road and walls. The sun was set and a chill was creeping in, and they were glad to be heading in. In contrast to a lot of the highly ornamented architecture they had just passed on the way, their hotel was a set of weirdly stacked concrete boxes in a badly done brutalist style, with water stains and some major cracks on the exterior.

Jamie typed in the door code from the app, having carefully selected a hotel where they would not have to interact with anyone in the lobby and field questions about two eleven year olds being on their own. They entered their room and flipped on the lights – clean enough but badly lit and cold. Jamie immediately cranked the heater by the window to the max and pulled open the shades.

“You really couldn’t find a better place?” Clara asks.

“But look, view!” It was, in fact, an excellent view of the Thames with the Eye in the distance. “You know how much hotels are in this part of London? I am super happy to be here without spending five hundred a night.”

Clara shrugged and went to take a hot shower before spending a couple hours on her phone before bed. Jamie followed suit. They both fell asleep early, sinking into the soft bedding, spreading out their limbs in the huge bed.

Chapter Text

Their first muggle morning dawned, bringing the view from their room of the sun glinting over the Thames. Clara and Jamie had no desire to get out of their bed.

Clara came back from the bathroom and dove back under the covers. “It’s so cold in here. This heater can’t even keep up and it’s not even below freezing out.”

Jamie’s lazy answer came minutes later. “It would be warmer to get out of here.”

“Yes. What’s the British equivalent of a diner?”

“It’s cafe. Without the accent. With the accent means a café.”

Clara checked her mobile. “Ok, five blocks, Beekman’s Cafe, without an accent.”

“But will they have food or is it just a scone-for-ten-pounds kind of place?”

“It says here breakfast served all day. Sounds like a diner to me.”

They showered, dressed, and stepped out into crisp air, feeling warmer already as they started to move. Within twenty minutes Clara was poking her fork around snotty scrambled eggs. “I asked for over easy. Makes you appreciate the house elves’ ability to cook.”

Jamie sipped from the first coffee he had in weeks. Though Hogwarts often served it, he had only taken it a few times and the warmth and caffeine were what he wanted at that moment. “How do we get a house elf?” he wondered.

“Can you, ethically, get a house elf?” Clara countered.

Jamie became argumentative even though Clara’s comment had been innocent. “Can you ethically eat at Hogwarts or have your clothes washed everyday and your fire lit?”

Clara shrugged. Jamie recognized the impracticability of the matter and had no response ready.

Clara watched out the window at passersby, cars, and buses. It was a Monday and the city was busy, though they had slept through the morning rush. She was still in mild culture shock. She was allowed to relax for five minutes because Jamie’s mind was somewhere else, but finally he had to share or else burst.

“Ok,” Jamie began, “let’s assume Rowling wasn’t bullshitting us about house elves since her description of the Hogwarts elves was accurate. The facts are that Lucius lost his elf and was unable to get a new one despite how rich he was. The Black family had a whole wall of elf heads replacing them as they got old and the last one in the line was in fact Kreacher’s mother. So they only got new house elves by… breeding them? Seems f’d. Hogwarts is full of elves, so they aren’t that rare, but being rich and having connections won’t get you one. What is the consistent answer to all of this? That will tell us how to get an elf.”

Clara tried to interject but Jamie stopped her.

“Do house elves have houses and a society unrelated to being owned? Lucius is unable to buy it from anyone. He's unable to command someone he knows to breed their elf and give him one. Yet the Blacks can command their elf to breed? Do house elves have children but secret them away so they never become slaves?”

“Don’t say breed, that’s too crass. Worse than crass. Bordering on evil.”

Jamie made a face of apology but continued anyway. “Maybe there's a spell to bind an elf to your family and it's closely guarded and/or lost. That's why only old families have elves. Well, it's easy to make up plausible explanations but another thing to prove that they're true. Unlike science though, in this case somebody knows and we just need to ask the right person.”

