The Hogwarts Express shot from the tunnel, curving smoothly along the tracks. Outside, a glacial valley unfurled beneath the twilight like a painted backdrop.
And there, perched on its ancient stone rise, sat Hogwarts - distant yet unmistakable, like a model carved by artful hands. The dying sun bathed the castle in molten gold, turning its weathered granite warm as sandstone. Light danced along its towering spires, gilding them against the darkening sky.
Thick pine forests cloaked the surrounding hills, their dark canopies tumbling down rocky slopes before melting into dark farmland. At the valley's lowest point lay a great lake, its surface shimmering like an oil slick, catching the sky in strokes of pink, purple, and orange.
Hogsmeade Station glowed in the twilight, rising from the valley like something out of a storybook. Gas lamps (No electricity this far out? Jack wondered stupidly, before realizing that it was a wizarding village and they were enchanted) cast golden halos over the platform, their soft light spilling onto cobbled streets. Beyond them, the village climbed the hillside, its windows flickering like stars.
With a great hiss of steam, the Express pulled into the station. Jack stepped out of his compartment and followed his future classmates out of the car. The station platform was crowded as students disembarked and began making their way towards the carriages that would transport them up to the castle. Further down the valley, Jack could see the lights of individual farms and smaller hamlets in the distance like will o' wisps rising up to the high surrounding cliffs.
The air was sharper than in London, tinged with the bite of early autumn. Jack inhaled deeply. It wasn't the crisp maple-and-oak scent of Mount Greylock, but something older and wilder. Spicy heather, cool pine, and the faint mineral smell of mountain air.
But it was the castle that held him fast. From here - just over a mile away - Hogwarts loomed from the bones of the earth, its towers and turrets etched dark against the violet sky. Below, the valley unfurled, the lake now mirroring the castle's glowing windows on its shifting surface.
After five years marching through Ilvermorny's Beaux-Arts halls, Jack had to admit, it was something else.
The Hogsmeade platform bustled with activity as students spilled from the train, funneled toward waiting horseless carriages.
"First years! First years over here! This way for the first years! Blast it! I said first years this way! No dawdling!" A short wizard in a billowing tartan cloak and matching kilt flapped his arms like a mother hen, shepherding a cluster of wide-eyed eleven-year-olds toward a flotilla of small boats bobbing by the lakeshore.
Jack headed the opposite direction, following the crowd toward the road, where a line of waiting horseless carriages awaited. Jack wondered idly if they used No-Maj engines. He was just about to reach one when Cassandra Hightower practically apparated in front of him.
"Mr. Semmes," she said severely.
"Hi!" Jack smiled. Her cheeks were flushed, and the evening light only made her look prettier. "Wanna ride up together?"
"What?" she said, taken aback. Then she recovered. "No! First years go that way," she pointed firmly behind him.
"Yeah, I caught that," Jack said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "The guy in the dress said so."
She shook her head, "That includes transfer students. You'll be riding across with them."
"Gimme a break," Jack scoffed. "I'm not a little kid," he moved to step around her. "I'm joining the sixth year class. I'll ride up in the carriages with everyone else, thanks."
Cassandra stepped into his path again, arm outstretched, violet eyes flashing. "It's tradition for all new students to cross the lake," she insisted. Jack nearly bumped into her. "That means you."
"Says who?" Jack stepped back and crossed his arms. The urge to grin was getting harder to fight. "You?"
"The rules!"
"Which rules?"
"The.. the..." she momentarily lost her bearing, "The Hogwarts rules!"
She stamped her foot.
"For Hogwarts students!"
"Never heard of that rule."
The voice was light, amused. Jack turned as the sandy-haired boy from the club car leaned casually out of the nearest carriage window. "We haven't had any transfer students here since...oh, 1923?" the boy mused. "Graf Siegfried Maria Hildebrand Maximilian Albrecht von Schlotterkopf Knickerbein from Durmstrang, wasn't it?" His hazel eyes twinkled mischievously. "Did he take a boat ride?"
Cassandra whirled on him, her glare sharpening. "This isn't your concern, Ravenhurst," she snapped. "I'm handling it."
Ravenhurst raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Doesn't look like there's anything to handle," he observed. "Unless you're planning on physically tossing our new Yank into a boat yourself."
"I wouldn't mind that," Jack said with a grin. Cassandra looked murderously at him, and Jack briefly wondered whether British witches would slap like American ones or just went straight for their wands.
"Might as well introduce myself." The boy leaned out the carriage window, neatly boxing Cassandra out. "Henry Ravenhurst. Sixth-year Gryffindor -- same as you'll be, hopefully." His broad accent carried wild moors and old country manors. "Don't mind our Miss Hightower here, she takes her prefect duties very seriously. Especially when foreigners are involved - you know, you might be a spy, one never knows nowadays. She check you for Polyjuice yet?"
Jack burst out laughing.
Cassandra folded her arms, looking like she was deciding whether to report them or set them both on fire.
"That is enough, Ravenhurst." she said. "I shall report you to Professor MacLeod for interfering with official prefect duties, to say nothing of your incorrigible--"
"Well you'd better get a move on then," Henry announced lightheartedly, opening the door of the carriage for Jack. "Unless you would prefer to explain to Headmaster Hollowbrook why we're delaying the welcome feast over some fictitious rule?"
A small crowd had gathered to watch the entertainment again. Cassandra looked around, seemed to realize she was losing whatever authority she had, and drew herself up with wounded dignity.
Then, with a final venomous look at Jack, she spun on her heel and stormed off. "This isn't over, Semmes," she declared balefully over her shoulder.
Jack gave a low whistle, watching her storm off. For once, he was at a loss for words.
"Don't mind Hightower," Henry repeated, helping Jack into the carriage, "Known her for ages. She takes her duties very seriously. Bit of a stickler. Gets it from her mother."
"You don't say." Jack chuckled, sinking into the springy seat. "Thanks for the save. Name's Jack Semmes." He stuck out a hand.
"Pleasure's all mine." Henry shook it firmly as the carriage rattled up the winding path toward the looming castle. The sun had set beyond the western hillslopes, and a full harvest moon blazed low in the darkening sky. "No need for thanks, happy to help. Us non-prefects have to stick together."
Jack grinned, already warming to Henry's easy manner. As they rode, Henry kept up a steady stream of chatter—introducing himself further, explaining that the West Riding he hailed from was not a racetrack but a part of Yorkshire, pointing out landmarks, and sprinkling in bits of Hogwarts lore like a seasoned tour guide. Jack drank it all in eagerly, craning his neck for glimpses of the castle as they rounded the twisting curves and passed through the outer curtain wall, under the North Gate, and onto the school grounds.
"How are you finding our sceptered isle?" Henry continued as their carriage rattled up the road, "Pleasant journey to London, I hope?"
"Everything was great until I got off the boat…" Jack launched into an abridged—and moderately embellished—account of the chase in Liverpool. The way he told it, he'd narrowly escaped a half-dozen armed wizards, pulling off maneuvers worthy of a dime novel hero. If he'd actually been alone, of course, he would have handled it just as flawlessly.
"Merlin…" Henry's carefree face turned extremely serious, "The Ministry man said they were Grindelwald's men? That's not good, did he say why they were after you?"
Jack shook his head, about to explain his father's new post at the British Ministry, when the carriages jolted to a stop at the foot of Hogwarts' sweeping front steps.