Chapter Text
Many muggles wouldn’t see a giant train chugging over the Atlantic ocean like there were tracks, past the halfway point between the American Coast and the United Kingdom. It bore the cranberry and navy colors of Ilvermorny, the biggest school in America with campuses spread across the gigantic country. This group in particular was Ilvermorny South located in the historic wizarding community of Virginia.
Inside there were a number of cars with most of the teachers compiled in compartments of one car and the class of fourth year students they were bringing a few cars behind. Carts with pukwudgies who exchanged food and magazines, and other such things for the students to buy went up and down the corridors of the train every so often.
One of the seventh-year compartments was considerably livelier than the rest. Charlie Magne, a blonde Pukwudgie, sat by the window with a well-thumbed copy of *Hogwarts: A History* open across her lap. Beside her, her girlfriend Evangeline “Vangie” Venegas, a Latina Wampus whose missing eye was hidden beneath a sweep of dark bangs and an eyepatch, lazily crunched her way through a bag of salt-and-lime plantain chips. Every now and then Charlie would point out something in the book, and Vangie would lean over with enough interest to glance at the page before reaching for another handful of chips.
Across from them sat Dani Magne, who looked so remarkably like Charlie that anyone meeting them for the first time would have assumed they were identical twins. Her lighter blonde hair was tied back into a small ponytail fastened with an angelic, celestial-themed charm, and she wore a long robe embroidered with matching celestial designs over her school uniform, a neatly tied neckerchief at her throat. She seemed entirely absorbed in a thick book on Celestial Divination.
Anthony Morelli, a thin blond boy with an almost delicate build, was concentrating so hard on balancing another playing card atop an increasingly precarious tower that he scarcely seemed to notice the chatter around him. Opposite him, Cherri Brennan lounged back with her tie loosened and her robes looking as though she'd recently lost an argument with a particularly determined hedge. She watched Anthony's tower with a grin that suggested she was already wondering how best to knock it down.
Near the compartment door, Pendleton Goldstein listened eagerly as Charlie explained yet another curious fact about Hogwarts. He was a thin, sallow-skinned boy with dark hair tied back in a small ponytail and round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. Although he wore the standard Ilvermorny uniform, he'd managed to give it an unmistakably old-fashioned flair, complete with a historical-looking cravat that lent him an almost steampunk appearance.
Pendleton leaned forward eagerly as Charlie explained another detail about Hogwarts. Thin and pale, with dark hair tied back in a small ponytail and round spectacles perched on his nose, he looked as though he belonged in another century. A neatly tied cravat and a few odd brass trinkets gave his uniform an almost steampunk appearance.
"Incredible!" exclaimed Pendleton—or "Penn," as the others had taken to calling him. He spoke with a slight lisp that had earned him more than one joke about sounding "snakelike."
Vangie gave him a sidelong look.
"Didn't you live there at one point, Pen?"
Pendleton coloured faintly.
"Briefly," Pendleton admitted. "I was only a child when we moved. Mum and Dad... they're not exactly magical, so we weren't terribly involved with the wizarding community."
Charlie nodded knowingly.
"Ah. I suppose it must be interesting hearing about wizarding Britain now."
Dani looked up from her book, quietly following the conversation.
"It most certainly is," Pendleton agreed.
Anthony gave a snort.
"Hogwarts is still a hilarious name for a school."
"Kinda sounds like a magical disease," Cherri said with a wicked grin.
"It most certainly does not!" Pendleton said indignantly, looking as though Anthony had insulted a favourite aunt.
Charlie let out an awkward little laugh, while Vangie's mouth twitched.
"...It kinda does."
"Technically," Dani observed without looking up from her book for long, "it sounds like something pigs or boars might catch."
Anthony laughed.
"Don't worry, Penny. We ain't gonna tell the Brits their school's named after somethin' contagious."
"...Please don't," Pendleton replied stiffly. "And I told you not to call me that. It is Pendleton."
Before Anthony could answer, Vangie slid open the compartment door just as Aren, the pukwudgie pushing the snack trolley, reached them.
"Right then, taller brats," Aren grunted. "What'll it be?"
"Taller brats?" Vangie repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"The fourth-years are the little brats," Aren said matter-of-factly, ignoring Anthony's wounded expression. "You lot want food or not?"
"I oughta not give ya money after that..." Anthony muttered, already fishing Continental Notes from his pocket. "But you've got Simone's Biscotti Stix."
He helped himself to two bags before tossing over a handful of Dragots.
"Oh—and a bag o' Pasta Twists."
Dani stepped forward next, buying a bag of Sweet Chips, a packet of Pumpkin Poke Cakes and a bag of Ilvermorny Railway Atlantic Caramel Chews.
When everyone looked at her, she merely shrugged.
"I've got the munchies."
"You always have the munchies," Charlie said with an affectionate smile.
"Except when she forgets to eat," Vangie muttered under her breath.
"I solved that problem," Dani replied defensively, "by keeping snack stashes in my room."
Charlie only smiled more fondly as she picked out a few snacks for herself, along with a bottle of cider.
"Ooh capital!." Pendleton examined the shelves with great care before selecting a packet of mint tea. After paying with a handful of Sprinks, he promptly opened it, emptied the powdered tea into the waiting thermos he carried with him, screwed the lid back on and gave it a vigorous shake.
Anthony and Cherri stared.
"You carry a thermos just for tea?" Cherri asked.
"Of course," Pendleton replied huffily. "Everyone should."
Anthony snorted.
"You're still painfully British."
Aren muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "By the Makers..." before pushing his trolley on to the next compartment.
In another compartment, so many fourth-years had crammed themselves inside that the train had quietly shifted into one of its expanded interiors to accommodate them. A game of Hexus was already well underway around the little table.
