Morning arrived with the sound of British liquid sunshine splashing against the leaded glass windows and the distant cry of goshawks hunting their prey in the long meadow grass of the valley floor. Jack awoke with a start and a panicked grab for his wristwatch on the nightstand. It was nearly half past nine. Then he remembered where he was.
No 6th graders racing down the hallways back at Ilvermorny pounding on the doors to awaken the upperclassmen, no morning formation to sprint downstairs to for the march into the mess hall for breakfast. No, Mr. Semmes, you’re practically on vacation right now. Jack allowed himself to stretch luxuriously in the soft cotton sheets that somehow still smelled of summer sunshine despite the rainy autumn weather. The dormitory was empty. His roommates had apparently let him sleep in. The strange twittering songs of unknown birds serenaded him from their roosts outside the window. He lay in bed, contemplating the bed canopy, and wondering if he could get an underclassman to fetch him breakfast in bed. Did they do that here?
A brisk knocking sound brought him back to earth. "Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" Henry opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Scheduling in fifteen minutes! Better hurry up or all the good classes will be taken."
Jack dressed quickly in what he hoped was appropriate casual wear under his school robes, pressed khaki trousers, a white button up shirt, brown suspenders, and a comfortable pair of brown leather oxford shoes. The shoes felt like a little piece of home, he'd bought them on Fifth Avenue last summer, before any of this transfer business had been finalized. He thought of adding one of his blue and red striped Thunderbird neckties, but then…
"Oh no you don't, here," Henry tossed him a strip of crimson and gold as he emerged from behind his bed curtains putting his tie on. "You need a proper necktie. Can't have you wearing that Ilvermorny thing anymore." He took away Jack’s old tie and tossed it back onto his bed.
Jack carefully knotted the borrowed Gryffindor tie in front of their shared mirror into a casually nonchalant half-Windsor.
“Never trust a man with a full Windsor knot,” his father had told him. “That’s a man who puts too much stock in his own appearance. Learned that from a British colleague.”
His reflection showed a tall, athletic young man trying very hard to look like he belonged here. The sun-browned skin and easy smile that had felt so natural at Ilvermorny now seemed foreign against the unfamiliar backdrop of his new dorm room.
“How do I look?” he asked Henry, who was collecting a few things from his nightstand.
"Like a proper wizard," Henry replied without looking. "Or at least a decent American imitation of one."
"...Thanks.”
“Taking our prisoner out for air, Major?” Georgie asked suspiciously as they passed his portrait. The little red-coated wizard was sitting on a campaign stool enjoying breakfast complete with china service and white linen tablecloth. A remarkably civilized repast considering his woodland surroundings. Now that Jack paid closer attention, the background looked remarkably like the Hudson River Valley…
“He’s out on parole, Georgie,” Henry replied. “Word of an officer and a gentleman and all that.”
“Pish-posh!” George grunted disapprovingly, “The word of a scoundrel and rogue more like! He’s taking advantage of your better nature, young Ravenhurst!” He pointed his painted fork at Jack threateningly. “Mark my words, when he absconds it will be on your head when we report to the Ministry!”
“I’ll take my chances,” Henry pulled Jack past before Georgie could waste more of their time.
They descended the spiral staircase to find the common room filled with their housemates, but considerably more subdued than last night. Griffindors sprawled across every available surface from carpet to couch, comparing schedules and trading tips about professors. First years clutched their brand-new timetables like sacred texts while older students lounging in the best chairs offered contradictory advice. Watery gray sunlight filtered through the rain-splattered windows.
"Advanced Potions is brutal," a worldly seventh-year was warning a group of fourth-years, "You want nothing to do with it. Leave it for the Ravenclaws and the overachievers. Look at me, I’m still graduating with nothing better than P’s and A’s in Potions. Remember ‘P’s get degrees.’"
"Don't take Divination," another advised. "Unless you enjoy making up increasingly creative ways to die."
“I never had any trouble with that,” his friend jumped in. “Sitting in Doubtfire’s classes make me think of all sorts of ingenious suicide methods.”
“Professor rankings from worst to best? That’s easy: Binns, MacGregor, Blackthorn, Vale, Winterborn, Whitby, Brightwell, MacLeod,” pronounced a bespectacled third-year boy far too loudly, to boos and cries of “Stop sucking up!”, “Apple polisher!”, “Lickspittle!” and other rude appellations. The unfortunate speaker was pelted by crumpled napkins and bits of toast for good measure. That drew Jack's attention. There must be food available. He soon noticed a breakfast cart set out by the staircase with crumpets, toast, fruit, and tea and availed himself of the refreshments.
