The hubbub of lunchtime chatter washed over Jack like waves on the shore as he mechanically ate his roast. His mind, reeling from international magical politics, latched onto a more immediate terror: the mountain of work waiting for him in the common room. Unopened Potions and Transfiguration textbooks, yards of supplementary reading, all the new techniques he needed to familiarize himself with before class started on Monday. He was almost grateful for his looming detention study hall tomorrow night in the library.
It was overwhelming. He'd always been a good student, especially at tests. He had been near the top of his class at Ilvermorny, that was one of the main reasons his transfer request had even been considered - but this was a whole new level.
What if he wasn’t able to succeed here with the same level of effort he had to put in before? What if he couldn't keep up? What if they expelled him for academics, never mind his already perilous disciplinary situation? The thought of Hightower’s scornful expression and Montfort’s mocking laughter as he was frog-marched through the Central Hall by suits of animated armor and tossed unceremoniously out of the North Gate made his stomach churn.
The state of magical Europe suddenly seemed far less pressing than the fate of his grade point average. Funny how the human mind worked. Give it a choice between looming abstract threats and petty (but concrete) academic deadlines, and it would prioritize the latter every time.
When Jack was older and wiser, he would be able to reflect on that. At the moment, fifteen-year old Jack Semmes was in a state of near-panic.
“Alright there, old sport?” Henry asked. “If you’re still wasting brain cells on Montfort, I can assure you that he’s not going anywhere.”
“Yeah,” Jack managed, “It’s more the class prep. Five years of British magical theory and practice in less than 18 hours…”
“Oh that?” Henry checked his pocket watch, “We have all afternoon still, don’t worry about that. We’ll drop by the library and get you what you need."
"Now?" Jack looked up. “It’s all the way on the other side of campus.”
"Ten minute walk at most, the castle isn’t as big as you think." Teddy assured him. "Best time for it too. Most everyone else is still unpacking or catching up with friends."
"We might as well review too. Ms. Quillworth's much more helpful when it's not crowded with bloody Ravenclaws," Oliver stood up from the table. “Come on Semmes.”
The Hogwarts library was a vast, two-story sanctum, with soaring wooden bookshelves, cozy study nooks, and dust motes dancing in the September sunlight. Jack compared it very favorably against Ilvermorny’s subterranean labyrinth, lit with austere magical bulbs. The librarian’s desk in the middle was empty. There was a small placard on it with a handwritten note that said: “In the stacks!”
A tiny silver bell rang as soon as Henry stepped up to the desk, fixing his tie.
The librarian emerged from behind a shelf. Jack immediately understood why his friends had been so eager to visit the library. She was sorting through returns, her wand conducting books through the air like an orchestra. She looked scarcely older than a seventh-year, with brown eyes, a scatter of freckles across her nose, and side-braided auburn hair.
"Henry of Ravenhurst and his Merry Men," Ms. Lettie Quillworth said, putting away the last of the books and adjusting her glasses. "A new addition to your band of outlaws?" She was wearing a knit turtleneck sweater and a smile as warm as the sunlight pouring through the large windows.
All four boys straightened unconsciously.
Henry's voice cracked slightly as he introduced Jack.
"Good afternoon, Ms. Quillworth, we're helping Mr. Jack Semmes here prepare for classes," Henry explained, uncharacteristically subdued, his ears pink. "Especially Potions and Transfig...he’s here from Ilvermorny."
Jack tried not to shuffle his feet.
“Oh lovely,” Ms. Quillworth beamed at Jack, "I've always wanted to visit America. I’ve heard that the Ilvermorny archives of American Indian magic fill a whole wing, is that true?"
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"Yes, ma'am," Jack replied, trying to look anywhere in the library but at her. “Just need to catch up on the different wizard-uh, magical theory.”
"Of course," her eyes sparkled with knowing amusement. "British methods can be quite different from the Continental style, let alone the American. Follow me."
She led them on a winding path through the stacks, past the ominous gated Restricted Section, and up to the second floor, all the while selecting books with practiced ease like she was picking wild strawberries in a meadow. “Transatlantic Brewing, this should help with Professor Vale. And Transmutation and Transfiguration Techniques: A Comparative Study..."
Jack found himself trying not to blush every time she handed him a book, or flinch when her hand occasionally brushed against his sleeve.
His friends weren't any better, Teddy walked into a shelf watching her climb a ladder to the top stack.
“This hasn’t been checked out for a few decades,” Ms. Quillworth added an incredibly dusty and disintegrating book entitled Hogwarts: A Transfretende Scoleres Gydynge from the top bookshelf to Jack’s growing armful. “It’s a guide for transfer students. I don’t know quite how useful it will be to you, I’m sure most of the faculty biographies are out-of-date, but very interesting nevertheless.”
“Who even writes something so specific?” Jack asked incredulously.
“Probably someone’s dissertation,” Ms. Quillworth noted sagely.
The book growled and nipped Jack’s hand as he tried to open it.
“Yeouch!” he yelped and snatched his fingers away, “Is this thing even in English?”
"Middle English, not too difficult, the ‘y’s are ‘i’s.” Ms. Quillworth took the book from Jack, “Flip it over and stroke the spine first, the older books like that.”
She demonstrated, making Jack turn a bright scarlet and the bottom drop out of his stomach. Teddy and Henry stared. Oliver had to avert his eyes.
“These should get you started," she said as Jack and the others hurriedly checked the books out at the circulation desk. "If you need anything else," she added as they prepared to leave, "anything at all, just ask!"
The boys mumbled sweaty thanks and fled the library, Jack speed-walking in the lead.
"Sweet merciful Merlin," Henry breathed once they were safely back in the common room.
Jack was trying to fan himself with his shirt front. It was uncomfortably hot in the common room.
"She can't actually be that nice to everyone," Teddy insisted. "Can she?"
"That's just how she is," Henry said, still flushed.
“That’s not decent,” Jack grumbled, “You shouldn’t be allowed to be a librarian until you’re in your mid-50s.”
"Makes studying much more interesting," Oliver sighed wistfully.
“How are you getting any studying done when she’s within fifty yards?!” Jack exclaimed, drawing looks and shushes from his housemates. He continued in an undertone, “Franklin’s kite, man, did you see what she did to that book?”
“We all did,” Teddy said with a thousand-yard stare.
"Focus, lads," Henry said, calming the group, "We've got work to do."
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> To Dearest Lettie To Ms. Q
> To The Fairest Flower of Knowledge's Garden
>
> O Auburn-tressed angel of the stacks,
> Your gentle hands upon the tomes so fair,
> When checking out my books, my courage lacks
> To tell you how I tremble, standing there.
> Your freckles dance like stars across the sky (That's rubbish, you idiot)
> Your grace when stamping dates makes my heart fly
> Like [ink blot] soaring o'er a crystal pool
> When you remind me books are overdue,
> Your voice is sweeter than a siren's song
> I'd gladly pay a thousand fines to you
> And in the Restricted Section...[rest burned away]
>
> - Half-finished Sonnet, Author Unknown, found in the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room
>
> (Editor's Note: Holy Merlin, it’s even in iambic pentameter! How much time did he spend on this?!)