Blaise Dubois, a Horned Serpent from Louisiana with light caramel-brown skin and reddish-brown hair, lounged comfortably in his seat with his school robes hanging open and his kerchief untied. The grin spreading across his face suggested he was waiting for the perfect moment to spring something unpleasant on the other players.
Beside him sat Dane Whitsky, a freckled blond Pukwudgie whose discarded robes had been replaced by a patched jacket fastened with mismatched soda caps instead of buttons. He eyed Blaise's smile with deep suspicion before looking back down at the cards in his own hand.
Across the table, Timothy "Monte" Montgomery narrowed his eyes. Everything about Monte was immaculate, from the periwinkle streak carefully combed through his auburn fringe to the crisply tied cravat at his neck. He looked as though he distrusted Blaise on principle.
Next to him, Emmett Weaver chewed anxiously on his lip while studying his cards. His second-hand robes were a little too large for him, and the braces on his slightly chipped front teeth flashed whenever he frowned in concentration.
Claire Watts wasn't playing. She sat beside Emmett, leaning comfortably against him as she watched the game unfold. Her nearly black hair faded softly to tan at the ends, her nails were painted pink, purple and blue, and beneath her open robes she wore jeans and a Starlight Comics Co. T-shirt. Nobody questioned why the two of them were practically inseparable anymore—nor why they periodically found themselves being chased out of quiet corners of the school by exasperated teachers.
"Counterspell!" Blaise announced triumphantly, slapping a card onto the table.
Monte shut his eyes for a moment.
"...Oh, hell."
Emmett groaned.
"Blaise," Dane protested, "I was just gettin' used to the order we were goin' in!"
Blaise laughed.
"That's yer first mistake. Never get complacent in Hexus." He pointed cheerfully across the table. "Your turn again, Monte."
Monte fixed him with a look of pure disdain. Then, without a word, he raised one finger in a gesture that left absolutely no room for misunderstanding.
From one of the fold-down bunks in the corner came a long, suffering groan.
A tousled head of hair the colour of damp straw emerged from beneath the blankets, followed by the unmistakably irritated face of Rhine Stone. His skin had the unhealthy pallor of someone who had spent far too much time avoiding the sun.
"I thought y'all said you'd be quiet," he mumbled accusingly, squinting at the Hexus players.
Blaise glanced up from his cards.
"Oh, hey, Rhine. Lookin' good, buddy."
Rhine gave him a flat stare.
"...I look like a corpse," he said at last. "As always."
"Just tryin' to be nice."
Across the compartment, Chase Carlisle looked up from the latest issue of Charmer magazine.
"You look like..." she began thoughtfully. "...a pretty corpse? Y'know... all tragically romantic."
Rhine slowly turned his head towards her.
"That sounds like Edward Cullen."
Chase gave a helpless shrug. "...Well... he is pretty."
Rhine made a noise of exaggerated disgust.
Jordan Huang let out a long sigh without looking up from her novel.
"Elvis Presley was pretty, too," she said. "He still courted a fourteen-year-old."
There was a brief silence.
"...He did?" Chase asked, visibly horrified. "Aw, hell. Thanks for ruining Elvis for me, Jor."
"That's what you deserve," Rhine said dryly, "for describing me as tragically beautiful."
Jordan turned another page.
"I'm just saying," she said. "Being beautiful doesn't automatically make somebody good. Besides, Edward Cullen is a hundred-year-old stalker with a seventeen-year-old's face."
Chase gave an exaggerated shudder.
"...Jordan, somehow you made that even creepier."
"It was supposed to be."
Claire Watts looked up from where she'd been sketching.
"She's right."
"I said somebody in a book was nice to look at," Chase sighed. "I didn't ask for a lecture about how fairy tales lie."
"You brought up vampires in front of Rhine," Monte observed without looking up from his cards. "What exactly were you expecting?"
"...Fair."
The Hexus match continued for another minute before Blaise finally abandoned any attempt to pay attention.
He leaned over and rubbed a circle clear in the fogged-up window.
"...Is it still water?"
Nobody answered.
Blaise looked over his shoulder.
"Seriously."
Monte glanced up.
"...Blaise."
"What?"
"It's the Atlantic Ocean."
"I know that."
"So..."
Blaise gestured helplessly toward the endless gray outside.
"It's just... a lot of ocean."
"Oh, yes," Monte said gravely. "Who could've predicted the Atlantic Ocean would be large?"
"Don't be a smartass."
"It's our house trait."
"You enjoy this way too much."
"I do."
Before Blaise could think of a comeback, Chase leaned forward.
"Y'all think Hogwarts has any towns around it?"
"There is Hogsmeade," Jordan answered. "It's an all-wizarding village."
She turned another page.
"But Hogwarts is in the middle of the Scottish countryside, so don't expect malls or anything."
"I know."
Chase absently tapped the edge of her magazine.
"It's just... my parents don't like owl post."
Dane looked up so quickly he nearly dropped his deck of tarot cards.
"Hold up. You're actually gonna write to your parents this year?"
"...Maybe."
Chase considered it.
"Though maybe I oughta send an owl anyway."
"Why?"
"They might ignore a regular letter."
Nobody laughed.
Monte finally looked up from the game.
"What're you planning to tell 'em?"
He adopted an overly cheerful voice. "Hi Mom. Hi Dad. Just thought I'd let y'all know I entered the Quadiwizard Tournament."
Chase's eyes lit up.
"Oh, I wasn't gonna start with that."
Everyone looked at her.
"I was gonna casually mention I'm dating three seventh-year boys."
Dane choked on his drink.
"...Chase."
"What?" she said innocently.
"They'd lose their minds."
"I know."
A slow grin spread across her face.
"And they don't even know where I am."
She leaned back in her seat.
"So what're they gonna do about iiiit?"
"Brat," Rhine muttered from his bunk without opening his eyes.
