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

“...did he really say that to Hightower?” “Cocky chancer…” “Who does he think he is?” “...we shouldn’t take transfers.” “Hope he doesn’t end up with us…” “Typical big-headed Yank.” “...should just go home…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Budge up, you lot," Henry said briskly, elbowing aside a couple of gawking second years to make room for Jack to sit. "Well done, Semmes! I already told the lads that it was my fault that you didn’t ride with the first-years. Rotten of me to put you in the lurch like that on your first day, forgive me?” He stuck his hand out.

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

“No no, honestly,” Henry added earnestly, “I made up all that nonsense about the Jerry transfer student too, didn’t think she’d run off and tattle to Winterborn about it.”

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

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

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

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

There was a muted reaction from the student body. Henry leaned over in response to Jack’s quizzical expression, “Inter-school competition between us, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. I expected as much, we haven’t had it for 30 years, what’s another five at this rate?”

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

He continued for a few more minutes while Jack admired the great hall and imagined what dinner would be like. Then the speech was over and the feast appeared on the plates in front of them, and he was reaching for a steaming platter of roast beef. It was everything Jack could have dreamed of: meats roasted, baked, and boiled; savory pies, potatoes in every style imaginable, and enormous towers of decadent desserts. The indefatigable Henry helped make introductions with the other sixth years around him, including the other two Gryffindors that Jack had passed with Henry on the train. These were Oliver Brackenby, a stocky, quiet, dark haired Cumbrian with a bent nose, and Theodoric ‘Teddy’ Marshwiggle, a lanky, cheerful fellow whose father apparently raised knuckers in the Lincolnshire Fenlands. All three were avid members of the house Quidditch team: Oliver the keeper, Teddy a beater, and Henry a chaser.

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

"Isn’t Dumbledore a Gryffindor though?" Jack asked, feeling a sudden surge of second-hand pride from being associated with the greatest wizard alive, even if he was a Brit.

Henry laughed. "If you're looking for logical consistency in house pride, you're in for some disappointment."

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Jack nodded, determination welling up in his chest as his new friends continued to rag on what was apparently their chief rival house. He was already starting to feel the Gryffindor house spirit. Jack Semmes would show those stuck-up Ravenclaws. He'd show all of them. Cassandra, Winterborn, the whole gang.

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

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

To his left was Professor Malcolm MacLeod, the burly Head of Gryffindor and Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, sporting a magnificent red beard and deep facial scars from his time fighting Grindelwald's radicals in the great war. Next to him, the rail-thin Professor of Herbology and Head of Hufflepuff Iris Blackthorn, chatted animatedly with Professor Arcturus Vale, the Potions master and Head of Slytherin with a shock of white hair.

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

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

"But you don't have a castle, do you?" a girl with braided hair chimed in, "I read that Ilvermorny is just a house."

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

“Which of your states is it in?”

“Massachusetts.” Jack replied, spearing a beef steak with his fork, “We have a little No-Maj town at the base of the mountain called Adams that we’re allowed to visit when we’re in 9th grade, we just can’t bring wands.”

Henry found that very droll, “Your teachers let you traipse around a Muggle town?”

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

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

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

“We haven’t had any issues,” Jack replied defensively, “The townies think that we’re from a local boarding school. Most of them are just happy for the business we bring in, and we always behave ourselves. Ilvermorny has a one-strike policy, like Quopro. One slipup around the No-Maj and you’ve lost walking privileges for the rest of your time there. The biggest problem we had in my memory was that a local boy wanted to take a girl in my class out on a date and wouldn’t take no for an answer. One of the teachers had to perform a gentle memory modification after he tried to follow us back on campus.”

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

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

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

“Sounds like the middle of nowhere,” Teddy grinned.

Jack shrugged, “I mean, it’s not New York City, but it’s not in the middle of nowhere either. It’s an hour's flight to Boston and twenty minutes to Albany. It’s not like it's in Oklahoma or something.”

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

“Mph,” Jack chewed and swallowed quickly, “Yep I am.” Not precisely true. His family was from Hoboken, but he didn’t think his housemates would care about the No-Maj state of New Jersey anyway. Heck, American wizards didn’t even care about New Jersey. Besides, it was close enough. “And they’re called ‘skyscrapers’, not cloudscratchers. The No-Maj…the Muggles build them everywhere. You should see them put them up without magic in just a few months, it’s like watching ants crawl all over an apple. They go up hundreds of yards into the air. Then the rich No-Maj live at the top.”

“H-how do they climb all those stairs?” the boy continued, wide-eyed.

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

“I didn’t know American Muggles risked their lives so casually to avoid climbing stairs,” Oliver observed drily.

“It’s quite safe,” Jack insisted, “It’s less dangerous than crossing the street.” He thought of his narrow escape in Liverpool at the hands of an omnibus. Franklin, what an embarrassing end to his adventure that would have been. Why can’t they drive on the right like normal No-Maj?

“Is New York bigger than London?” a pale girl with a red ribbon in her hair asked while delicately buttering a potato.

Jack had no clue, “Probably, I’ve never been to London though, just the train platform.”

“Well, how many Muggles live there?”

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

Confused stares, “There’s a stage in the Hogsmeade town hall that they put on mystery plays during holidays,” a curly-haired sixth-year girl named Mina Mulholland said helpfully in a musical accent, “Is that what you mean?”

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

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

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