“If you manage six hours of napping a day, on top of six hours of sleep a night, you’re only stuck here for 3.5 years.” - Ilvermorny Student Proverb
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Henry had saved him a seat near the middle of the Transfiguration classroom. The room was wonderful bright and airy compared to the dank and claustrophobic dungeons, in spite of the gloomy weather outside. Cassandra Hightower was already in a seat in the front row.
"Made it through Potions alive." Henry commented as Jack dropped into the chair beside him.
"Barely," Jack replied, "I managed not to completely embarrass myself thanks to you guys." He reached into his schoolbag and brought out his Advanced Transfiguration textbook, a modern work (only just published in 1921) cheekily entitled What’s The Matter?
"Bravo, old sport," Henry said. "Wait until you see what Winterborn has in store for us today. I heard from the seventh-years that the final project this term is on human transfiguration..."
“Animagi?” Jack whispered back, but Henry didn’t have time to respond before Professor Winterborn was already launching into her introduction to the course.
"Advanced Transfiguration is not for the undermotivated or the faint of heart," she warned, her eyes sweeping over the assembled students. She gestured with her to a stack of paperback books on top of her desk, and they flew out to the tables in a coordinated swarm. Jack’s copy landed directly next to his notes with a slap. He inspected the staple-bound cover, The Arte of Animagick. "This is a N.E.W.T.-level class,” Winterborn continued as the last of the books were delivered, “and I expect each and every one of you to put in the work required to succeed. There will be no malingering, no excuses, and no second chances. Do I make myself clear?"
There was a murmur of assent from the class, a few shifting nervously. Jack sat up straighter in his seat, suddenly feeling very alert. He had to focus here, not start falling behind on the first day. Keep up the strong start.
His confidence was short-lived. As Professor Winterborn outlined the syllabus for the term, Jack felt his heart sink lower and lower as the coursework moved from matter phasing to human-animal transfiguration. The reading list was enormous and the spell work complex beyond anything he'd ever attempted. To cap it off, the term paper - a three yard-long monster on the mechanics of Animagi worth thirty percent of their final grade - sounded like something out of his worst nightmares.
He glanced over at Henry, hoping to see a similar look of trepidation - but the young scion of the West Riding was grinning, his eyes alight with excitement. Of course he was. Henry loved Transfig, probably had been looking forward to this class all summer.
Jack felt sick with discouragement. Potions was one thing, but Transfiguration on top of it? How was he ever going to keep up? He was already behind and the semester had barely started. At this rate, he'd be lucky if he didn't flunk out by Christmas. He was almost grateful for being gated with mandatory study prep now.
The bell rang, cutting his mental semester simulation short. He gathered up his books and followed Henry out of the classroom towards the Great Hall for lunch.
"Well, that was invigorating!" Henry exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet as they crossed the suspension bridge. "I can't wait to start the practicals. And the paper sounds brilliant! Might turn it into a research project for seventh-year…”
“Gee whiz,” Jack said dully. Henry was too caught up in his own enthusiasm to notice his friend's mood.
"Come on, let's grab some food before History of Magic," he said, slinging an arm around Jack's shoulders. "It’s great you’re in Advanced Transfig with me, old sport! Finally another Gryffindor to chum around with instead of grumpy snakes and raven toffs. I heard they're serving treacle tart for pudding. They don’t have that in the States do they?"
Henry’s good humor was infectious. “Sounds kind of like shoo-fly pie,” Jack managed a smile, allowing himself to be steered towards the Great Hall.
“That’s a rum name, Semmes. Rum,” Henry chuckled. "Made with real insects is it?"
Food, Jack thought. That was what he needed. Food, a break, and a chance to catch his breath before he had to face another class.
They joined Teddy and Oliver at their table for lunch, the former regaling them with how Charms and Care of Magical Creatures had gone, Henry filling in their side of the day. Algeron Fairburne stopped by, his scar pink against his tan, to remind them about Quidditch tryouts on Thursday and how they needed a new chaser now that Isaias Ratburn had graduated.
“Hopefully these first-years have a ringer in there,” Fairburne said, skeptically eying a handful of his new charges at the end of the Gryffindor table. Wigbald Stoat had bitten a hole through a treacle tart and was holding it up to his eye like a monocle, to the hilarity of his fellows.
“Might have a ringer right here, Algy,” Teddy volunteered Jack with a grin. “Only problem is he’s gated.”
“I heard about that,” Algy gave Jack a searching look. “I’ll speak to the prefect council tomorrow about getting you permission to extend your roam to the pitch. Shouldn’t be hard to win over votes from the Huffles and Slyths. Anything to try and take Ravenclaw down a peg.”
“See Semmes, told you Algy would put in a word,” Henry slapped Jack’s back.