“I could have told you minutes ago that the solution was to just ask any wizard born student. Literally any one.” She stood up to gather her jacket and bag. “Let’s just go to Diagon anyway. I’ve been dying to see George’s shop since we missed it in the summer.”

As they passed out the door, she added, “and thank God that anyone overhearing us would assume we’re Potter nerds instead of us getting caught violating the Statute.

Arriving at Diagon Alley by foot they almost missed the Leaky Cauldron’s heavy door as it was practically unmarked on a historic narrow street full of practically unmarked heavy doors. Backtracking a dozen yards they yanked on the door pull together and then shut it behind. The cozy warmth slowly soaked through their jackets to warm their skin. Having come just off the street it took time for their eyes to adjust. Sunlight filtered through windows on the second level of the establishment but didn’t provide enough light; candles and lamps made up the difference. They had been through this building only a handful of times, months ago, so took a minute to acclimate before moving through the hall directly to the brick entrance to Diagon Alley without more than a nod to the middle aged woman standing behind the bar waiting for a customer to need something. There were only a few patrons at the moment.

Out back the air felt especially cool after the warmth of the Leaky Cauldon. No sun reached the bottom of the deep alley. A few taps with a finger and they were through – from a quiet courtyard the wonder of Diagon Alley opened up before them.

They gazed left and right, in just as much awe as the first time. Holiday cheer abounded. Clara sighed at the winding street, the tiny shops with intricate details of carving and iron; it was a beautiful sight. She had to admit that, despite how cute Covent Garden felt the other day it was like a cheap Disney imitation of this street.

Memories came flooding back – shopping for their robes, cauldrons, trunks, and – there was Ollivander’s – their wands. She instinctively felt in her pocket for her wand but it was absent; they had both left everything but wallets and a backpack at the hotel. With the Trace on them and feeling safe enough in London they had decided to leave them behind. That began to feel like a mistake to Clara.

Though they were in muggle clothes, same as the first time they were here, she no longer felt like an outsider. She now knew she belonged, whether in robes or a jumper and slacks. Clara tugged Jamie’s hand and led him quickly down the street, “we have to go to George’s! No excuses this time!”

Clara read the building numbers as they walked, “2A, 17, 83, 117, 3, 71A, 71B, 125, ok we’re starting the third series, we must be close… 19, 17 again?, 57, there, that’s it a dozen shops down, I can see the sign already, 93 Diagon Alley, Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”

The garish and flashing exterior stood out amongst the mostly sober tans, greys, and blacks of the Alley. They stepped inside to a pleasant bell dinging and immediately a flash of light in Clara’s face. She yelped before she realized it was one of a pile of black and wood knobby things, labeled “instant skin beauty – hang on your door to beautify before every jaunt around town!” She saw Jamie was squinting at another display with hundreds of kinds of candies and then noticed a mirror, ostensibly to check the result of the beauty flash. Clara looked – and Jamie almost knocked the table over from her second yelp. Her face was covered in purple warts!

“Don’t worry,” came a soothing and professional voice from behind her. Clara spun to find, of all people, Katy Weasley from her House. Before Clara could say hello, Katy was pulling a round mirror a few inches in size out of her pocket and handing it to Clara.

“Here, this is probably the only regular mirror in the whole place,” Katy said, as casual as one friend to another.

Clara looked – her face was normal. Better than normal, her skin was smooth and had a kind of healthy glow.

Katy nodded, “yeah, the beauty baubles really work, for about an hour, and you can’t use it more than once a day or else you might really get warts.”

Clara asked Jamie for confirmation that she didn’t really have warts, but he was confused. He finally got it and said, “yeah, you’re face is normal… and kind of… illuminated… in a good way?” He shrugged.

Clara rolled her eyes. “So what are you doing here, Katy? You’re on your first day of vacation and they’ve got you working?”

Katy was resigned. “I’m staying here for a few days before my dad picks me up, so of course Uncle George and Ron have me working.”

