were ancient, hand-drawn in faded browns, reds, and greens, moved very slightly. They were enchanted, of course, showing the movements of the rivers and oceans, and even the ant-like crawl of tiny boats and magical vehicles.
'I hear that if you use a special magnifying glass,' Zane whispered, heading toward a seat in the middle terrace, 'that you can see tiny people moving in the cities and stuff. You could probably even find yourself if you looked hard enough.'
'That must be what my dad meant,' Ralph replied thoughtfully. 'He told me that one of the purposes of school was to find yourself.'
James groaned and Zane rolled his eyes. Ralph looked affronted.
As the three settled into their seats and produced their parchments and quills, James saw Albus saunter into an entrance on the other side of the room. He spotted James, Ralph, and Zane and waved, grinning. Behind him, a tall boy in a slate grey uniform gave him a little shove. Albus lurched forward amiably and moved to a seat in the front row followed by three severe-looking Werewolf House students. One of them was the dark girl that had met them outside of the Administration Hall the previous day.
'Looks like Al's doing all right,' Zane muttered.
James peered down at his brother. 'How can you tell?'
Zane shrugged simply. 'No bruises that I can see. Always a good sign with Werewolf House.'
Professor Wimrinkle entered the room from a door near his desk. He was very old, stooped, and wore very thick black spectacles which magnified his eyes so much that he looked rather perpetually surprised. He placed his leather portfolio neatly onto the desk and, without preamble, announced in a loud voice, 'Number four nib quills, please, and a single sheet of forty weight parchment. Today: the Nile Delta and surrounding lowlands.'
The professor adjusted his glasses studiously as one of the maps drifted down from the upper reaches of the room, moving into place behind his desk.
'For new students, I will only say this once: I do not allow Quick-Quotes Quills or recording charms in this class. You will pay attention, and you will kindly take your own notes and draw your own maps. As the rest of you know, there is no point in my telling you that talking out of turn is forbidden in my class. If you intend to receive a passing grade, you will be so busy keeping up with me that there will be no time for you to open your mouths. Questions will be submitted to my secretary, where they will be answered during scheduled office hours. And now…'
Wimrinkle lifted his wand, which telescoped into a long pointer. He clacked its tip to a point on the map without looking. 'The Nile river is generally considered to be the longest river in the world,' he said in a loud monotone, 'and the home to some of the magical world's most exotic and interesting creatures and fishes, none of which we shall be discussing. The river's flow rate is approximately thirty-seven thousand square feet per second, resulting in a geographical delta shift of fifteen degrees average every year, which in turn results in a hydromagical plottability meter of two point-oh-seven gigapokuses every eight years. As you might imagine, this leads to a terrain hexology rating of, can anyone tell me? Anyone?'
No one in the room seemed eager to attempt an answer and the professor didn't seem at all surprised. He answered his own question and plowed onward, his voice echoing in the high dome overhead. James scribbled notes furiously, trying to keep up.
Sighing, he realized for the first time just how sorely he was going to miss Rose and her prodigious note taking during this school year.
The rest of the day went by in a blur. James, Ralph, and Zane had lunch in the school's cafeteria, which was located in the topmost basement level of Administration Hall. Its mint green brick walls, tiny windows set at ceiling height, long lines of students carrying metal trays, and overpowering smell of milk and goulash made James feel as if he had been transported to the mess hall in Azkaban. The noise of the chattering students was like a flock of magpies, ringing in the room's low confines.
'So the original builders of Administration Hall were dwarves,' Zane said, raising his voice over the noisome throng. 'Excellent guys to have around for any construction project but with interesting views about use of space. I learned about them in Magi-American History. According to the dwarves, the Muggle building model is a weed, with most of the structure above the ground and very little root. The wizard building model is a turtle: low and secret, with a wide foundation. Dwarves, though, their building model is an iceberg.'
'Ninety percent below the surface?' Ralph clarified around a mouthful of goulash.
Zane nodded. 'There's more sub-basements, cellars, and dungeons in this place than anyone can count. I've heard stories about students going exploring into the lower stairwells and finding whole tribes of giant rats, entrances to huge underground rivers, even forbidden rooms with doors the size of dinosaurs and magical glowing locks that no one can open.'
James was impressed. 'Have you seen any of those things?'
'No,' Zane sighed sorrowfully. 'Everything below the upper dungeons is prohibited and guarded by some ancient old witch none of us has ever seen. They call her Crone Laosa. Apparently she's the stuff nightmares are made of. Fairy tale evil, if you know what I mean.'
Ralph looked sideways at Zane. 'Like, she'll catch you and turn you into a frog until some princess kisses you?'
Zane narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. 'Like, she'll catch you and turn you into a cockroach until some lunch lady squashes you with her heel.'
'I see,' Ralph nodded wisely. 'So, stay out of the lower levels.'
As James moved through the rest of the day in his plain black blazer and tie, he couldn't help feeling noticeably colourless amidst all the other students' uniforms. He hoped that tonight's pledge dare would turn out all right so that by the next day, he could begin wearing Zombie yellow and finally fit in.
When his afternoon free period came, James found himself pleasantly distracted from his stroll to the library by the sight of his dad walking along in the sunlight, accompanied by Merlin and Denniston Dolohov. James shouldered his backpack and ran to catch up to the group as they paced along the mall, led by Chancellor Franklyn.
'Of course, with the campus moving about in time as it does,' Franklyn was saying, 'Alma Aleron functionally occupies a temporal fluxstream that would otherwise be used for storing our chronological history…
James fell in step next to his father, who glanced down at him, blinked in surprise, and then smiled. Without a word, he rested his hand on his son's shoulder as they walked together.
'In summary,' Franklyn went on, not noticing James' arrival, 'with our history displaced by our curious use of time, we have been pressed to store our chronological timeline in another, more conventional space. The result is here before us, in the guise of the Official Alma Aleron Hall of Historical Archives.'
Franklyn stopped and beamed up at the imposing stone block building that loomed before them. It was shaped like a squat cylinder, with pillars running all around its circumference and a set of enormous, iron-framed doors set into the deep portico.
'Ah, I see young Mr. Potter has joined us,' Franklyn said, noticing James and smiling indulgently. 'You'll come inside with us, of course, although you might find it a wee bit chilly. The Archive requires strict temperature control in order to preserve its more delicate artifacts. Shall we?' He gestured up the broad stairway, and followed as the group climbed into the building's shadow.
'How is school treating you so far, James?' Merlin asked as they ascended the stairs.