Professor Malcolm MacLeod was holding court by the roaring fireplace, towering over his charges like the Ghost of Christmas Present. His bristly red beard was even more impressive at close range.
"Ach, our new boy!" MacLeod boomed cheerfully as Jack approached, trying (and failing) to carefully eat a crumpet that he had overloaded with raspberry jam and clotted cream. "Had a look at your transcripts. Top marks in History of Magic and Defense Against the Dark Arts. Looking forward tae having you in class. Have ye completed the apparition examination yet?"
“No sir,” Jack replied, wiping his hands on a napkin and sitting down in an armchair next to where Henry was examining his own schedule. “I turn sixteen in October.”
“No trouble, we'll take care of that next summer before your seventh year.” He handed Jack a blank schedule form. Now that he was up close Jack noticed that the professor wore an articulated iron gauntlet covering his left hand, its surface engraved with subtle runes. Jack tried not to stare, but MacLeod caught him looking. The professor's weathered face split into a broad grin. “What’s that laddie? Want me to take it off?” Without waiting for Jack to politely decline, MacLeod was already unbuckling the straps that secured the gauntlet to his arm.
The metal hand detached... and walked across the table on all five fingers like a demented spider. Jack's jaw dropped. Where the gauntlet had been was nothing but a scarred stump ending mid-forearm, the skin a shiny pink mass of burn scars.
"Gift from a particularly nasty Polish wizard in Upper Silesia," MacLeod explained cheerfully, watching his mechanical hand do a little dance among the breakfast dishes. "Rotter thought he was being clever, using something that would resist magical healing. Had to get creative with the solution." He whistled sharply and the gauntlet scuttled back, reattaching itself with precise clicks.
"Does it...always do that?" Jack asked, slightly sickened but fascinated despite himself.
"Only when new students get a wee curious," MacLeod winked. "It plays wizard chess too, though it doesn’t take losing gracefully. Tried to choke me last time, the little blighter." He flexed the iron fingers affectionately. "Developed quite the personality after I had the goblins enchant it. Cost me a small fortune, but worth every Galleon just to see the looks on people's faces. Just like yours."
Jack’s face drew a round of fresh laughter from his housemates. He grinned self-consciously.
"Now then, about your classes…” MacLeod handed over a double-sided piece of parchment covered in course information. what subjects were ye planning to continue at N.E.W.T. level?"
N.E.W.T.s, right, the level above APs, Jack thought as he scanned the course list, noting several significant differences from Ilvermorny's curriculum. There were fewer classes, but the hours were longer. The courses also appeared more comprehensive and less specialized than back home. Divination was Divination, though the British seemed to take it more seriously, at Ilvermorny it had always been an optional elective. He was glad he didn’t have to take it until Spring Term.
"Alchemy is just called Potions here?" he asked. "At Ilvermorny it's split into Practical Alchemy and Transmutation Theory..." Neither of which, he did not add, he was very good at.
"Professor Vale handles both aspects," MacLeod explained. "Though he favors the practical. Says there's little point in understanding theory if you can't brew a decent Pepper-Up. I’m trying to place you into Advanced so that you can make up for missed course work."
Jack continued down the list. "No separate class for Indian Magical Traditions?"
"Covered in History of Magic, rather briefly. Professor Binns uses a Euro-centric curriculum."
"Magitechnology?"
"I know that’s popular across the pond, but not considered orthodox over here, very controversial at the Ministry. What we have regarding that is split between Charms and Muggle Studies." MacLeod's enchanted hand clicked thoughtfully. "Ilvermorny does seem rather focused on defense applications of magic."
"Comes with life on the frontier sir," Jack said carefully. "And doubly so after the war."
"Aye, well, can't fault that." MacLeod made a notation on a gridded piece of parchment, evidently Jack’s Ilvermorny transcript. "Your grades are excellent. Top 10% of your class…Defense, obviously, those courses you took will serve you well there. Transfiguration, Charms, History of Magic... Muggle Studies too? Interesting choice."
"With how Ilvermorny is, basically all of us have a minor in Muggle Studies,” Jack explained.
"Aye, Professor Whitby's approach might be a tad…different from what you're used to,” Jack’s housemates laughed uproariously at that, even though he didn’t get it. Yet.
They worked out the rest of his schedule over the next few minutes, MacLeod occasionally consulting a complex chart showing course equivalencies between the two magical schools. Jack was relieved to see the majority of his Ilvermorny credits would transfer, though some adjustment would be needed.
"You’ll need to take an increased course load this term, but the change in wand technique might be your biggest challenge," MacLeod said. "British technique emphasizes precision and control over improvisation and speed. Professor Winterborn especially is strict about proper form."
