Past, Presents and Future
ver the next week, Jina was tempted on several occasions to run away from Raven’s Head and strike out on her own. Rusthorne’s warning still loomed in her head like a dark cloud, but living with the Crowes was quickly proving to be unbearable. She learned early on, however, that escape would be no easy feat; the manor’s perimeter seemed to be protected with some kind of magical spell, which gave her a painful jolt any time she tried crossing out of bounds. She thought of sneaking out through a fireplace, but her bad first experience with Floo powder and frightening ideas of what might go wrong made her think again. Plus, Azzie’s opinion of travel-by-fire didn’t inspire much confidence.
“Oh no, Miss Jina, Floo powder is very dangerous — a most unnatural way to get from place to place. One must separate the subtles from the crudes with great care and wisdom, or very bad things will happen. Azzie is not trusting Floo powder as far as she can throw it!”
Jina wanted more than ever to have a flying broomstick, so she could just take off into the air and leave Raven’s Head behind. Every time she caught a glimpse of birds flying overhead, she wished with all her might that she could follow them.
She was also growing ever more frustrated at her lack of familiarity with the magical world, or the Muggle one, for that matter. Worst of all was the gaping hole that had once been filled with years and years of memories — time spent with her mother and father, living in her old home, surrounded by all her own things . . . or so she imagined. It was maddening to have no clue as to what that time had been like. Even more maddening was what little she did know — how all her visions of what her former life might have been like were tainted by the knowledge of her family’s dark legacy.
She had learned early on that it was no use asking the Crowes about it. None of them were even very likely to give her the time of day, much less help her fill in any part of the giant void that was her forgotten past. And Azzie wasn’t much help either. For one thing, she just didn’t seem to know all that much about the outside world, and whatever she did know of Jina’s past, she was often too frightened or upset to discuss it.
The only really interesting piece of information Jina was able to glean from Azzie was the fact that Uncle Nigel, who had acted in support of her father’s campaign, was, in reality, no fan of Morgod. In fact, he hated Jina’s father, although he tried very, very hard to hide this fact. So, while she still remained completely in the dark on a great many things, at least Jina had some tiny inkling as to why her uncle (and by extension, the rest of the Crowe family) treated her so badly.
The best opportunity Jina might have had to learn more came in the form of the National Scryer, which was delivered to the house every morning by a very punctual peregrine falcon. The first time the paper had arrived, Jina’s eye had been drawn to a rather conspicuous headline.
PRINCESS OF DARKNESS SPEAKS
Who Else Wants to Know
What You-Know-Who-Else’s Daughter Knows?
Immediately, she had picked up the paper and begun reading the article.
New York, NY. Hecate Grimwar, the little-known daughter of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named and Mulcedra, his common-law wife and second-in-command, stood before MACUSA yesterday afternoon, in a hearing intended to glean information about her infamous parents and the circumstances that led to her father’s explosive end on the night of June 20.
Prior to the meeting, mere hours after both her parents made front-page news, Miss Grimwar gave an exclusive interview to the Scryer, in which she claimed her mother was the driving force behind her father’s horrible descent into madness, a fact that troubles the young girl to this day. Miss Grimwar also admitted that she is tormented continually, always wondering if the atrocities of the past decade could have been avoided, had only her mother and father never met, seeing herself as a constant reminder of their wicked union, indeed, as a symbol for all the unspeakable horrors this nation has suffered in the new millennium.
The familiar words had echoed in Buzz Bourbon’s smooth voice inside Jina’s head, their untruth making acid rise up in her stomach. Then, just as she was about to continue reading, Uncle Nigel had snatched the paper away, prompting her to cry out in anger.
Following that outburst, Uncle Nigel had forbidden her to come anywhere near his daily Scryer. He even went so far as to cast a spell on it every morning, once he and Aunt Lacerta were done reading, which blurred all the pictures and scrambled all the letters. So, ever since then, the newspaper had become a kind of frustrating tease — a treasure trove of information, sitting right there in front of her, but she was unable to make any use of it.