“Uncle? I thought…”

“They’re not really my uncles. But it feels that way sometimes. Anyway, you’re both here with your parents? I thought you would have made it as far as Redruth last night.”

“Yeah,” Clara nodded, “they’re just down the street – they thought a joke shop sounded too silly.” She immediately regretted the lie. Given several minutes to think she would have come up with something better.

“Huh, well what do you want today? I’m the only one here for the next hour.”

“It’s our first time here actually, since it was closed in the summer, and we’re… muggle born.” Clara had hesitated to remember if Katy was one of those who looked down on muggle borns or not. Katy was one of the good ones.

“Well, let me show you some of my favorites then.”

Clara and Jamie left half an hour later with their backpack bulging with trick cakes, evaporating cups, boomerang rocks, a small flying machine, two remote control racing brooms that would have to wait until Hogwarts to try since they needed their wands, and an assortment of candies that gave you elephant ears for an hour or turned your fingernails purple or a host of other effects, depending on which you ate. They had carefully picked them but in their backpack the labels were immediately jumbled.

Out on the street they looked around for where to go next, but Clara stopped and grabbed Jamie by the shoulder. “You know what, I’m ok that we don’t have the galleons to stay here all break. I am cherishing our time back in the real world.”

Jamie responded in a voice that he wanted to be mysterious but was simply absurd, “but what’s real? A whole universe unknown to us, revealed…”

Clara hit him on the chest playfully, “I wish I could go back in time and stop you from ever watching the Twilight Zone.”

“Ok, let’s head back to the hotel and scope out an actually good restaurant for dinner.”

“And complain about the heat to the management.”

Chapter Text

The following day was another London experience and shopping day. They each bought a couple more changes of muggle clothes, Clara bought some simple jewelry to wear that wouldn’t be weird on a kid, and followed that with lunch and a few hours at the British Museum. Everywhere holiday decorations and tourism was up. They had to wait half an hour to get into the museum which wasn’t bad because the weather still felt balmy compared to what they left behind at Hogwarts. All that and the sun was still hours from setting, another big change from Hogwarts. They spent the evening in the hotel room – Jamie decided to finally open his Latin primer but after looking up the etymology of a few spells he realized Googling would have been faster. He had gotten so used to the book and paper life that he had forgotten how easy an internet search could be.

In the evening they called their parents by video chat, just noon back home. Clara’s first and then Jamie’s. The conversation was awkward in both cases because they were unsure how to talk about the wizarding world and their experiences, and their parents hadn’t had the kind of daily contact required to help them acclimate to their children suddenly looking almost twenty years younger.

Jamie ordered Christmas presents to be shipped to both their families while Clara called some of her friends – no video with them, however, as only her best friend knew the truth. The others thought she was doing an extended fellowship.

The next morning was much more relaxed. Having completed all of the tasks hanging over their heads, they began with an excellent full English breakfast with tea service. They shared a single order and ended with a slice of cake because why not? They were on vacation.

Jamie picked up a newspaper and sat in the booth browsing it, somehow feeling both anxiety and detachment at the contents. War, death, sickness, it all felt especially horrible now that he knew about magic. So many diseases needlessly suffered through. So much unnecessary suffering. But of course, humans being humans, war would be worse with magic involved. He stuffed the newspaper away and didn’t bring it up to Clara at all, feeling that being insulated from the news of the Muggle world and politics was for the best. He sighed and noticed Clara had been watching him; he gave her a soft smile. This is a beautiful time in our lives to forget the world's troubles and just focus on magic. Focusing on the moment he asked, “what’s your plan for today?”

“I am not sure.”

Jamie thought. “I think I want to do muggle stuff. Play video games, watch movies, because you can’t do that for the next five months after we return.” He thought for a moment again and declared, “I’m going to do it. I’m going to get my desktop.”

“That is ridiculous.”

