"The quasineutrality principle posits that the introduction of free electrons within a magically stabilized lattice—achieved through controlled quantum apparation tunneling—induces a state of metastable thaumaturgical flux, wherein matter-phase boundaries blur into a liminal state of physical-arcane duality. This effect, referred to as 'Scardinger's Familiar,' results in simultaneous partial transmogrification across adjacent morphic matrices. Practical applications include enhanced spell stability in high-energy transformations, though extreme care must be taken to avoid a resonance cascade, which may lead to catastrophic quantum foam collapse, planar inversion of the subject material or, in rare cases, invasion of our reality by extra-dimensional forces."

  Dr. Gordian Freewand, What’s the Matter? Advanced Theories in Transfiguration and Magical Material Science, pg 294.

  (Assigned Textbook for Sixth-Year Advanced Transfiguration)

  Jack slumped despondently in his chair as Professor Winterborn's chalk tap-danced across the blackboard, filling it with increasingly incomprehensible formulae and diagrams.

  The lesson had started simply enough with the three states of matter they'd covered last week: solid, liquid, and gas.

  Then she introduced plasma.

  "The implications for transfiguration theory cannot be overstated," she declared, adding another layer of perplexing arrows and subscripts to the board. "The introduction of free electrons fundamentally alters our understanding of matter-phase transitions..."

  Jack's quill hovered over his parchment, then lowered. He lost the thread of the lecture completely somewhere around "apparation tunneling effects."

  Instead, he pulled out his Potions homework. Might as well get something useful done.

  Beside him, Henry was furiously taking notes, his handwriting deteriorating into a frenzied scrawl as he tried to keep up.

  "Copy yours later?" Jack whispered.

  Henry gave a distracted nod, not looking up from his parchment. "Quasineutrality principle…and its interaction with transmogrification," he muttered. "Merlin's beard, this is fascinating..."

  “Don’t forget the supplementary diagrams,” Jack nudged him and pointed to the side chalkboard that was being written on by animated chalk.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Henry glanced over and squinted at the board.

  Jack smiled and returned to his homework on the Lesser Work. Henry's enthusiasm for transfig theory was both baffling and endearing.

  "So," Jack said casually as they began packing up after class, "I invited Cyprian to join us in the library next Tuesday. For studying. He's actually not a bad guy - once you get past the weirdness.”

  Henry capped his inkwell and turned in surprise, "Venge?" He gave a small, incredulous laugh. "Slytherins and Gryffindors working together is one thing, but getting Cyprian Venge to agree to a social call? You have a knack for the impossible, Jack.”

  History of Magic somehow managed to be even duller than usual. Professor Binns droned on about the "Great Concert of Magical Europe" and its "harmonious coordination of international magical policy."

  "This was all part of the graceful quadrille of diplomatic relations in the 19th century..." Binns intoned.

  Jack was on pins and needles. "You know what's actually interesting?" he whispered to Henry. "The Indian Wars happening at the same time as this in the States. Now there was some real history. Chief Roaring Chicken's uprising against MACUSA in 1877, the Ghost Dance Rebellion of '90, we're talkin' thousands of scalps taken, massacres, towns burning, oceans of blood spilled!"

  Henry smacked his lips, half-asleep on his desk, "Is that so, old sport?" His eyes drifted shut again. "Terribly fascinating I'm sure..."

  Jack let his friend doze and doggedly made his own notes of Binns’ monologue in order to exchange with Henry later. At least someone was getting something out of this class.

  Ancient Runes was more fun. Professor Eugrapheia Babbling had them copying simple Elder Futhark runestones, and Jack found himself enjoying it. The ancient Norse runes had a straightforward logic to them that appealed to his Yankee sensibilities.

  Professor Babbling was a well-built woman in her 60s with a round face and pince-nez. Her carefully pinned gray hair was paired with fashion sense straight out of the mid-19th century—out of date even by British wizarding standards. Her long, dark dress was made of heavy wool with a high collar and lace trim, as if she'd stepped out of an early Victorian portrait.

  "Very fine work, Mr. Semmes," she commented, passing his desk. "Your bindrunes need a more fluid connection."

  “Professor,” Jack asked, “Weren’t these carved in stone? What’s fluid about that?”

  “Originally,” Professor Babbling replied with a smile, “And you are writing on parchment. The calligraphy must match the medium.” She conjured a chisel and a flat piece of soapstone. “Would you like an alternative assignment?”

  The class snickered. Jack grinned in spite of himself. “No ma’am, point taken.”

  “Wise boy,” she continued her rounds.

  Dinner in the Great Hall that night was noisy after a long Monday. The Gryffindor table was especially rowdy.

  "Plasma, lads!" Henry was still excited about Transfiguration from that morning. "The implications for matter transformation are simply revolutionary!"

  “Merlin’s sake, Hal, give it a rest!” Oliver looked up from the malt vinegar he was sprinkling over his bangers and mash. "I didn’t turn down taking advanced Transfig just to have you ram it down our throats every meal."

  "Revolution’ry, is it?" Teddy said, slipping into an exaggerated Yorkshire accent and swinging his arms like a monkey. "Aye, next thing tha’ll be sayin’ is we’ve reinvented t’ wand, like!"

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  Jack snorted with laughter.