On the first of July, the Crowes were all sitting in the dining hall, having just finished a typical lavish breakfast. Jina, as usual following every meal, was helping Azzie wash the dishes, her stomach growling the whole time like it always did. She, like Azzie and Zolfo, was not invited to eat with the rest of the family, relegated instead to scavenge the leftovers and eat in the pantry. On the one hand, Jina appreciated Zolfo for always providing far more food than the Crowes could ever eat in a sitting. On the other hand, Zolfo annoyed her at every meal by eating his fill whilst she and Azzie cleaned up the Crowes’ mess. He was always long gone before they even had a chance to sit down.
Jina glared at her cousin Cole as she cleared his plates from the table. He seemed to be in an even fouler mood than normal, barely touching his steak and eggs. When she asked Uncle Nigel what to do with Cole’s leftovers, he grunted, “Just toss them,” not bothering to take his eyes off the day’s copy of the National Scryer.
Jina frowned, and her stomach growled again. She was just about to take the steak and eggs to the pantry and dump them into the garbage when a tap-tap-tap came from the window next to her. Looking up, she saw a shadow fluttering about outside behind the window shade.
“Well?” said Aunt Lacerta, sounding impatient. “Let it in.”
Jina opened the window, and a handsome pigeon hawk carrying a large envelope flew into the dining hall. It landed on the table, right in front of Cole, who grumbled, folded his arms, and gave his father a scathing look.
“What if I just don’t open it?” Cole muttered.
“Open it,” growled Uncle Nigel, as though issuing Cole a warning.
Cole swiped the envelope from the pigeon hawk and shooed the falcon away. “Go on! Get out of here, you stupid bird. OW!”
The pigeon hawk, clearly insulted, bit one of Cole’s fingers before whizzing back out the open window.
“Stupid bird,” grumbled Cole, turning the envelope over to reveal a large red wax seal. He then spent a good amount of time crushing the seal with the flat end of his knife.
“OPEN IT!” Uncle Nigel commanded once more through gritted teeth.
Cole obeyed this time, pulling out two crisp pieces of parchment, giving them a quick glance, and throwing them down on the table. “There. I opened it, and I read it. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.”
Cole muttered under his breath as he pushed his chair away from the table, got up, and left to go sulk somewhere else. Jina caught a few words here and there. “Should be going to the Warlocks’ Academy . . . all paid for and everything.”
Wondering (but not really caring) about whatever was eating Cole, Jina was just about to close the window when another delivery bird appeared — this time a large, magnificent golden eagle, who landed on the windowsill with a dramatic sweep of her enormous wings.
“Harriet?” said Jina, and the eagle gave a cheery chirp that seemed to say, Hello! Then she held out a large envelope with a big red seal, just like the one Cole had received two minutes before. Jina took the envelope and grinned. “Thanks!”
Harriet leapt back outside, beating her wings with great fanfare once again, making to fly off.
“Oh!” Jina grabbed Cole’s uneaten steak. “Here, catch!”
She leaned out the window and threw the steak as high into the air as she could. Harriet caught it in her razor-sharp talons and gave a loud parting cry before flying away.
“That was a perfectly good steak,” Uncle Nigel scolded.
“I know,” said Jina. “And it’s a good thing Harriet came along, isn’t it? Because I was just about to toss it in the trash like you told me to.”
Uncle Nigel gave her a look of pure loathing but said nothing.
Jina read the address on the envelope in her hands:
Miss H. Grimwar Miss J. Dare
Main Dining Room
Raven’s Head
New Salem
She smiled, walked over to the table, and sat down.
“Oh, so I suppose you’ve finished cleaning, drying and putting away all the dishes then?” Aunt Lacerta asked.
“No, but —”
“Then I suggest you get back to the kitchen this instant, and finish your chores.”
Jina got up, envelope in hand, and stomped back into the kitchen, glaring back and sticking her tongue out at them all once she was just out of sight.
As it turned out, Jina wasn’t able to open her letter until late that night. As the morning gave way to afternoon, the Crowes had found more and more things that needed to be done around the house — by her, of course — and the final to-do list had taken her almost until two o’clock in the morning to complete. Now, at long last, in the dead of night and the peace and quiet of her room, she sat, cross-legged on her cot, ready to read her letter.