“If you think his Yank flying can translate to Quidditch, I’m willing to see it,” Algy gave a resigned sigh. “Not like our team can get much worse than a 3-7 record.” He dug into his school bag and pulled out a well-thumbed Quidditch rulebook, complete with animated diagrams and little brooms that whizzed through the air in three dimensions when you opened it. He handed it to Jack, “Mind you, Quaffles don’t explode.”
Jack took it, “How boring.” he replied with a straight face.
Algy laughed, “Review that, the terrible trio will set you straight. See you lads Thursday afternoon.” He walked off to join his fellow seventh-years.
“Great, more reading,” Jack said, flipping through the beautifully illustrated book. He admired the full-page colored plate of different professional teams and their uniforms. “At least this has pictures.”
“You can skip most of it,” Henry advised, “Quidditch is Quidditch, get the ball through the hoops and don’t die. Basically the same as your Yank game, except with a Snitch, and two flying iron skittle balls trying to turn your brains into mushy peas.”
After lunch and the walk back to the Academic Building, Jack slid into his seat in History of Magic next to Henry. His stomach full of treacle tart and his mind stuffed with morning classes and Quidditch. He was ready for classes to be over already, and the day was only half done. But he forced himself to set out his quill, parchment, and massive History of Magic Volume IV textbook on their shared desk and shake off his mental fatigue.
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Magical History had been one of his favorite classes at Ilvermorny, second only to Defense Against the Dark Arts and No-Maj Studies - the tales of ordinary warlocks and wise witches, the grand sweep of time, and the way that seemingly insignificant events could have widespread and long-lasting impact.
Jack took stock of his classmates. All four houses were here: Henry sitting next to him, Cassandra Hightower, perched in the front row of course, her hands neatly folded over a fresh sheet of parchment; Caeso Montfort, lounging on the far left side of the room looking bored; Eustace Grymes, the lean, intense Gryffindor with parted red hair and a determined set to his jaw that Jack remembered from the Welcome Feast; a few Hufflepuffs he remembered from Potions, and last of Cyprian Venge, who was strategically positioned on the opposite wall as Montfort.
The bell rang for class to start, but the front of the room was still empty. Jack looked around at the door to see where Professor Cuthbert Binns was.
Henry tapped him on the shoulder, “He’s over there.”
Jack looked forward, blinking, to see a pearly-white figure floating through the wall of the classroom, his face vague and indistinct.
"That's Professor Binns?" he frowned. “A ghost?”
"That’s him, been dead for ages,” Henry whispered, “But he keeps on teaching."
“How the heck does he grade papers?” Jack hissed.
“Wandwork."
“Sounds like a bad joke,” Jack shook his head. “A bad joke by someone who had bad experiences in high school history class.”
“No, it’s brilliant, he works for free and doesn’t take up space anymore,” Henry added. “MacLeod said they turned his old bedroom into a storage closet. He didn’t even notice.”
“So what’s the catch?” Jack asked warily, watching Professor Binns try and fail to pick up a piece of chalk to write on the blackboard.
“You’ll see,” Henry said. He pulled a small white pill-shaped object out of his pocket and squeezed it in his palm. The little object expanded rapidly into a large pillow that Henry put behind him and settled into with a contented sigh.
Professor Binns gave up on the chalkboard, flew through it a couple of times, cleared his throat - a strange, echoing sound - and did a loop of the classroom, "Welcome, class, to sixth-year History of Magic. I am pleased to see you all again. I hope that you had a pleasant summer, now this term we will focusing-ah!” he paused by Jack and Henry’s shared table. “A new boy?” his pale eyes glimmered down upon Jack. “I do not remember you from last term.”
“Jack Semmes, professor,” Jack said, standing up respectfully and suppressing an idiotic impulse to extend his hand for a handshake. Not like Binns could shake his hand. “Ilvermorny transfer.”
Binns made an indistinct sound that could have been either pleasure or dismay, Jack couldn’t tell, “Ah, Ilvermorny! A fascinating little case study, originally founded 1627, by a Hogwarts graduate and her Muggle husband.” Jack took his seat again at Binns' vague gesture.
“A truly remarkable thing,” Binns floated towards the center of the classroom and raised his voice to allow the rest of the class to hear, “Ilvermorny operated as a school of Hogwarts all the way up until 1775, taught and led by Hogwarts graduates, just like our schools around the rest of the Muggle Empire continue to do to this day, the Calcutta School in India and Impundulu in South Africa.”
Henry grimaced, “Calcutta was abandoned months ago due to riots during the partition,” he whispered to Jack.
“What happened to the students and faculty?” Jack whispered back.
“Trying to make their way back to England, the new Indian Ministry wants to set up a new school entirely staffed and attended by natives.”
“Professor,” a bespectacled Hufflepuff girl near the middle of the class raised her hand, and Binns called on her. “What happened at Ilvermorny?”