"You probably shouldn't push your luck that much," Jordan said. "Besides, they already know Ilvermorny students aren't allowed to enter."
"...Aw."
Chase snapped her fingers.
"You're right."
She slumped dramatically.
"They'd probably just get their hopes up I'd be expelled."
Monte raised an eyebrow "And then?"
"And then they'd send me to one of those fancy no-maj boarding schools they keep trying to talk me into."
She made a face.
"Can you imagine?"
"I can," Blaise said.
"It sounds awful."
"It really does."
"Oh well," Chase sighed. "Guess I'll have to think of something else that'll make 'em notice I exist."
For a moment the compartment was unusually quiet.
Then Emmett slapped down his final card.
"HEXUS!"
Dane groaned.
"...Dang it."
"I was one turn away."
"That's the idea," Emmett said cheerfully.
Blaise barely glanced over.
"Great."
"...Good for you."
Emmett frowned.
"Y'all are a real supportive bunch."
"You won," Blaise said. "Congratulations."
Claire beamed.
"Good job, Emmy!"
Before anyone could stop them, she wrapped both arms around Emmett and kissed him.
A chorus of groans filled the compartment.
"Oh, come on..."
"Again?"
"They've been dating for like six months," Dane muttered. "How are they still like this?"
Monte calmly gathered up the cards.
"I believe that's the game."
Emmett looked entirely unashamed.
"Worth it."
"It usually is," Claire agreed.
"Go be disgustingly adorable somewhere else," Blaise said, waving them toward the door.
The pair exchanged another grin before wandering out into the corridor.
Chase watched them leave with a dreamy smile.
"They're so cute."
Rhine, who had been stretched out on the upper bunk with one arm over his eyes, let out a long sigh.
"...Teenage hormones."
He sat up, stretched until his back popped, then climbed down onto the seat.
"We're fourteen and fifteen," he said matter-of-factly. "It's practically a medical condition."
Chase pouted.
"You are so cynical."
"It has yet to let me down."
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick book.
Hogwarts in the Twentieth Century.
Jordan immediately noticed.
"Oh, that's a new one."
Before Rhine could answer, the compartment door slid open.
Aren leaned into the doorway, arms folded.
"All right, little brats."
Most of the compartment ignored the greeting.
Blaise's head snapped around.
"...Snacks?"
Every student in the compartment seemed to move at once.
Pockets were turned inside out.
Notes were counted.
Coins clinked across the table.
"I call Bayou Bites!" Blaise declared.
Jordan leaned around him, already scanning the shelves on the cart out in the corridor.
"Ooh—TarHeel Treats!"
Chase perked up. "Do they have Smoky Mountain Pantry this time?"
"I saw FairFoods!" Dane said.
Within seconds everyone was talking over everyone else, trying to figure out who was buying what so they could trade afterward.
Aren pinched the bridge of his nose. "For Merlin's sake..."
The pukwudgie hadn't even stopped the cart before half the compartment had surrounded it.
"One at a time!" Aren barked.
Nobody listened.
Everybody started talking at once.
In one of the staff sleeping compartments, Professor Alastor Beuragard sat comfortably in an armchair with a copy of the Virginia Scroll spread across his lap. A glass of rye rested on the little table beside him, while a cigarette smouldered lazily between his fingers. Somewhere in the compartment, a vinyl player crackled softly through a slow jazz tune.
The only thing spoiling the peace was the gentle humming coming from the wizard opposite him.
Alastor lowered his newspaper with a long-suffering sigh.
Lucifer Magne was cheerfully carving a small wooden duck, pausing every so often to take a sip from a glass of charmed apple cider.
"Lucifer..." Alastor said at last, turning another page of the paper. "Must you?"
"Must I what?" said Lucifer innocently.
Alastor looked over the top of the newspaper.
"Actually, that list is rather long. I'm afraid I wouldn't know where to begin."
Lucifer rolled his eyes.
"Ha ha. Very funny, Al."
"...That's on the list too," Alastor replied, sending a thin plume of smoke curling toward the ceiling.
Lucifer wrinkled his nose.
"Ugh. That stuff stinks."
"Vulgar," said Alastor, fixing him with a withering glance.
"Smells like it too," Lucifer agreed with a wicked grin.
A weary voice drifted in from the doorway.
"Aw, hell... who decided to put you two together?"
Henry Husker—better known simply as Husk—stood leaning against the doorframe, giving both of them the exhausted look of a man who had seen far too much in his lifetime. The black wizard, now in his sixties and groundskeeper of Ilvermorny South, looked as though he was already regretting stopping by.
"I imagine Jacob wasn't paying particularly close attention to which members of staff could tolerate one another when he assigned the sleeping compartments," said Alastor.
"Yeah," Lucifer shot back. "Otherwise you'd be rooming by yourself."
He turned toward Husk with a grin.
"So who'd they stick you with?"
"Hazy and Nifty."
Lucifer blinked.
"...How's that going?"
Husk shrugged.
"Pretty sure I won't get stabbed in my sleep."
Lucifer stared at him.
"...Pretty sure?"
"Better odds than anybody else rooming with those two," Husk muttered.
Alastor tapped the ash from his cigarette into a waiting ashtray.
"Did you need something, Husker?"
"Not really," Husk replied. "I just followed the sound of petty bitchin'."
Without waiting for an answer, he continued down the corridor.
"Gonna go find the drinks."
The compartment door slid shut behind him.
For a moment there was only the quiet crackle of the record player.
Alastor let out a long sigh and shook his head.
"Hmph."
Lucifer frowned.
"...Petty?" he repeated. "Hey, wait just a second!"
"Mmm." Alastor didn't even look up from his newspaper. "Bit late for that."
A chuckle escaped him as he turned another page.
After a moment, he lowered the paper just enough to peer over the top at Lucifer.