For a while, she just studied the envelope’s elaborate red seal — an embossed coat of arms with four quadrants, each depicting a different creature: a six-legged wildcat, a bird of prey that looked something like an eagle, a goblin-like creature that looked a bit like Fenowith, and a serpent with long horns — all surrounding an intricately twisted knot-work design. Below the shield, a line of text, written in some unknown language: “Veneficus fit, non nascitur.”
After a minute or two of just examining the seal, Jina opened the envelope. There were two pieces of parchment inside, a letter and a list, along with another small envelope, which bore a stamped version of the seal.
The letter read:
ILVERMORNY SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDY
Headmistress: WINONA WHITEWOLF
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Tenth Degree Midewikwe,
Cofounder and Chief of the Dark Force Defense League)
Dear Miss Grimwar, Dare,
It gives me great pleasure to inform you that the Ilvermorny Academy of the Magical Arts has accepted you for admission. Please see the enclosed list of all necessary books and supplies.
Fall semester begins on September 1.
Yours sincerely,
Thalma Turgess
Thalma Turgess,
Deputy Headmistress
Jina read and re-read the letter several times, becoming more and more excited with each read. Then she turned to the list.
ILVERMORNY SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDY
UNIFORM
First-year students must have the following:
1. Three sets of school robes (Ilvermorny standard)
2. One winter cloak
3. One pair of protective gloves (int’l standard grade C)
Please note: all students’ clothing should include name tags
COURSE BOOKS
All students are required to have:
Chadwick’s Charms, Vol. I by Chadwick Boot
The Annals of Magical History by Patina Goodmore
Magical Laws and Theory by Anice Watson
Beginning Transfiguration by Changus Morphett
One Thousand and One Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Practical Potions by Pearl Brewer
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
A Beginner’s Guide to Dark Magic by Colon Droch
OTHER EQUIPMENT
1 wand (optional)
1 cauldron (size 2, int’l standard grade B)
1 set of scales
1 set of phials (glass or crystal)
1 telescope
Students are permitted to have one familiar-class amphibian, bird or cat — no rodents or dogs allowed.
Eligible students who wish to try out for the Quodpot league are advised to bring their own brooms.
Jina could hardly believe it: she was going to school to learn how to become a witch, to learn how to use magic!
She read the list over and over again, at last settling on the final item. What were the chances that her aunt and uncle would ever buy her a broom of her own? Probably zero. Probably less than zero.
She picked up the small envelope and inspected its stamped seal. It was in color, with ribbons denoting each quadrant of the shield: the wildcat, in orange over of a field of steely gray, was labeled Wampus; the bird, in brown over a field of lustrous gold, was labeled Thunderbird; the goblin-like creature, in purple over a field of a field of bright bronze, was labeled Pukwudgie — so indeed it was a Pukwudgie, after all — and the snake, in green over a field of shining silver, was labeled Horned Serpent.
Jina opened the envelope and read the note inside:
Dear Jina,
It was a pleasure to meet you back in July!
I am writing this letter to inform you of a special accommodation to your enrollment status at Ilvermorny:
Students typically begin their first grade of schooling at age eleven. You are currently twelve years old — however, given your recent memory loss, I am afraid it will be necessary for you to begin your schooling at Ilvermorny in first grade, along with the younger students. I do hope you understand, and I am sure you will catch up to your older peers quickly.
On the bright side, you will be eligible (due to your age) to play Quodpot at Ilvermorny — an opportunity that is unavailable to most first graders. Fenowith tells me you are interested in the game, so I do hope you will try out for your house team.
We are all looking forward to seeing you again in September!
Yours sincerely,
Prof. Winona Whitewolf.
Jina re-read the note, frowning slightly. The thought of being stuck in first grade when she was supposed to be in second was disappointing and somewhat embarrassing. Although, if Whitewolf was right, she’d probably catch up soon enough. She was itching to get started, eager to prove herself, ready and willing to work as hard as necessary to learn all the magic she could. The mere thought of leaving Raven’s Head and going off to Ilvermorny was just so tantalizing, so exciting, she was sure the experience would be wonderful, whatever grade she started in.
She slid Whitewolf’s note back inside its little envelope, then slid it and the two pieces of parchment back inside the larger envelope, which she propped up on her nightstand. For a long while, she lay awake, silently gazing at the envelope and its bright red seal, imagining the possibilities.