After a brief argument, two hours, and a hundred pounds in fees, Jamie had his desktop computer pulled out of storage and set up in the hotel room.

“Now, time for an evening of Assassin’s Creed.”

Clara rolled over in the bed, glazed after having watched two hours of daytime television. “Fine, I’ll go buy my violin while you do that.”

“No! I wanna go too!” Jamie shut down the computer and they bundled up to head out.

They took the underground and the 73 bus to Bridgewood and Nietzert and Clara ended up spending over fourteen hundred pounds on her violin plus spare strings and a case, probably six times what she expected to spend, but she left the store as giddy as she could ever remember being. She had tried out a dozen of the cheapest instruments in the store, which started around a thousand, and decided to go for it rather than accepting her mistake and trying another store with beginner outfits.

She clutched it close on the trip back. She loved her violin – it was rich on the low and high ends both. She wondered about getting a violin with a brighter, cleaner sound from the D string but decided she preferred the bold, mellow tone. The hour long trip back to their hotel was excruciating, holding her new best friend but unable to open the case and play it.

Back at the hotel Clara played all evening, quietly in the hopes no one would complain, while Jamie finally got his several hours losing himself in Overwatch. He had tried to play Neverwinter Nights but it felt weird wielding magic spells in a game and quit after fifteen minutes.

Chapter Text

The dawn woke them both. Clara yawned and rolled over. After another hour Jamie set up a movie to stream on the screen of his computer and they lay in bed until ten. The movie ended and they lay there as the credits rolled.

“It’s so nice to sleep in the same bed,“ Clara said, pulling Jamie closer. “Maybe it’s nice that the heater is trash because it gives us a reason to cuddle in bed all day.”

Jamie had no comment, just stared at the ceiling in contentment.

Presently Clara found the initiative to throw on her jacket and pick up pastries for them both and bring them back to the hotel room. She returned to find Jamie playing video games again.

“You know, your computer is a better heater than the heater. You should keep playing.”

As they slipped deeper into vacation the days got lazier. Friday they managed to get out and catch a movie in the theater, specifically picking one of the beautiful multi-story opera style theaters. On the way back they stocked up on snacks and simple meals from a grocery store; having to plan and think about meals every day was annoying after the convenience of Hogwarts.

On Friday afternoon, or Friday morning in the States, Jamie called his friends back home. He surprised himself by spending several hours on it, talking to six different friends. Only with one friend, John, who had helped them pack and sell their stuff, he allowed himself to speak about Hogwarts.

“I still don’t really believe you, like, it’s too nuts. I grew up with those book. What is Hogwarts like?”

“Well it’s a huge medieval castle that’s never been renovated. So it’s badly lit and drafty.”

“Yeah, I meant the classes, and magic. What is magic like? Do the wiccans have it right?”

“Wiccans? I don’t even know what they do. But yeah, magic is weird. It’s not like you can wave your wand and do whatever. Even the simplest stuff requires practice. Magic is really hard.”

“So what kind of spells do you know?”

“Umm, what we learn, there’s practical and impractical stuff mixed together. Like making a useful light, heating up your food, finding north, and there’s also spells for cleaning, making clothes, and doing the dishes, but they’re too hard for me right now. The impractical stuff is hard to describe. Like… to dip your quill into the ink pot. Why would I not just do it by hand? Or turning a mouse into a teacup. It only works on mice, not anything else. Literally why would I ever do that?”

“…huh.”

Jamie felt bad for not making magic sound cooler. “And there’s curses and jinxes of course. I’ve learned a surprising number of those.”

“Heh, do you use them often?”

“Uh, no. That would be bad.”

Chapter Text

By Saturday afternoon they were feeling rested and tired of muggle media, wishing to connect back to the wizard community. Hmm… muggle forms of media, Jamie thought, what new kinds of literature does magic allow, and has it been explored? A book could be infused with spells that make you see visions, feel emotions, hear music… whole new art forms similar to how a video game can tell a story, or a Japanese visual novel, or…

“Jamie, I said what shops do you want to go to?”

