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

“Aye aye,” Oliver and Teddy voiced approval.

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

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

“No, I mean-that’s allowed here?” Jack asked in surprise.

“You thought that Quidditch pitch outside is for show?” Teddy needled him. “What, you can’t fly at Ilvermorny?”

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

“An indoor stadium…” Oliver pronounced the words as if they tasted bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then Jack pulled out his Henricus Model B.

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

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

"78.2 seconds," Jack admitted.

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

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

“Tryouts?” Jack asked.

“Quidditch tryouts this Thursday, Semmes.” Henry explained. “We need another Chaser.”

“Oh…” Jack said. Great, another thing on his plate. It did sound fun though. And he appreciated being included-

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

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

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

"What are you-" Jack started.

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

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

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

"Franklin’s kite!" Jack lunged forward. “HENRY!”

"Wait," Oliver said calmly.

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

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"Bloody Tyke Yorkie show-off!" Teddy shouted good-humoredly.

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

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

"This is insane."

"No, it’s tradition!" Teddy corrected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Winterborn’s coming,” Teddy warned.

Jack let himself pitch forward.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait a minute,” Jack said, forcing himself to relax slightly and look below them. There was only a pair of second-years on the bridge, watching them with craned necks. He couldn’t see any other students except a few farther off. “Where’s Winterborn? You said she was coming.”

Teddy grinned. “I only said that to get you off the ledge.”

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

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

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

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

“It’s taller than our tower,” Jack noted.

“Ravenclaws prefer to look down on everyone,” Oliver replied drily as they flew closer.

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

“Oi, look who it is! Wave to Hightower,” Teddy grinned.

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

“Buzzing them Semmes? Brilliant!” Teddy’s delighted voice called out from behind him.

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

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

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

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

He pictured all this in less than a second.

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid George Washington and his stupid cherry tree.

Or maybe it was something else…

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

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