Eventually, she rolled over and fell asleep . . . and dreamed of hopping on a flying broomstick and soaring off to Ilvermorny.
All through the month of July, Jina dreamt of going to the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Even if she didn’t have a broom of her own or any chance of playing in the Quodpot league, it would still be more exciting than anything she could imagine to attend a school that taught magic!
Jina re-read the Ilvermorny acceptance letter and supply list every chance she got, just to remind herself of what was yet to come. And soon she found that Aunt Lacerta had also perused the supply list on her niece’s behalf.
“We’ll get all her books second-hand,” Aunt Lacerta said to Uncle Nigel after dinner one night, while Jina cleared the table. “And her wand as well. Did you know that Ilvermorny now charges families for their school-issued wands? Ten whole Dragots! It’s not fair that we have to pay for all her school things, considering how much treasure is stashed away in her own family’s vault.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Nigel. “If only they kept it at Gringotts like normal people.”
As the hot summer days became more and more oppressive, the Crowes began assigning more and more outdoor tasks, which was just as well. Jina’s mind and spirit took flight each and every time she looked up into the great blue sky, imagining what it would be like to soar like the birds as they flew past, wondering if she would ever get the chance to learn how.
The morning of July 21st began just like any other day: Jina rose just after dawn, helped Azzie with the early morning chores, felt her stomach growl as the Crowes feasted in the dining hall, then washed their dirty dishes, ate a meager breakfast on a rickety table in the pantry, received a list of the day’s tasks from her aunt and uncle, and settled into her daily grind. She was therefore quite surprised, later that morning, when something very much out of the ordinary happened: Harriet, the Ilvermorny eagle, came swooping toward her over the treetops, and she was carrying not a letter but a small wrapped package.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have anything for you,” said Jina, as Harriet proffered the parcel. Jina had spent the morning pulling up weeds in the gardens and didn’t have any steaks or dead rats to dole out. The great eagle launched herself into the air without a sound and made a rapid ascent. Then she turned, dove, and scooped up a large koi from the Crowes’ fishpond, giving a loud cry as she rose once again into the air.
Jina laughed and waved goodbye as Harriet disappeared over the treetops. Then she turned her attention to the package. The sender had addressed it:
Jina Dare
East Garden
Raven’s Head
New Salem
Jina looked to see if anyone had noticed the delivery, and it appeared that no one had. She sat down behind some bushes and began to open the package.
It contained two smaller boxes, each wrapped in crimson paper and tied up with a gold ribbon and bow — presents!
Both gifts had a small card attached, and there was also a third card that was unattached. Jina opened the loose card and recognized the cursive handwriting of Professor Whitewolf.
Dear Jina,
I hope you are enjoying your thirteenth birthday. Regretfully, school policy forbids me from giving presents, so instead I am merely sending you this card.
I look forward to seeing you again at Ilvermorny on September 1.
Until then, all my best.
Prof. Winona Whitewolf
“Today . . . is . . . my birthday?” Jina wondered aloud, chuckling at this new revelation. As funny as it now seemed, she had never happened to wonder when exactly she had been born. The question had simply failed to cross her mind up to this point, which did seem rather odd, now that she thought about it.
Her brow knitted as she considered the fact that she was now, according to Professor Whitewolf, thirteen years old. Presumably, that meant that, ordinarily, she should be starting third grade at Ilvermorny on September 1, not second grade, as she had surmised while reading the first note Whitewolf had sent to Jina, along with her Ilvermorny acceptance letter and supply list. For a full-fledged teenager, being relegated to first grade suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal. She would be a full two grades behind her teenage peers!
Jina chewed on her lip, frowning as she imagined the humiliation that was sure to come. Then she felt a sudden tugging on her fingertips as Whitewolf’s card began to flutter and flap about on its own accord. She tried to hold on, but it soon wriggled free of her grasp and flew up into the air, where it burst into a hundred tiny paper butterflies, which flitted about for a moment, then vanished into tiny puffs of smoke.
The simple yet beautiful display of magic was enough to distract Jina from her moment of anxious anticipation. Grinning, she picked up one of the gifts — a small cube-shaped box — and read the accompanying card:
Hey, kiddo!