  "Stuff it, yellowbelly," Henry glowered.

  Jack checked his wristwatch and started gathering his things. "Time for another thrilling evening with No-Good Ludd."

  "Give her our love," Teddy called. “Ask how she looks with her glasses off and hair down. And the lights off. In a very dark room. With the curtains drawn.”

  "Tell her she’s looking particularly retching today," Henry added.

  "Absolutely stunning," Oliver chimed in. "From a distance. Preferably a few miles."

  "I'll pass that along,” Jack shot them a rude American gesture (slightly different from its British equivalent) as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Next time I’ll bring you guys too."

  Their laughter followed him out of the Hall.

  Another evening of Bianca Ludd's psychological warfare awaited.

  He signed in at her desk, presented his prewritten agenda for the night, and took his seat. He had his rune poem to work on - simple, straightforward, phonetic runes. His quill jerked across the parchment in quick, straight lines around a winding path:

  ?????? ??????????????????? ??????????????? ???????????????? ?????????

  ???????????????????????????????????????

  “Finigr varsninnga. úaurinir atnaira. Turizra butrríma. Ansusa wíwínga.

  Jakobus Tómasar sonr, reist tessar rúnir.”

  

  “Fehu (?): Wealth flows like a river, fleeting as it shines.

  Uruz (?): Strength of the aurochs, untamed and free.

  Thurisaz (?): The thorn defends, sharp and unyielding.

  Ansuz (?): Wisdom of the ?sir whispers in the wind.

  Jacobus [James] Thomas’ Son, carved these runes."

  Jack surveyed his work with satisfaction.

  Easily an E+, even if Babbling took umbrage at his bindrunes. He wondered if the ancient Vikings had the right idea about magic all along. Carve what you mean, mean what you carve, and let the results speak for themselves.

  Simple. Clean. Efficient.

  Then the Greeks had to show up and overcomplicate everything.

  Was it enough for them to carve the rune ???? (eldr) for "fire"?

  Of course not.

  The Greeks wanted a whole lexicon of fire types, as if they were worried someone might accidentally summon the wrong one at a symposion.

  Pyr for ordinary fire, then phlogos for a flame - one that looks good in a overly-long tragic play.

  Pyrkagia for a wildfire - so that the chorus had something to scream dramatically as they ran away from one.

  Heistia for hearth fire - because "fire for lounging about and drinking watered wine while arguing over whose eromenos has the thickest thighs" needed its own word.

  Empyros for divine fire - best paired with an easy-to-misinterpret prophecy, a string of increasingly hubristic decisions, and the sudden realization that your wife is also your mother.

  And don't even get him started on the metaphysical debate. Is the fire homoousios (of the same essence) or homoiousios (of similar essence)?

  Entire magical councils had split over that one letter 'i'. The Greeks probably started the Great Wizarding Schism just to spite the Romans for forgetting to dot it.

  Grown wizards in flowing robes and huge beards with ridiculous titles like “Supreme Arch-Magus of Thessaloniki and All the Thracians” had flung loaded amphorae at each other’s heads while shouting “Your phlogos lacks ousios!”

  And wizards wondered why Rome took over.

  Thank Merlin they had put enough of that convoluted Greek mess together to create a coherent Latin magical doctrine for the rest of the Western World.

  Sure, they probably misinterpreted two-thirds of it and left the rest out entirely, but at least you didn’t have to sit through a five-hour debate on whether the Glacius you’d cast was ontologically distinct from the Platonic form of ice.

  Bloody Greeks.

  He rubbed his temples.

  Then he froze.

  Wait.

  Had he just used "bloody" in his own internal monologue?

  Oh no.

  He was going native.

  Next thing he knew, he'd be flying his broom on the left, drinking warm beer, craving roast beef, and calling fries "chips."

  The guys back home would never let him hear the end of it: “Look at Semmes, he goes off to London and comes back thinking he’s friggin’ Laurence Olivier!”

  Cripes. I'm doomed.

  He shook his head and went back to his rune poem.

  This final detention with Ludd proved to be the worst. She'd arranged his desk so it faced directly into the setting sun, the light drilling into his eyes as he worked. His table was stiflingly hot - she'd "accidentally" set a warming charm underneath that was "proving difficult to reverse." Every few minutes, she'd walk past and pause just behind his shoulder, her shadow falling across his work, her breath audible as she clucked at his work.

  "Curious," she murmured in his ear, making his hair stand on end. "Your father's handwriting is quite similar.

  Jack's quill paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. He kept his face carefully blank.

  She was just talking crap. She had to be lying. Was she opening his letters? Was that allowed?

  The clock crawled forward toward 9:30. Ludd tapped her long fingernails on the tabletop as she did her own homework, the sound just irregular enough to set his teeth. Twice she made him restart sections for "sloppiness." When he got up to get a glass of water from the enchanted pitcher near Ms. Quillworth’s desk he found the contents transfigured into ice.

  It was bait, all of it.

  And he wasn’t going to take it. Ilvermorny’s discipline proved its worth. When the clock finally struck the half hour, she made a note in her little book. "You may go." And dismissed him.

  Jack gathered his things and left without a word. He could feel her satisfied smirk prickling the back of his neck all the way through the central hall.

  A bitter pill.

  And one he could do nothing about.

  For now.