"Tell me," he said, "why exactly did you feel the need to come? The school back home still has to function. I'm sure they could use an extra pair of hands."
Lucifer looked up from his carving.
"Wow."
He rolled his eyes dramatically.
"It's almost like you don't want me here."
"I'm glad you understand."
Alastor took an unhurried sip of rye.
"Rude," Lucifer muttered, returning to the little wooden duck. "And for your information, I'm not leaving my daughters alone in another country for an entire school year."
Alastor gave the sort of sigh usually reserved for particularly stubborn students.
"They're seventeen, Lucifer," he said. "By traditional wizarding standards, they're adults."
"They're still my daughters."
"How sentimental."
Lucifer only smiled to himself and continued carving, sending another curl of wood spiralling onto the floor.
"So... what are the Hogwarts houses actually like?" Vangie asked.
They all knew the basics from a historical standpoint. Every American student learned that Isolt Sayre had drawn inspiration from Ravenclaw when she founded Horned Serpent. But that had been centuries ago, and Ilvermorny's houses had long since grown into something entirely their own.
Charlie flipped through a few more pages of the book.
"Well..." he said slowly. "Gryffindor's supposed to be the brave and noble one. Hufflepuff values fairness and hard work. Ravenclaw's known for cleverness and intelligence..."
Anthony was already grinning.
"So—jocks and idiots, boring people and nerds."
Charlie ignored him and squinted at the page.
"...And Slytherin is said to value ambition, cunning and..." He hesitated. "...Ruthlessness."
"Oh, right." Anthony nodded solemnly. "So you've got Brave, Smart, Evil and... Everybody Else."
Cherri gave an undignified snort.
"I'm sure there's more to it than that," Penn said uneasily. "Surely a whole house can't simply be... evil. That seems rather unfair."
Vangie shrugged.
"The book isn't exactly doing Slytherin any favours. Everything I've read about it makes me wonder why the house still exists."
"I don't think the house is necessarily the problem," Dani said thoughtfully. "I think it's the way Hogwarts sorts people."
Everyone looked at her.
"I mean, Ilvermorny's houses aren't really about your personality anymore. They're about how you approach magic." She counted them off on her fingers. "Thunderbird students tend to learn by doing. Horned Serpents ask questions and think outside the box. Pukwudgies are usually the caring sort, and Wampus teaches discipline and self-control."
She frowned at the page Charlie had opened.
"But Hogwarts sounds more like..." She searched for the right words. "'Here's a house full of people with roughly the same personality. Congratulations—they're your family now.'"
Penn shifted awkwardly in his seat.
"When you put it like that..." he murmured. "...It does sound a little..."
"Like a recipe for disaster?" Vangie supplied.
Penn gave a small, apologetic smile "I was going to say... problematic."
"Sounds a bit much," Cherri remarked. "I dunno if I'd like bein' surrounded by people just like me all the time.”
"Usually when people are too alike," Dani said, "they either end up constantly clashing—like Dad and Professor Al."
A ripple of knowing laughter went around the compartment.
"—or they just encourage each other's worst habits."
"If you ask me," drawled a familiar voice, "your old man and Al do both."
Everyone looked up.
Husk was leaning in the doorway, a bottle of Calypso Gold Rum hanging loosely from one hand as though he'd wandered past, overheard the conversation and decided to weigh in.
Anthony's grin widened immediately.
"Ooooh... well, hello there, Husky~."
Husk gave him a flat look.
"Don't start. You're still in school, kid."
Anthony folded his arms indignantly.
"I'm nearly eighteen, y'asshole."
"Still a kid."
"Oh, hi, Husk!" Charlie said brightly. "We were talking about the Hogwarts houses."
"Yeah?" Husk grunted. "And?"
"They sound like a very bad idea," Vangie said.
Penn shifted a little in his seat.
"Well..." he said carefully, "Hogwarts has managed perfectly well for centuries."
"Hogwarts?" Husk snorted. "Sounds like an STD."
Penn let out a tiny strangled noise.
Husk merely shrugged.
"And plenty o' rotten ideas last a long time. People get used to 'em. Tell themselves that's just the way things are 'cause it's tradition."
He took a slow swig from the bottle.
"Segregation. Slavery."
The compartment fell abruptly silent.
Even Penn had nothing to say.
In another compartment, Rhine had somehow become the centre of attention as he read aloud from Hogwarts, A History, explaining the four Hogwarts houses and the reputations attached to each.
He turned another page.
"The last one you might want to be careful around," he read. "'Slytherin House is said to value ambition, but in recent years a shadow has been cast over it through its association with a Dark wizard known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named—'"
"Oh, come on, Rhine," Blaise groaned. "What's his actual name? Quit bein' such a wuss."
"I'm not," Rhine said impatiently. "That's what the book says." He tapped the page. "It literally calls him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."
Blaise strode over, snatched the book from his hands and stared at the paragraph in disbelief.
"Man, you've gotta be kiddin' me."
He handed it back with a snort.
"I've heard he's called that, and 'You-Know-Who,' over here," Monte said thoughtfully. "Apparently people still flinch when they hear his real name. Some of them... have genuine trauma because of everything that happened."
Blaise shifted uncomfortably.
"...Well..." he muttered. "That's... I mean... Hitler was pretty awful too, but people still say his name."
Monte gave a small shrug.
"I suppose. But there was also a lot of superstition surrounding Voldemort's name. Some people believed it had powerful enchantments placed on it—something like a Taboo. Even now, there are witches and wizards who think saying it invites trouble."
"...Yeah," Rhine said with a slow nod as he closed the book. "I can see why people would keep the habit."
"So... they say he died... or...?" Jordan asked.