“Yes sir," Jack said ruefully. There was one last course he was curious about, one of his favorites back home. Jack knew it was a long shot but asked anyway, “Is there a class that includes Magical Guerilla Warfare offered here?"
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"Gorilla-wha?" MacLeod's bushy eyebrows rose. "Merlin's beard, no, but I’m sure they cover callitrix and other dangerous primate beasties in Care of Magical Creatures. Now here, take a look.” He handed over Jack’s adjusted transcript with course credits.
Jack suppressed a sigh. He should have known better, Ilvermorny's martial heritage showed in courses like that one, where they learned everything from magical camouflage to counter-tracking. It had been developed during the Revolution and refined through various conflicts since. Clearly the British didn’t worry so much about fighting.
He consulted his extensive list of Ilvermorny transfer credits:
> Advanced Combat Magic, Outstanding (converted to O) → Defense Against the Dark Arts
>
> Magical Theory and Practice, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Charms
>
> Transmutation, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Transfiguration
>
> Alchemy, Acceptable (A) → Potions
>
> No-Maj Studies, Outstanding (O) → Muggle Studies
>
> Magical History, Outstanding (O) → History of Magic
>
> Infinitesimal Calculus, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Arithmancy
>
> Pictography, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Ancient Runes
>
> Astrology, Outstanding (O) → Astronomy
>
> Cryptozoology, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Care of Magical Creatures
>
> Herbology, Exceeds Expectations (E) → Herbology
>
> Signs and Portents, No Grade → Divination
"Your Combat Magic marks are impressive," MacLeod noted. "Though you'll find my Defense curriculum focuses more on theory and controlled application rather than your…gorilla tactics."
"And dueling," Henry added. "Proper dueling. None of that American freestyle business."
Jack thought nostalgically of the fast-and-loose combat style taught at Ilvermorny, where winning mattered more than doctrine.
"Now here..." MacLeod checked another parchment. "You'll need tae take a placement test for Potions. Different brewing techniques here, you understand. Professor Vale is very particular about methodology.""
"He means Vale's a nightmare," Henry stage-whispered, earning a glare from their Head of House.
“That’s enough of that, Ravenhurst. Now Semmes, Professor Winterborn wants a go at assessing yer Transfiguration an’ all," MacLeod continued. "And..." He paused, scanning the parchment. "Ach, aye, Professor Brightwell made a note that yer Charms O.W.L. equivalent was particularly strong. He’s suggesting ye join the Advanced Practical Applications study group."
Jack took a swig of tea to try and calm his nerves. Even the grading system was different. Ilvermorny used a modified version of the No-Maj American system: A, B, C, D, and F. But here...
"Outstanding (O), Exceeds Expectations (E), Acceptable (A), Poor (P), Dreadful (D), and Troll (T)," MacLeod listed off.
"Troll?!" Jack's shock made Henry snicker.
"Aye, named after the quality of work typically produced by said creatures," MacLeod explained. "Though we haven't had one awarded at the N.E.W.T. level since the late ‘30s."
“What’s N.E.W.T. stand for?” Jack asked, although he knew he was going to regret it.
“Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Exams,” Henry supplied proudly.
"Here's your tentative schedule," MacLeod said, tapping the blank form with his wand. Lines of neat script flowered over the page:
Day I Day II
Time Class Time Class 7:00am Breakfast 7:00am Breakfast 8:00am - 10:30am Adv. Potions (Double) 8:00am - 9:15am Adv. Defense Against the Dark Arts 9:30am - 10:45am Adv. Muggle Studies 10:45am - 12:00pm Adv. Transfiguration 11:00am - 12:00pm Study Hall 12:00pm - 1:00pm Lunch 12:00pm - 1:00pm Lunch 1:30pm - 2:45pm Adv. History of Magic 1:30pm - 2:45pm Adv. Charms 3:00pm - 4:15pm Ancient Runes 3:00pm - 4:15pm Herbology / Care of Magical Creatures (alternating) 4:15pm - 6:30pm Sports and Club Time (Magical Integration on Second Wednesdays) 4:15pm - 6:30pm Sports and Club Time 6:30pm - 7:30pm Dinner 6:30pm - 7:30pm Dinner 7:30pm - 10:00pm Supervised Prep 7:30pm - 10:00pm Supervised Prep 10:00pm Lights Out (1 hour of Astronomy weekly at 12:00pm) 10:00pm Lights Out
"Placement tests this afternoon, classes start Monday.”
“Placement tests on Saturday afternoon?!” Jack echoed in despair. "I haven't studied!"
“Aye, you’re the only one who needs them!” MacLeod grinned, “All your fellow students did them last term.”