Glad to hear you’re coming to Ilvermorny this fall. Guess what? I got the job! Say hello to the new Professor of Herbology at Ilvermorny. Don’t expect any favoritism though. I don’t want to get fired on my first day.
Anyway, enjoy these puffapod seeds.
Happy Birthday! -Fenowith
With a huge grin, she opened Fenowith’s gift. Inside the box were a dozen or so shining beans, each one nestled inside a thick wad of cotton. Wondering what on earth a puffapod was, she admired each seed for a moment, then returned them all to the box and picked up the other present.
Written in handsome script, the card for this one read:
Dear Jina,
Wishing you a fun and relaxing thirteenth birthday. I’m sorry that my gift to you is not nearly so stellar as it might seem, for it was already yours on the night we met, and I am now merely returning it to you. However, I do suspect that you will like it very much nonetheless. Please be aware that you must not attempt to use it prior to starting school in September, for to do so would in fact be a violation of the law, and I would very much hate to see you pestered once more by the Magical Congress in such a short period of time.
Respectfully yours,
Marley Rusthorne
P.S. It is my pleasure to inform you that I have recently transferred my professorship to the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and thus shall be seeing you again quite soon!
Jina examined Rusthorne’s present — a long and slender box — and excitement began to brew inside her. Could it really be what she thought it might be?
She tore open the packaging and her eyes widened at the sight of its contents: a long, black hardwood baton, adorned with scrollwork and engraved runes . . . a magic wand! Her magic wand!
She read Rusthorne’s note again.
Had this been her wand to begin with? Perhaps she had dropped it at some point on that fateful night back in June, maybe due to the same unknown calamity that had landed her in the hospital. Perhaps this was what Fenowith had handed Rusthorne when he and Jina first met — or maybe that’s where Rusthorne and Whitewolf had gone after leaving Jina with Fenowith: to the scene of the incident, where they recovered her wand. She wondered what else they might have found that night — or found out — that she was still unaware of.
Jina reached inside the box but jerked her hand back out when it gave her a nasty shock. “Ouch!”
She shook her hand and blew on it to soothe the hot prickling sensation. After the pain subsided, she mustered up the nerve to reach back into the box again. This time, there was no shock. As she closed her fingers around the wand and lifted it out of the box, Jina felt a curious sort of energy flow up her arm — a warm tingle that soon spread throughout her entire body. She gave the wand a wave, and, to her surprise and delight, it emitted golden sparks. Then, reminding herself that it was (for whatever reason) illegal for her to use the wand until September, Jina just sat for a minute, admiring her new treasures.
I need to get this stuff to my room, she thought.
The last thing she wanted was for her cousin or anyone else to find her out here with these amazing items, all of which had instant sentimental value. As far as the Crowes were concerned, the only things Jina owned were the clothes on her back and a small silver pendant necklace. She stood up, gathered the gift wrap, the ribbons, the tags and the packing material, and began stuffing them into various pockets inside her robes.
She was just tucking her wand away, when — CRACK!
A loud noise split the air beside her, causing Jina to jump and drop the box of puffapod seeds, all six of which burst into flower upon hitting the ground.
Jina knew it was Zolfo even before looking at him — Azzie would never startle her like that. The elf, who served as the Crowes’ chef and butler, looked almost nothing like Jina’s elf friend. Though still quite small compared to a human, he was bigger and beefier than Azzie; his complexion was also ruddy, his ears a bit more rounded, his eyes brown and beady, and his nose long and thin, with a somewhat hooked tip.
The elf eyed the flowering puffapods on the ground and muttered, “Master and Mistress Crowe have sent Zolfo to tell the Grimwar girl that her presence is requested in the main parlor in fifteen minutes sharp — bathed, groomed and ready to accompany the Masters and Mistress to the Uncommon.”
“What?” Jina exclaimed in disbelief. Was she, at long last, getting a chance to venture away from Raven’s Head? Would this fine surprise of a day — her birthday — just keep getting better?
“Master and Mistress Crowe have sent Zolfo to —”
“No, I heard you. I just can’t believe — What is — Where is this Uncommon place? Is it in town?”