"That is..." Rhine said, pausing over the book, "...a very complicated question. The last thing anyone knows for certain is that he murdered James and Lily Potter in Godric's Hollow before trying to kill their one-year-old son, Harry. Then... something went wrong. After that, he simply vanished."
"...Wow," Dane said quietly. "How old's Harry now?"
Rhine let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes.
"Seriously, Dane? Do you ever listen during Professor Lasko's lectures? The Boy Who Lived? He's kind of famous."
Dane shifted sheepishly.
Rhine shook his head.
"He's our age. Supposedly something interesting happens at Hogwarts practically every year he's been there."
"Huh."
Blaise tilted his head as he tore open a package of Granny Maple snack cakes.
"Ohhh," Chase said, grinning. "Is he cute?"
Jordan let out a long, pained sigh.
"...Your first question is whether Harry Potter's attractive? Seriously?"
Chase waved a dismissive hand.
"I bet he is. And he's got that accent..."
She gave an exaggerated dreamy sigh.
"Mmm."
"Chase," Monte said without looking up from his book, "we're going to a school in Scotland. Everyone there has a British or Scottish accent."
For a heartbeat Chase simply stared at him.
Then her eyes grew wide.
"...Ohhhhhhh."
A slow grin spread across her face.
"A whole buffet of cute British people..."
Monte pinched the bridge of his nose.
He looked across at Jordan.
"Please keep your friend under control."
Jordan gave a dry little laugh.
"I'll do what I can."
Blaise wore a mischievous grin.
"You know," he said, "they say the French school and the Bulgarian one are comin' too."
"Mmm. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, yes," Rhine replied with a nod. He glanced over the top of his book at Blaise. "Please try not to cause an international incident."
Blaise waved a dismissive hand.
"Tch. Rhine, please. I'll be on my best behavior..." He gave a theatrical sigh. "Especially for them fine Beauxbatons girls."
Dane let out a long sigh.
"...Dude. Seriously."
"Oh, come on." Blaise grinned. "I can speak their language. I'm kin'a French."
Jordan raised an eyebrow.
"You are?"
"Louisiana French," Blaise corrected proudly. He straightened up and put on what he clearly imagined was a charming smile.
"Bonjour, ma chérie..."
Chase burst into giggles.
Jordan buried her face in one hand.
"Blaise... seriously."
"And," Monte said with an audible sigh of annoyance, "Ilvermorny North is coming."
The compartment grew noticeably quieter.
Jordan looked over at him.
"...Your rival?"
"Yep."
Monte wrinkled his nose as though the very thought offended him.
"Warren."
Blaise groaned.
"Oh, come on, man. Don't tell me y'all are gonna drag your little feud all the way to another country."
Monte gave him an affronted look.
"I won't be caught dead hurling spells around like some kind of barbarian."
He folded his arms with quiet dignity.
"That's Tybalt Warren's department."
Professor Mercury Stage had quietly claimed one of the compartments in the teachers' carriage as a temporary office.
He paused over the parchment spread across the little table and gazed out of the rain-speckled window, absently tapping the feather of his quill against his chin.
Most students these days preferred pens. They were quicker, cleaner, and considerably less prone to leaving ink on one's sleeves. His father, however, had spent years insisting that a proper wizard wrote with a proper quill.
"It's tradition, Mercury."
His father had said it often enough that Mercury could still hear the words perfectly.
He had managed to leave behind most of the lessons Headmaster Marcus Stage had tried to drill into him. Using a quill, however, was not one of them. Perhaps it was simply habit. After all these years, it felt as natural as breathing.
Besides, it suited the subject he taught.
European Wizarding Culture and Tradition.
A few students, usually behind his back, liked to shorten it to Pureblood Culture. Mercury had been very clear from the first day of class that such a description was inaccurate.
His lessons were not an endorsement of pure-blood supremacy.
Quite the opposite.
History, in his opinion, was meant to be understood, not romanticized. If a tradition had been rooted in prejudice or bigotry, then his students would learn that as well.
He lowered the quill to the parchment.
The compartment door slid open.
Mercury jumped ever so slightly.
A blot of ink splashed across the page.
"...Please don't sneak up on me."
He reached for a napkin to dab at the stain before looking up.
Professor Ambrose Lasko stood in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, lazily nursing a can of soda. With his unhealthy complexion and permanently tired expression, he looked less like a history professor than someone who ought to have been confined to the hospital wing.
"Ah," Lasko said, eyeing the quill. "Still using your stone and chisel."
Mercury looked up with practiced resignation.
"Very funny."
Lasko took another sip.
"Heard from one of the pukwudgies. Apparently the kiddos have been talking about... well... you know."
"Harry Potter?" Mercury guessed. "I'd be surprised if they weren't. He's about their age."
Lasko snorted.
"No, the other him."
He lowered the can.
"The discount Hitler with the god complex."
Mercury closed his eyes for a brief moment.
"...Oh."
He let out a slow breath.
"I suppose if discussing him reminds them to be cautious, I don't see any reason to interfere."
"I wasn't suggesting we should." Lasko shrugged. "Just figured you'd want to know. I started brushing up on the whole mess before we left. Nice to see students taking an interest in current events without me having to assign an essay for once."
Mercury nodded thoughtfully.
"I've been meaning to spend more time covering it myself."
His voice became quieter.
"It's... a difficult subject."
"Yeah."
Lasko shrugged again.
"But you can't dance around it forever."
Mercury gave him a dry look.
"Thank you for that reminder."
"My pleasure."
A silence settled over the compartment.
"...Anything else?" Mercury asked.
"Nah."
Lasko slid the compartment door shut.
Mercury waited another minute before returning to his work.
He had only just put quill to parchment again when the door slid open once more.
"Oh, actually," Lasko said, "if you happen to see Al, tell him I got—"
"Lasko."
Mercury's voice had dropped into the dangerous sort of calm that usually preceded a detention.