“Winterborn says taking tests on Saturday builds character,” Henry added unhelpfully.
“Any last questions?"
"Just one, sir," Jack said, studying the schedule. "What's this 'Magical Integration' period on Wednesdays?"
"Ah." MacLeod's twinkling eyes grew serious. "New requirements from the Ministry after the war. Monthly seminars for each class year focused on wizard/Muggle relations, pureblood ideological deprogramming, cultural exchange, international magical cooperation, that sort of thing. Gi’en recent events..." He didn't need to elaborate. The shadow of Grindelwald still hung over everything. Jack suppressed a shudder, remembering the door of the pub shaking with curses launched against it, the strange guttural language being barked by his pursuers.
"Speaking of integration," Henry chimed in, "fair warning, you're sharing most of your advanced classes with Ravenclaw. Including double Potions Monday morning."
Jack’s expectant smile grew even wider, "Let me guess…Cassandra Hightower?"
"Top of our year in Cauldroning," Henry confirmed cheerfully. "Try not to blow anything up. Vale's enough of a terror without adding house rivalry to the mix. Don’t worry, I’m in your Transfig class though! Don’t be scared of Winterborn, she loves me."
“And if you fail your placements,” Teddy added, “You can just take the normal course load like Oliver and me.”
"Aye, well." MacLeod shuffled his papers again. "You'll have some catching up to do, but your O.W.L. equivalents are strong. Just remember, different school, different methods. Try to adapt rather than argue, Mr. Semmes."
Jack nodded, thinking of the differences he'd already noticed. On the surface, Hogwarts seemed more relaxed than Ilvermorny. The dress code was looser, students had lots more leeway in what they put under their robes, there was no morning formation in the courtyard, and no required study hours enforced by student officers. The professors seemed more approachable too, or at least MacLeod certainly was.
Jack could feel himself slowly peeling back paper-thin layers of tradition and formality beneath the informal exterior. Here were ancient house rivalries and byzantine social codes with subtle but strict divisions. It was like navigating an invisible maze. At Ilvermorny, the rules were clear. They were written in manuals, posted on walls, and drilled into students until they could recite them in their sleep. Here, the important rules were unwritten. Ilvermorny's regimentation was skin-deep, designed to impose order on a young, chaotic magical tradition. Hogwarts' traditions ran straight through the bone, wrought by centuries of history and pain. Even the castle itself showed it. Ilvermorny's granite was solid, dependable, exactly what it appeared to be. Hogwarts' mosaic of shale and slate shifted and whispered, hiding secrets.
In spite of superficial appearances, Hogwarts was more rigid in many ways than Ilvermorny. But it also had a depth of magical knowledge that Ilvermorny, for all its practical focus, couldn't match. It really made Jack feel like an intruder.
"One last thing," MacLeod fixed Jack with his bright blue eyes. "The prefect system here may be different from what you're used to. Pay attention to your seventh-years, follow the rules, and for Merlin's sake don't challenge Miss Hightower again.”
Jack looked indignant, “But sir, how did you-”
“You think that we teachers don’t talk to each other? Or to the prefects?” MacLeod laughed. “Trust me laddie, young Miss Hightower knows more hexes than most Auror trainees. She’s not a girl to trifle with."
Henry's barely-suppressed snort suggested that there was a story there, but Jack was too overwhelmed with information to care at the moment. Different grading, different teaching styles, different social structures.
He took another fortifying sip of tea. At least the tea was good. Although at the moment he really wanted a nice cup of coffee. He sat back in his armchair, considering his schedule and licking jam off his fingers as MacLeod turned his attention to the first-years. Nine classes this semester. Two more than he had at Ilvermorny, and not an easy one in the bunch. Well, maybe Muggle Studies or History of Magic.
But he'd wanted an adventure, hadn't he? Well, here he was - new school, new curriculum, and classes starting in two days with the most bombshell blonde dame this side of Manhattan. He sunk deeper into the plush padding. And to cap it all off, only fifteen minutes to get in between classes in a castle where the staircases liked to rearrange themselves.
“Henry,” Jack said from the depths of the chair, his inquisitive mind starting to carefully prioritize the new information that he needed to collect, “I’m going to need that nifty tour of the grounds you promised.”
Henry folded up his own schedule, then stood up and stretched, "Not to worry, old sport. I'll give you the ground tour, show you all the shortcuts.” He pulled a battered brass pocket watch out of his pocket, “Still got a few hours before your placement tests. That’s plenty of time to get you set right."
Jack nodded, looking at his schedule again. "You're a lifesaver, Henry. Seriously."
His friend neatly packed away his parchments in his school bag, “Shall we begin then?”