“A remarkable thing, Miss Pevensey,” Binns repeated himself, “The American wizards threw their lot in with their Muggles!” There was a brief, confused pause.
“When their Muggles rebelled against our Muggles,” Binns explained. There was a flutter of ‘ahhs’, 'quite rights', and other British noises of comprehension. Jack hid a smile behind his hand.
“Professor,” Cyprian raised his hand, “What could have possessed them to do that?”
Jack felt the now-familiar feeling of every eye in the class turning onto him.
He groaned internally. He’d never asked for this…having to speak on behalf of MACUSA on all topics. He knew Binns was about to foist the question onto him, and started mentally rehearsing-
As expected: “Why don’t we ask our new boy from Ilvermorny?” the ghostly history professor swept his arm over towards Jack. “Why did the Ministry wizards over in America rebel along with their Muggles and form the MACUSA?”
“Because the No-Maj were right,” Jack said flatly. Not ‘our No-Maj’, ‘the No-Maj’, he thought fiercely to himself.
Professor Binns' ghostly form wavered slightly into transparency at Jack's blunt response. The class stirred. He saw Cassandra turn partway around to look at him.
"Because the No-Maj - the Muggles - were right," Jack restated. "The British Ministry was treating American wizards the same way the King was treating the Muggle colonies. Every decision had to go through London. American wizards couldn't hold high positions in our own government. We couldn't negotiate for ourselves with the Indians, Spanish, or French. We couldn’t even manufacture our wands, they all had to be imported from Ollivanders."
He took a deep breath, remembering Professor Bancroft’s passionate history lectures back at Ilvermorny. "But it was more than that. American wizards lived differently. We had to. The frontier was vast and dangerous. You couldn't survive by keeping magic and non-magic separate. When a wendigo was stalking your settlement, you didn't check if your neighbor was a No-Maj before deciding to help them."
"But the Statute of Secrecy-" Venge began.
"Was written by Europeans," Jack countered. "But in America, Indian wizards had been living openly in their tribes for centuries. Puritan witch-hunters meant that we settlers needed some secrecy, we still generally follow the Statute, but total and complete separation? That was London trying to force Old World rules on New World realities."
"You 'generally' follow the Statue?" Venge repeated in disbelief. Montfort snickered loudly.
"Let him finish, Mr. Venge," Binns nodded, enjoying the unexpected animation in his usually somnolent class.
"The final straw," Jack continued, "came when the Ministry ordered American wizards to help suppress the Muggle Rebellion. To use magic against their own neighbors, people they'd fought alongside against French wizards and Indian shamans. People who'd helped hide them from witch-hunters..."
"You chose Muggles over your own people?" Cyprian's face was outraged.
"We chose freedom," Jack shot back. "The right to govern ourselves, magical and non-magical alike. When the No-Maj Congress issued their Declaration, the American wizards copied it verbatim. The Magical Congress of the United States, MACUSA, was founded in Philadelphia right at the same time as the No-Maj United States-"
"A fascinating perspective," Binns interjected. "Though perhaps missing some nuance regarding the Ministry's position..."
"The Ministry's position was that Americans should remain obedient subjects," Jack pointed to the large and out-of-date world map on the wall. Two-thirds of it was red and pink, demarcating the British Empire on which the sun never set. "Just like they expect Indian and African wizards to do now. How's that working out?"
Several students shifted uncomfortably. Cassandra buried herself in her textbook. Cyprian shook his head. Montfort was shaking with silent laughter. Eustace Grymes smiled wolfishly.
"An interesting interpretation," Binns began, "Though the textbook suggests-"
“Oh yeah, the textbook,” Jack leafed to the frontispiece of Bagshot’s History of Magic Volume II, and read aloud, “‘Printed in Diagon Alley, London.’ Our version is a bit different-”
“Thank you Mr. Semmes, very elucidating,” Binns was already floating back to the front of the classroom. Jack glared after his retreating back. Henry put his head down to muffle his chuckles.
The class settled down as Professor Binns drifted through the blackboard, already droning about the term's syllabus. Jack struggled to focus as the professor listed dates and treaties in a monotonous voice. His attention wandered back to the massive world map dominating the wall, its territories colored in fading imperial red. The United States was painted light blue, with a patchwork of unincorporated land in the southwest. Jack noted with amusement that Oklahoma was still labeled as 'Indian Territory'.
"The Wizarding Congress of Europe in 1865," Binns intoned, "established the framework for magical sovereignty in the age of expanding Muggle empires. While Muggle governments carved up Africa and Asia, the magical ministries..."
Jack gamely tried to keep up, but the names and numbers were blurring together in his ears. Binns’ voice had a soporific effect, made even worse by his full stomach from lunch. Beside him, Henry was snugly embedded in his novelty pillow, not even bothering to take notes.