It took Jamie a few seconds to re-orient his brain. “Oh, well, let’s just get lunch at the Leaky Cauldron and decide.”

“But their food is nothing to write home about, and we have to spend galleons on it. Our limited supply of galleons.”

Jamie conceded Clara’s point. “Yeah, how are we going to get more galleons, barring some sort of investment miracle of our dollars?”

“I wonder if I can work at St. Mungo’s this summer…”

“At the age of twelve? I do have my book idea.”

“Still a bad idea that’s going to ruffle a lot of feathers, if not get you somehow expelled from wizard society, or outed at the least. AND! As if you have time to write it.”

“Ok, so let’s just go out to Diagon and figure it out on the way.”

“I’m taking sandwiches.” Clara concluded the conversation.

Being the last weekend before Christmas, Diagon Alley was packed. London itself had felt busy, but London was big and could support a lot of tourists and shoppers. Diagon Alley was just a tiny network of streets.

“Let’s pop in to this curio shop.”

“Ok,” Jamie agreed. They browsed strange artifacts and what looked appeared to be a perfectly normal muggle toothbrush. “Do you ever get the feeling like you’re playing DND?”

“You know I never played.”

“I guess it’s not like DND, anyway, because where are the blacksmiths, weaponsmiths, and armorsmiths?”

A low monotone voice came from behind them, “you’ll find those down the street at St. Osgood.”

Jamie and Clara jumped as if they were caught doing something bad.

The voice was a tall thin man with short black hair and a thin beard wearing the classiest wizard robes either of them had seen, almost like a morning coat and well fitted. “Now, is there anything I can help you with?” he continued, implying he assumed the answer was no and what he really wanted was two kids out of his shop.

“No sir,” came Jamie’s reply, and they left together.

Back on the street, Jamie continued their conversation. “If not DND, then what other fantasy game? I’m getting these vibes almost like déjà vu.”

“Perhaps,” Clara rejoined, “it reminds you of Harry Potter?”

“It just might,” Jamie said, and they both laughed.

Jamie stopped them to point, “look, it’s St. Osgood’s. We have to go in.”

Three minutes later Jamie was exclaiming to Clara, “look, I’m holding in my hand a literal enchanted battleaxe.”

“Hey you kids!” came a yell from the back of the store.

Jamie stuffed the axe back onto the rack and they were out of the store in a flash.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Isn’t it great to be fucking eleven years old?” he was saying to Clara, but cringed in embarrassment and turned away at the shocked look of the man who had been standing behind her.

Just as Clara was admonishing him for being too casual, too free, Jamie slammed right into the backside of an enormous woman in purple wizard robes. Before he could apologize, he realized the reason for the collision was a crush of people making the street impassable. It was surrounding a clear ring around two men who were arguing loudly, wands out. A man in a ragged leather jacket, several months beyond needing a shave and clearly drunk, was pointing his wand directly at another man in heavy robes, dressed far too warmly for the weather. Both were middle aged and grizzly.

Clara’s immediate reaction was to turn around and get as far away as possible, but Jamie resisted her tugs, wanting to see what was going on. The drunk man was yelling something. He strained to hear, heard the word muggle a lot.

“…don’t worry, it won’t be long now, there’s a new kind of wizard about, and he’s going to show the muggles their place.”

“What, you?” someone jeers from the crowd, clearly thinking little of the man fumbling for words.

“No, not me,” he says, drunkenly pointing his finger at the crowd and wagging it. “Not me at all, but someone.”

The other man in the circle responded this time. “Go to hell, Rotport! Just because Gina rejected you fifth year now you hate muggles? You loved muggles back then. It was all, her breath smells like lilacs and her alabaster toes are like the nectar of the gods.”