Lasko blinked.
"...Riiiiight."
He gave an apologetic little salute.
"Not a good time."
The door slid shut again.
Mercury stared at it for several seconds before looking down at the fresh ink blot spreading across his parchment.
As he carefully dabbed it away, he found himself understanding perfectly why, throughout history, so many people had attempted to murder the undead Greek lich.
Headmaster Jacob Jasper had spent most of the journey firmly shut away in his own compartment, venturing out only occasionally to ask how much farther they had to go.
His office suited him perfectly. It contained everything he considered essential to the running of a school. Shelves of paperwork, several stacks of files he had absolutely intended to finish before arriving at Hogwarts, and a drinks dispenser that dispensed something which was, according to Jacob, definitely not Ogden's Old Firewhisky.
He was a thin man with greying, perpetually untidy hair, spectacles forever slipping down his nose, and the permanently frazzled look of someone who had accepted long ago that life was simply determined to make things difficult.
The Jasper family had held positions at Ilvermorny South since the nineteenth century. Headmasters, deputy headmasters, professors—generation after generation had continued the tradition.
Jacob privately referred to it as a family curse.
As eldest descendant of the first Jasper headmaster, the position had eventually fallen to him whether he liked it or not.
"It's an honor," his relatives had always insisted.
An honor, indeed.
According to family history, earlier generations had actually fought duels over who would become headmaster before someone had the good sense to invent a less homicidal method of choosing.
Personally, Jacob believed anyone willing to duel for the privilege of managing several hundred teenagers either had a death wish or had never actually met several hundred teenagers.
Many witches and wizards avoided children entirely by simply never having any.
Jacob, unfortunately, had inherited several hundred of them.
"Life's not fair," he often reminded his students.
He generally followed this observation by taking a rather generous drink of something that was definitely not firewhisky.
It was, in many respects, his philosophy of life.
"Done with your afternoon sulking?"
The compartment door slid open before Jacob could answer.
Jocelyn Jasper, his younger sister and deputy headmistress, swept inside without waiting for permission.
Jacob let out a long sigh.
"I don't recall inviting you."
"Too bad."
She shut the door behind her.
"Deputy Headmistress privilege."
Her voice was naturally warm and musical, though it had acquired the firm tone she reserved for dealing with her older brother.
"We're getting close to land. I hope you're ready."
Jacob groaned.
"I know."
He stood and immediately began pacing the compartment, running both hands through his already untidy hair.
"I just hope Dumbledore is as serious about this Age Line as he claims."
He turned sharply.
"I swear, if one of my underage students somehow ends up in this tournament..."
He paused.
"I'll kill him."
Another pause.
"...Then myself."
Jocelyn folded her arms.
"Take a Calming Draught, Jacob."
He stopped beside the drinks dispenser, refilled his cup, and took a long sip.
"This," he declared, lifting it solemnly, "is the only medicine I need."
Jocelyn pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Please don't lose your temper when we meet the other schools."
"I won't."
Jacob waved a dismissive hand.
"Joss, I can charm people with the best of them."
A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth.
"'Specially Marcus."
Jocelyn gave him a long look.
"That's exactly what I'm worried about."
She sighed.
"I'll be there to make sure you remember how to behave."
Jacob watched her for a moment after she spoke.
Convincing his younger sister to join the staff had been one of the best decisions he had ever made.
It had also been one of the most irritating.
She kept the school running, organized the things he forgot, handled crises before they became disasters, and somehow managed to remain calm while doing it.
Unfortunately, she also happened to be considerably better at the job than he was.
Jacob tried very hard not to think about that.
He rarely succeeded.
"Hey! Hey, Jordan!"
Jordan felt herself being vigorously shaken awake.
She cracked one eye open just in time to see Chase grinning down at her.
With a groan, Jordan snatched the little alarm clock from the bedside table and shoved it toward Chase.
"It's the middle of the night!"
"I know, I know," Chase said, gently pushing the clock aside. "But looook..."
She pointed eagerly toward the window.
"Look outsiiiiide."
Still half asleep, Jordan peered through the glass.
A dark stretch of land was slowly emerging beyond the rain-speckled window.
She blinked.
"Oh..."
A smile spread across her face.
"...Land."
"YES!"
Chase threw both arms into the air.
"We're almost there!"
Jordan was fully awake now.
"We're almost therrrreeeee!"
For the next several minutes the two girls celebrated as quietly as they could—which, unfortunately, still wasn't very quietly at all.
They clasped hands, spun in a circle between the bunks and dissolved into helpless giggles.
The compartment door slid open.
Professor Alastor Beuragard stood in the doorway.
He looked equally amused and exasperated.
"Dears," he said, "is there a particular reason the two of you are awake making such a racket at this hour?"
The girls froze.
"...Umm..."
Alastor let out a patient sigh and gave a small shake of his head.
"Go back to sleep."
His tone softened.
"There'll be plenty of time to celebrate in the morning."
"Yes, sir."
"Sorry, sir."
Alastor inclined his head once before quietly sliding the compartment door shut behind him.
The girls waited.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Chase leaned toward Jordan and lowered her voice to a whisper.
"Is it just me..."
She grinned.
"...or does Professor Beuragard sound even more French when he's annoyed?"
Jordan bit her lip to stop herself laughing.
"Nah."
She shook her head.
"I hear it too."
Chase smirked.
"...Kinda hot, if you ask me."
She gave an exaggerated shrug.
"Blaise could take lessons."
Jordan nearly inhaled the air she was laughing so hard.
"Ch-Chase!"
She clapped both hands over her mouth.
"You can't say that about a teacher!"
The two of them dissolved into muffled giggles beneath their blankets, making a determined—if only partially successful—effort not to let Professor Beuragard hear them a second time.
