Oh lassie dear, wi' wand in hand,

  The fairest witch in a’ the land,

  Pray lend this warlock a galleon or two,

  For my Gringotts vault is bare, ’tis true.

  The goblins scoff, the vault door’s shut,

  A poor auld soul wi’ nae a knut.

  But worry not, my postal owl

  Brings gold anon—ye'll wear nae scowl!

  ‘pon my oath, I'll swear the debt,

  A vow as strong as Circe’s net.

  O lassie kind, nae grudgin' play,

  Yer wizard’s skint, sorry ta say.

  Your lad, Rab

  "Ode tae My Bonny Witch, Upon Her Seventeenth Birthday"

  Robert Burns, Collections: Spare Me a Sickle Because Me New Gringotts Chequebook Hasn't Arrived, What's Twenty Galleons to the Bloody Goblin Hoard?, and Can Ye Lend Me a Thousand Galleons?

  Hogwarts Library Poetry Section

  Jack returned to the Gryffindor common room during morning study hall to find three first-years frantically scrubbing at the walls and furniture with their robes.

  "What the Franklin is going on–"

  He stopped short as a quill whizzed past his nose and scrawled across the wall in jagged strokes: 'THE GOBLIN’S FORTUNE IS OUR MISFORTUNE'

  "We can explain!" Pal blurted, diving to snatch the rogue quill before it could finish writing “THE WIZARDING WORLD FOR WIZ–”.

  "It was just meant to proofread our Transfiguration essays!" Mel added miserably, pushing his round glasses up his nose as he chased another quill that was embellishing the outraged portrait of Godric Gryffindor with round spectacles, a lightning rune on his forehead, and the words 'CONTROLLED OPPOSITION' in dripping ink.

  “Yeah that was it, just proofread!” Pal spouted.

  "Definitely not draft them for us!" Wiggy said, his ginger hair stained with ink as he wrestled a third quill that was determinedly writing 'THEY WILL CALL YOU ANTI–KOBALIC BUT THEY’LL NEVER CALL YOU A LIAR!' across a tapestry.

  A fourth quill Jack hadn't noticed started scratching at the wall over the entrance: 'GOBLINS CONTROL 100% OF THE WIZARDING WORLD’S GOLD, WAKE UP!' along with a caricature of a goblin’s profile.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Merlin’s breath, man!” Jack stared at a fresh inscription declaring that the Ministry of Magic was built in goblin mines owned by the Rokfelleriks and Rotsnilds. “Who the hell taught you to say all these horrible things about goblins?"

  "Nobody!" Pal nearly shouted. "Mel just tried a charm he read about, ‘Scribblum Sapientia’. Then the quills went bonkers!"

  "They won't stop," Mel said, close to tears as another quill broke free to write 'WHY CAN’T WIZARDS WORK AT GRINGOTTS?'

  "And lunch is in an hour," Wiggy wailed desperately, tackling a quill before it could finish a cartoon of a goblin controlling wizards like puppets. “Merlin, save me! Miss Mulholland is gonna kill us!”

  "Where'd you get these quills?" Jack asked sharply.

  Pal came forward sheepishly with a small wooden box that he retrieved from under a chair.

  "’Blot und Feather, made in Germany,’” Jack read aloud. “Huh. No wonder they went on the fritz."

  He threw the box into the fireplace and pointed his wand at the walls. "Finite Incantatem!"

  The quills dropped lifelessly to the floor, one making a last attempt at slander before falling limp.

  "Alright, you idiots," Jack gathered up the quills with a sweep of his wand and launched them into the fire. They hissed and popped like overcooked bratwursts. "Next time you try to cheat, just copy off your smarter classmates like normal kids. The girls in your year have their heads screwed on straight. Talk to that McGonagall girl. She’s great at Transfig."

  "You're not going to report us?" Mel asked hopefully.

  "No way.” Jack shuddered to think of the ensuing investigation if he did. It would be an avalanche of parchmentwork and probing questions from MacLeod, not to mention the inevitable dramatic tears. That was the last thing he wanted right now.

  “And I’m helping you clean up, pick up those fallen parchments,” he quickly Scourgifyed the offending graffiti away. “I want to see your essays at breakfast tomorrow - actual handwritten essays with original thoughts! Or I’m telling Miss Mulholland."

  The trio exchanged stunned looks before bursting into a chorus of gratitude.

  "Thank you, Mr. Semmes!" Mel squeaked, clasping his chubby hands.

  "You’re the best senior ever!" added Wiggy.

  "You’re a legend!" chorused Pal, already reaching into his bag and fishing out a crumpled piece of parchment, preparing to start his essay immediately.

  "Don’t get carried away.” Jack held up a hand to shut them up. “I’m not saving your heinies twice. You’re frigging lucky I had study hall this morning. Next time, you’re on your own."

  "But we owe you!" Pal persisted. "Maybe we can—"

  "Pst!" Jack shushed, holding up his wand warningly. "No codes, no dead drops, no shadowing Ravenclaws in the hallway. Your essays. That’s it. Now off to your corner, frosh." He dismissed them with a gruff gesture

  The ink-stained Irregulars scurried away to the designated part of the common room for first-years, tripping over their robes in their eagerness. Pal turned back with a cheerful, "Thanks again, Mr. Semmes!"

  Jack grunted and waved them off without looking as he headed up to his dorm to grab his afternoon textbooks. He wanted to lie down a bit before lunch, maybe grab a cat nap.

  He already regretted the brief moment of authority.

  It felt wrong. Too Ilvermorny.

  Not appropriate for Jack Semmes at Hogwarts. Like he was playing at prefect-business.

  Franklin. They were annoying little gremlins, sure…but there was something endearing about their wide-eyed desperation and hopeless faith that he wouldn’t throw them under the Knight Bus.

  “They’re idiots,” he said out loud as he flopped onto his bed and set his alarm for a thirty minute nap. “Franklin, they better not get me kicked out.”