The drunk man looked confused for a second but regained his glare. “I never said I wanted to… drink?… her toes. But no, not muggle-borns. Muggles. You know I don’t care about blood purity. That was,” (he spits), “He-who-must-not-be-named’s bull crap. And he-was-a-horse’s-ass.”

“Why do you care anyway, do you see any muggles here? There isn’t a single muggle around and yet you need to – do what exactly? Get worked up for nothing?”

“Did you know, there’s two muggles in Hogwarts right now? Not muggle-borns, but muggles!”

“Now you’re just making stuff up.”

He put his hand to his heart in an overdramatic gesture. “No, honest be me, to the fairy queen, it’s muggles. And HE will sort them out.” He spit again. “They’re taking over!”

What followed was a bright flash and suddenly his scalp was bulging up, taking ten second to turn into a horse’s ass complete with tail.

“Who’s a horse’s ass now?” someone yelled from the crowd, wearing a dark cloak with his face hidden.

The drunk guy pulled out not his wand, but a small bottle. Throwing it at the feet of the masked man, purple choking smoke plumed out and filled the street. He drank another unknown potion and only then he pulled out his wand. “Wisen up, me boy, your horse’s ass is gone for good, there’s a new man about.” Then the duel started for real and the crowd turned from mixed curiosity and jeers to screaming panic. The drunk man was surprisingly good for being drunk, deflecting spells thrown at him against neighboring shops. Everyone scattered.

Two small bodies fighting amongst a tempest of legs, Jamie and Clara ducked into a shop and hid behind a knocked-over table just inside.

Within minutes several ministry members apparated in to the street and more came out of shops covered in ash from the floo. Before any further spell could be cast the drunk guy and the masked man both apparated away, all the ministry members apparated away, and the street suddenly became quiet. Jamie hugged Clara close as she could not stop shivering. He tried to comfort her but realized his arm around her shoulder wouldn’t stop shaking either.

They said nothing on the walk home. In the hotel, Jamie’s face alternated between smiling to scared out of his mind. His expression was maniacal. The first words out of his mouth were, “so apparition does exist!”

“Jamie!” Clara almost screamed, “that isn’t what’s important right now.”

They stared at each other, calming each other down by the shared look.

“Besides,” Clara said, “you said apparition was only done by powerful wizards, so maybe you could do better at basic charms before you envision yourself ever being able to do it.”

“Hey!” Jamie said, clearly hurt.

“I’m sorry. I’m just scared.” She pondered. “It’s not even about what he was saying, but just being in absolute danger. We should have run away. Promise me next time we’ll run away immediately.”

Jamie promised. His shoulders sagged. “And we should go back,” he said, “to Hogwarts I mean.”

“After that you want to spend more time in the wizarding world?”

“Hogwarts feels safe. London does not.”

Clara had to agree.

Chapter Text

The train ran every Sunday and Thursday which meant they could get on the train the next day. Jamie made the trip to return his computer to storage while Clara purchased two small suitcases to hold all the new clothes, holiday toys, treats, and magical japes they had purchased. Jamie again regretted not knowing a luggage packing spell. Clara tried the one she knew to limited success. It seemed to not work on clothes. They left the hotel in the morning and even got out of the early cancellation fee after complaining over the phone about the heat never being fixed in a week. Now familiar with Platform 13 ½, they were ably to easily buy their tickets, cutting into their galleons to do so, and boarded the train just before noon. The train was busy and they blended in easily, just two of many passengers making the last trip before Christmas day from London to Hogwarts or Hogsmeade. Their ride was somber, muted, and even more so as traveling north several hundred miles made the sun set hours earlier.

They alternated between reading and staring out the window for the first hour, then it was too dark to see anything and they just sat side by side in the compartment. Eventually, they changed into their black robes and stuffed their wands into their pockets – though pulling the muggle luggage behind them ruined the wizard look.