“The Grimwar girl does not know of the New Salem Uncommon,” said Zolfo, though more to himself, it seemed, than as a response to Jina. “Zolfo wonders how any witch or wizard of her age does not know that the Uncommon is a magical district in New Salem, hidden to No-Maj scum, and home to the wizard Town Hall, office of the Burgomaster, Zolfo’s master. Zolfo also wonders why the Grimwar girl is planting puffapod seeds when Master Cole is allergic to puffapods. Perhaps she is just stupid, Zolfo thinks.”
Jina made a nasty face at the elf, but then she smiled, gathered up her flowers, and sprinted off toward the house. Her birthday joy had turned to sheer elation at the thought of what was coming next: she was going outside — leaving Raven’s Head at last!
With extreme haste, she got herself cleaned up and ready to go. Within fifteen minutes she was standing in front of the fireplace in the parlor, waiting for the Crowes to meet her there. After another fifteen minutes or so of waiting, they finally showed up.
“Oh, there you are,” said Aunt Lacerta, frowning at Jina as though she was the one arriving late, not the other way around. “Zolfo’s no doubt told you that we’re all going to the Uncommon today. And now I’m giving you a warning before we head out: You’d better be on your best behavior while we’re out, or it’s straight back to the house with you. Are we clear?”
Jina’s face burned. “Yes. I promise I’ll behave,” she said, trying to think of a time when she had ever misbehaved — well, as far as the Crowes knew, at least.
“We’re going out for school supplies and nothing more,” said Aunt Lacerta. “Just consider yourself lucky. We wouldn’t even be taking you, if it weren’t for the fact that you’ll be needing a wand. Ilvermorny now charges ten whole Dragots for their school-issued wands, and I’m sure we can find one for less than half that at the second-hand store.”
“Oh, I don’t need a wand,” Jina blurted out without thinking, then cursed herself at once for doing so.
“What are you talking about, foolish child?” said Uncle Nigel. “Of course you need a wand — or do you believe yourself so gifted as to learn to how perform magic without one?”
“I —” Jina began, then she paused, wondering if there was some way to undo the damage . . . but it was no use. If she failed to tell the Crowes about her wand, she’d be misleading them into believing they still had to buy her one, and that was sure to be a decision that would come back to haunt her in the long run.
“I — I mean — I already have a wand.”
“Stop talking nonsense,” said Aunt Lacerta with an air of impatience. “How on earth would you —”
Aunt Lacerta stopped short as Jina withdrew her wand from beneath her robes.
“What the?” exclaimed Cole.
“Where did you get that?” Aunt Lacerta spat, and Uncle Nigel reached for the wand.
“It’s mine!” said Jina, yanking the wand out of Uncle Nigel’s reach. “Professor Rusthorne gave it to me for my birthday.”
Uncle Nigel narrowed his eyes and lowered his outstretched hand. Jina had figured it might be wise to mention the fact that Marley Rusthorne had sent her the wand — and perhaps even wiser to withhold the part about it being more of a “reunion” than an actual gift from the Professor. Judging from everyone’s reaction, she was correct in these assumptions, although it did nothing to resolve her primary problem.
“Well,” said Aunt Lacerta, glaring at Jina, “I suppose there’s no reason for you to come with us anymore, is there? The rest of your supplies are generic enough. Off with you now, then. I know you have plenty of work to do.”
“That’s not fair! I still —”
“Silence!” shouted Uncle Nigel.
“But —”
“You’d do well to hold your tongue, girl,” Aunt Lacerta snapped. “I warn you: Do not try my patience. Go on! Get back to your chores this instant.”
Cole sniggered, and Jina felt her face flush.
“NOW!” said Uncle Nigel.
Jina glared at her aunt and uncle for a moment before spinning on her heel and storming out of the parlor, her once-golden mood dissolving into utter blackness. As she made her way back to her room, she heard Cole shout, “New Salem Uncommon!” and wished very much that the Floo powder he was now tossing into the fire had somehow spoiled — that they would all get lost for eternity in the Floo Network, or that the flames would revert to their natural state and burn them all to cinders.