As the train drew steadily nearer to land, teachers began making the rounds of the compartments, reminding students to finish packing, change into uniform and try—if possible—to look respectable.
Professor Mercury Stage made the unfortunate mistake of sliding open the door to a compartment just as several girls had started changing.
For one frozen second they saw his expression of complete horror.
Then he jerked the door shut so fast it rattled in its frame and hurried away, muttering a string of very un-professor-like words beneath his breath.
There was a brief silence.
"Well," Hoku Kahala said at last, sweeping her long brown hair over one shoulder, "I don't think I've ever heard Professor Stage swear before."
"No," Roxy Kosha agreed, fastening the last button of her blouse. "He barely even raises his voice."
Jordan's face had gone an alarming shade of scarlet. She had thankfully still been wearing her bra when the door opened, but that did very little to ease her embarrassment.
"I'm deleting that memory forever," she mumbled.
She fumbled awkwardly with the striped kerchief around her neck until Chase wandered over with an amused smile.
"Hold still."
Within moments the knot sat neatly beneath Jordan's collar.
"There."
"Thanks."
Chase only grinned. She slipped a bright Laurie Ferris star barrette into her own hair before giving the pink tips a quick touch with her wand, refreshing the colour.
All along the carriage, students were finishing their preparations.
Cameo Rose carefully applied the last of her make-up while Chisaki Hoshino adjusted the two pink-streaked buns atop her head. Claire, already in full uniform, used a Muggle hair crimper to finish styling her hair before pinning several comic and television badges onto her robes.
Outside the windows the endless stretch of ocean finally gave way to countryside once more.
The train slowed.
Students spilled into the corridor, joining one another in excited clusters.
Blaise Dubois absently picked at the hem of one oversized sleeve while Dane Whitsky stood nearby fiddling with a tiny toy in his pocket, practically vibrating with nervous energy—and, judging by the look of him, a considerable amount of caffeine.
A few moments later the chatter died away.
Headmaster Jacob Jasper and Deputy Headmistress Jocelyn Jasper were making their inspection.
Jacob looked slowly along the line of students before letting out a long sigh.
"Weeeeell..."
His glasses slipped slightly down his nose.
"Don't you all look like a cluster of personality."
Jocelyn cleared her throat.
Loudly.
Jacob took the hint.
"Right then." He pointed toward Shuichi Hoshino.
"Hoshino. Lose the shades. This isn't California and you aren't cruising the beach."
Shuichi muttered something under his breath but obediently removed the sunglasses and tucked them into his robes.
"Rhine gets to wear them," he complained.
"Mr. Stone has a medical condition," Jacob replied wearily.
He paused.
"The overwhelming need to appear 'cool' is not generally recognised as one."
A few students snorted.
Jacob's gaze shifted farther down the line.
"Bart."
Bartholomew Montgomery looked up with all the enthusiasm of someone being summoned to a dentist.
"Would it kill you to look just a little more polished?"
Bart answered with nothing more than an irritated grunt.
Jacob sighed.
"Someone fix the tie."
Monte reached over before anyone else could and expertly straightened his older brother's tie.
Bart rewarded him with a look that suggested fratricide was still very much on the table.
"Thank you," Jacob said.
Monte immediately took two careful steps backwards.
"For the record, Headmaster, if he kills me, it's your fault."
"Noted."
Jacob's eyes drifted back to Monte's unmistakable streak of shimmering periwinkle hair.
"...And the hair?"
Without a word Monte pointed across the corridor to Chase, whose freshly renewed pink hair tips were practically glowing.
Jacob looked at Chase.
Then at Monte.
Then at several other students whose creative interpretations of the dress code suddenly seemed impossible to ignore.
He sighed the sigh of a man choosing his battles.
"...Never mind."
He waved a hand.
"The hair's fine."
Charlie and Dani Magne joined the others once they had changed into their uniforms, filing into the corridor with the rest of their friends.
Charlie and Vangie had only just finished helping each other get ready, while Dani followed behind them, cheeks faintly pink as she tried—and failed—not to giggle. Once she had finished fussing with her robes, she looked every bit the picture of a mysterious, androgynous magical scholar.
Nearby, Anthony Morelli was helping Cherri straighten the last stubborn crease in her robes. Cherri looked considerably more put together than she had only a few minutes before.
Pendleton, meanwhile, had somehow managed to transform himself into what looked like the perfect model of a proper young British wizard. His robes were immaculate, his tie perfectly centred, and not a hair seemed willing to stray from its proper place.
A moment later Lucifer Magne wandered in behind Professor Alastor, followed by Husk, Nifty and Hazy.
Alastor stopped in his tracks and let out a patient sigh.
Without a word, he reached over and plucked the stick of pocky from Hazy's mouth.
She looked mildly reproved, tucked the snack into a pocket for later and calmly resumed fixing her ponytail as though nothing at all had happened.
"Right!" Lucifer announced brightly, clapping his hands together. "Everybody's ready!"
Headmaster Jacob Jasper glanced up.
His eyes lingered on whatever Lucifer had decided constituted appropriate attire for the occasion.
Jacob closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and sighed with the quiet resignation of a man who had learned long ago that some battles simply were not worth fighting.
Lucifer, after all, was only a volunteer.
Volunteers, unfortunately, could wear whatever they pleased.
An excited murmur still ran through the students, refusing to die down.
Jacob Jasper waited until it had subsided—mostly.
"Right," he said. "Before we go out there and meet everybody else, I'd like to remind you that, since the other Ilvermorny campuses all chickened out—"
"Except North," someone muttered.
Jacob pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Yes. Except North, because of course they didn't." He let out a weary sigh. "The point is, you're representing America... and Ilvermorny South." He looked slowly around at the assembled fourth-years. "So please..."
He clasped his hands together.
"I am begging you..."
"...don't screw this up."