They arrived to a dark platform lit by lamps every five feet, shockingly quiet after being in London. Hogwarts wasn’t visible yet but a splash of cheery lit filtered through the stand of trees that separated Hogsmeade from the station. Clara and Jamie shared a questioning look and decided, wordlessly, that it was finally time to visit the charming wizarding town.

They passed the sign “Hogsmeade 0.1 mile” and the trees gave way to the steeply sloped rooftops and closely packed buildings, practically jumbled on top of each other. It was not as busy as Diagon Alley had been but still the streets had many people: families, shoppers, people doing their business.

Jamie commented, “When we first arrived here I thought it was a lonely train station in the woods, and yet this was a mere few hundred yards away,” Jamie commented. The happy town cheered them both immensely.

Clara recognized a couple professors and staff and pointed them out.

Jamie was struck with a realization. “Duh! Just like any other castle it’s the village that supports it and grows around it. The weird part is that it is on the other side of a big lake rather than at the foot of the walls.”

They continued down the street, pointing out any view or house that was especially adorable. “Look, a music shop,” Jamie pointed out, “and they have violins, violas and stuff in the window. I wonder if you could have just come down here and gotten a violin months ago.”

Clara looked back to see the store she had missed but caught a glimpse of Hogwarts rising above the trees, majestic and ethereal as always, it’s mystery undiminished from spending months in those very halls that looked straight out of fiction. “Look,” she said softly, “you can see Hogwarts on its hill.” Hogwarts was shining in the darkness, fully lit even though school was not in session.

“Strange that a twenty minute walk separates the two. Kind of too far to be convenient.”

Clara hazarded a guess, “convenience has a different meaning when you can do magic. Or, you know, Hogwarts is eleven hundred years old. It was also built as a magical fortress, not as only a school. Maybe that’s why it has to be apart. We can only guess. Or simply ask, as usual.” Jamie and Clara laughed at that, the first time they had laughed since the incident the prior afternoon.

Hogsmeade was always charming, but it certainly helped their mood that Hogsmeade was dolled up for Christmas. Wreaths hung on every door. Fairy lights hung on windows and doors, or sometimes simply floated, giving a new meaning to the term fairy lights. They walked up the main street and back then decided to get a single drink each at the famed Honeyduke’s, not wanting to spend precious galleons on typical Scottish or English fare that they had plenty of at the school.

Jamie and Clara chatted between sips of butterbeer and began to feel better. After a while, it was Jamie who noticed an old man was staring at them. Jamie took in his appearance – old but clear eyed, angular features, toned, and in well cut though well-worn clothes. He looked like he had seen a lot in his days. Jamie was struck by remembrance of that funny word that only appeared in the Philosopher’s Stone once – warlock.

The man spoke. “I heard your conversation; you saw the attack in Diagon Alley yesterday?”

“We were there,” Jamie replied, guarded.

“What did the man look like?”

Jamie gave the description: white, middle aged, grizzled, leather jacket, unshaven patchy beard.

The old man nodded knowingly but offered no comment to that. After a while, his piercing eyes warmed and the tension he had been holding relaxed. “I’m not going to tell you everything is going to be all right,” he began. “I’ve lived through too many times of trouble to think that this isn’t going to grow into something. I will tell you that if you are careful, and choose your friends just as carefully, you’ll likely make it through.”

Jamie and Clara continued trying to be polite but merely manage to say nothing while having an anxious look on their faces.

The man put his hand to his forehead dramatically, “oh but me oh my, I’ve never introduced myself, just thinking of my own needs. Stanislaus Candens. Researcher of history and nature of magic. And I’ll tell you a secret about me – that isn’t my real surname. Nope, it’s something I chose because my name, inoffensive in the original Latin, is now centuries later something one doesn’t say in polite society.

“Just how old are you?” Clara asked.

The man chuckled. “I’m not old, but my name is. Come to think of it, I am old. But not centuries, no. So now you know why I, as a magical researcher, am curious about these potions, trinkets, as well as the words that were shared two days ago in London. Your description was valuable.”