It came as no surprise to Jina, later that evening, to see that the Crowes had evidently spent as little as possible for her school supplies, while obviously sparing no expense for Cole’s. Though the item descriptions on their supply lists were identical, the products themselves were anything but. All of Cole’s textbooks were shiny and new, while Jina’s were used, tattered and torn. Her school clothes also appeared to be secondhand, all wrinkled and worn out, while his were sleek, pressed and perfect. His protective gloves were made of tough and resilient dragon hide, while her gloves appeared to be plain leather, full of holes, and really not so “protective” at all. Jina’s scales were rusty, her vials chipped, her telescope rickety and fitted with scratched lenses. While her cauldron did appear to be the same size and shape as Cole’s, Uncle Nigel informed her that his was made of English pewter, while hers was made of lead.
“Isn’t lead supposed to be poisonous?” Jina had asked.
“Yes,” Uncle Nigel had replied.
The strangest item Jina got wasn’t even on her list of school supplies: a small bottle of black hair dye from Aunt Lacerta, “To cover that awful white streak.”
As annoying as all these little insults and injustices were, Jina didn’t find herself caring very much about any of them. What did bother her, however, was the fact that her aunt and uncle had bought Cole the one thing she wished more than anything else that they would not buy him: a flying broom. She wondered whether Cole was even interested in Quodpot. Perhaps he’d somehow found out how much she wanted a broom, then feigned interest in the sport long enough to acquire one of his own, all just to make her envious.
“It’s a King Cobra,” Jina overheard him telling someone later that night, lounging on a reclining armchair in the main study. “And not one of those cheap Pit Viper knockoffs, mind you. It’s a genuine Stormsgale Serpentine model — a Type VI, I think.”
Craning her neck around the corner, Jina saw the disembodied head of a boy floating in the fireplace, his eyes widened in amazement, green flames lapping at his cheeks. He had a large puff of curly brown hair, a small flat nose and a tan complexion, and he appeared to be about the same age as her and Cole.
The boy gasped. “A King Cobra? No way!”
“Yeah, way,” said Cole. “I told Father I was fine with a Firebolt, but he said he didn’t mind shelling out the extra hundred Dragots to get me the best of the best.”
A hundred Dragots? An extra hundred Dragots? Jina’s mind boggled at the thought of how expensive flying brooms could be.
“So, does this mean you’re planning to try out for the Quodpot league in a couple years?” the boy asked.
“Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” Cole replied. “I don’t think so if I’m stuck in anything other than Thunderbird house. What would be the point?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I hope I get sorted into Thunderbird too,” said the boy, then he frowned. “And I really hope I don’t get sorted into Pukwudgie!”
“Me too,” agreed Cole. “I can’t believe they actually have a house named after those filthy, degenerate beasts.”
Jina’s blood began to boil at the sound of Cole’s bigotry.
“Yeah,” said the boy. “Hecky’s so lucky she doesn’t have to worry about that. Dad says there’s never been a Grimwar in history who wasn’t sorted into Thunderbird house.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that anymore, Nate,” said Cole. “Not now that Cousin Hecky’s gone all loopy.”
The boy laughed. “Ha-ha! She’s really that bad?”
“Yeah, nothing like you’d expect from the heir of He-Who-Must-Neither-Be-Named. All messed up in the head. You’ll see.”
Jina glared at Cole’s back and moved on, wondering what her own chances were of ever even learning how to fly. Glumly she suspected that, with her luck, those chances were probably pretty slim. One thing was for sure, however: she wanted nothing to do with that lousy Thunderbird house Nate and Cole were both so keen to join.
For the rest of the summer, her anticipation grew. As she slogged through her daily chores, she longed for the first day of school to come. How wonderful it would be to finally get away from Raven’s Head! She just couldn’t wait to start learning how to use magic at Ilvermorny. And, with a little luck, she might just manage to make a few new friends.
As the month of August drew to a close, she began marking the days until September 1. Using ribbons from her birthday presents, she tied bows around the railing of the cellar staircase — one for each step — and she untied a bow every morning as she made her way upstairs.
Then, at last, after a particularly long and exhausting day of grueling mindless chores, Jina smiled groggily as she went downstairs to bed. There was only one bow left — just one more bow on the very top step — and come tomorrow morning, it would be gone — she would be gone.
Ilvermorny was going to be her new home, and it would be a better home — one where she would finally feel welcome, well cared for and free to be herself.
Unless . . .