Deputy Headmistress Jocelyn Jasper rolled her eyes with the long-suffering expression of someone who had heard this speech more than once.
Vivian Dubois, who had come over to check that Blaise had finally managed to make himself presentable, shot the headmaster an amused look.
"No pressure, though."
Jacob opened his mouth, thought better of whatever he had been about to say, then nodded.
"...Only the appropriate amount of pressure."
A few students snorted.
"And another thing," Jacob continued, before anyone could interrupt him again. "Fourth-years are not entering the Tournament. You're here to watch. If I catch any of you trying to put your names into that Goblet, or..."
He stopped, closed his eyes and took one long, calming breath.
"...just don't."
There followed several more reminders, all delivered with the air of an exasperated father pleading with his children to behave themselves for one afternoon. By the time he had finished, a surprising number of students actually looked a little guilty.
Jacob straightened his robes, squared his shoulders, and cautiously leaned out of the train door to inspect the platform.
A minute later he stepped back inside and drew another deep breath.
"I believe they're ready for us." He glanced toward the staff. "Staff first."
The professors began moving toward the door.
"I'll give y'all the signal after that." He looked toward the group of waiting pukwudgies. "You might want to head out before the train..."
He hesitated. "...does its thing."
Ron was still craning his neck in hopes of catching another glimpse of Viktor Krum when a distant whistle echoed across the Hogwarts grounds.
Heads turned at once.
Hermione clutched her copy of Ilvermorny and American Magical Education so tightly that Harry thought she might have been waiting for this moment all evening.
Ever since Dumbledore's announcement she had scarcely spoken of anything else. According to the book, no Ilvermorny campus had ever sent students to Hogwarts before.
Far across the grounds, something emerged from the darkness.
It looked rather like an old-fashioned steam train.
Harry blinked.
There weren't any tracks.
Nevertheless, the great cranberry-and-navy locomotive came steadily towards the castle as though invisible rails stretched across the grounds. It slowed with a long hiss of steam before coming to a graceful halt beside the Beauxbatons carriage and the Durmstrang ship.
For a moment nothing happened.
Then one of the carriage doors swung open.
A thin, tired-looking wizard with greying brown curls and spectacles stepped down first, followed by a witch who resembled him enough that Harry guessed they must be related. She carried a clipboard tucked beneath one arm and wore a calm, unreadable expression.
What struck Harry most, however, was the way they were dressed.
Their robes reminded him oddly of the pictures he'd seen in Muggle history books at primary school—something early American settlers or statesmen might have worn, though unmistakably wizard robes.
Behind them came the rest of the staff.
One wizard, perhaps in his thirties, wore a red-striped waistcoat beneath his robes and carried an elegant walking stick that Harry suspected was really a wand. Another, dressed in white, red and gold with an apple-topped cane, looked as though he belonged in a portrait rather than real life. He smiled pleasantly enough, though there was something delightfully eccentric about him.
Several more professors followed, including an older Black wizard in practical robes, an extraordinarily short Japanese witch whom Harry couldn't quite decide was a student or an adult, and another witch wearing what appeared to be... jeans.
"Blimey," Ron muttered. "They're dressed funny."
The tired-looking wizard and the woman with the clipboard approached Dumbledore, who greeted them warmly.
"Ah, Jacob and Jocelyn," he said. "A pleasure to welcome you to Hogwarts."
"Pleased to finally meet you in person, Albus," said the tired wizard.
Harry thought he detected just the faintest trace of sarcasm beneath the man's exhausted smile, though Dumbledore either didn't notice or chose not to.
"May I introduce Headmaster Jacob Jasper of Ilvermorny South," Dumbledore said, turning toward Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff. "And Deputy Headmistress Jocelyn Jasper."
The two visiting heads inclined their heads politely.
"And I understand," Dumbledore continued, "that you've brought the additional students we discussed."
"Yes," Jacob replied. "Our fourth-years are here as observers."
Jocelyn glanced toward the castle.
"I trust you've taken proper precautions to ensure only students of age may enter the Tournament?"
"Of course," said Dumbledore serenely.
By now students had begun stepping down from the train.
The oldest came first.
Harry noticed two remarkably similar blonde girls among them. One wore robes with tiny celestial decorations worked into the fabric, while the other was accompanied by a dark-haired girl wearing an eyepatch beneath her sweeping fringe.
Another cluster followed, including a freckled blonde witch in heeled boots and a curly-haired girl with warm brown skin. The blonde exchanged a smile with one of the boys from the first group, making Harry wonder whether they might be brother and sister.
Once the older students had disembarked, another group appeared.
These students looked about Harry's age.
Their uniforms shared the same cranberry-and-navy colours as the train, though many had managed to personalize them with colourful pins, unusual accessories or streaks of magically dyed hair.
One particularly pale boy stepped onto the platform wearing dark sunglasses despite the gloomy weather. Almost immediately he opened a small parasol above his head.
Harry frowned.
It wasn't raining.
Finally the remaining staff climbed down.
One dark-haired professor with slightly Asian features wore robes over clothes that looked surprisingly Muggle, while another impossibly thin wizard looked so pale and sickly that Harry briefly wondered how he was still standing.
"Blimey," Ron whispered. "He looks like he ought to be in the Hospital Wing."
Hermione, meanwhile, was no longer looking at the professors.
Instead she was pointing excitedly beyond them.
Several small grey creatures were helping unload luggage from the train. They looked rather like a cross between goblins and house-elves, dressed in old-fashioned clothes that reminded Harry of Muggle paintings of the American colonies.
"Pukwudgies!" Hermione breathed. "I've read about them. They're native to North America. Ilvermorny employs more of them than anywhere else in the country."
Harry watched the little creatures hurry efficiently back and forth between the train and the growing mountain of luggage.
Wizarding America, he decided, was already proving far stranger than he had imagined.