"The more corrupt the state, the more it legislates." - Tacitus

  A flapping note arrived at Jack’s desk during Potions the next morning and unfolded in his hand - Professor MacLeod wanted to see him during lunch.

  Jack had been on tenterhooks all the way through Transfiguration. He knew it wasn’t going to be a hot cup of coffee, a handshake, and a ‘bonnie job against Hufflepuff, laddie!’

  There was no way he was that lucky.

  His mind hamster-wheeled through possibilities as he walked up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower.

  Was this about Teddy sneaking that stupid Ginger Snapdragon back to the common room?

  Or was this about beating Montfort in Defense Class? But he hadn't done anything wrong there...and he'd been 'keeping his nose clean' everywhere else.

  Or had he?

  Did Pal get caught cheating with that answer book he'd found and blamed Jack? Did the party after the Hufflepuff game go too late? Had he accidentally said something that offended someone?

  Jack rounded the corner toward the spiral staircase that led to MacLeod's office.

  As if summoned by his rising dread, the second most unwelcome voice at Hogwarts—just behind Peeves—rang out behind him.

  "Semmes! Why aren't you in the Great Hall with the rest of the school?"

  Jack turned to see Bianca Ludd, five feet of fiery hair and hell hath no fury. She marched in front of him and planted herself at the base of the staircase, rectangular glasses perched on her nose.

  Annoyingly, he thought to himself, she could be kind of cute, if she weren’t the absolute bane of my existence.

  He took a breath, trying for civil. “Hi. I need to see Professor MacLeod.”

  "How terribly convenient." Ludd's full lips curled into a smile. "And curiously undocumented. That'll be detention for missing a mandatory meal, Semmes."

  Jack's patience — already frayed by whatever was waiting for him upstairs — snapped. He momentarily forgot about the note in his pocket from the professor. "Are you freaking kidding me? A teacher asked to see me, and I'm going to see him!"

  “Don’t take that tone with me,” Ludd snapped, yanking her notebook out of her robes. “Think you can come here and do what you please? Rules apply to everyone.”

  The motion made her robe shift and Jack caught an uninvited glimpse of her curves beneath the layers of fabric.

  Knock it off, man! he thought, furious with himself.

  “Save the henpecking, Ludd. I’m not your husband.”

  Ludd’s nostrils flared. Her notebook slapped against her hip like a six-shooter she wasn't allowed to draw. “How dare you!” she cried. “That is grossly inappropriate! I’ll be speaking to Professor Winterborn about your attitude, and your language, and your intractable—”

  “You really think I’m lying?” Jack cut in, stepping forward. “Fine. I’ll take you straight to MacLeod myself. We’ll see what he thinks about your Christian Temperance Union routine.”

  He expected her to back down, to toss another threat and storm off.

  Instead, she squared her shoulders like she was marching into battle. “We'll see about that.”

  She gestured stiffly to the stairs. “After you.”

  Franklin’s kite. He’d called her bluff, and she’d called his right back.

  Jack took the spiral steps two at a time, Ludd hurrying to keep up.

  Was there a bitch breeding program in Ravenclaw or something?

  When they reached the top, Jack rapped sharply on the heavy wooden door.

  "Enter," came MacLeod's gruff voice.

  Jack shoved the door open, then stepped inside and stopped short—just in time for Ludd to smack headfirst into his shoulder blades.

  He heard her glasses clack against her nose.

  “You clumsy ape!” she hissed.

  “Sorry,” Jack said, without a shred of remorse.

  MacLeod's office was sparsely decorated – a few hard wooden chairs, a desk scarred with spell burns, and walls covered in diagrams of defensive magic and bookshelves. There was a framed Order of Merlin 3rd Class on the wall. A Pensieve sat on the far bookshelf. The sole luxury item was a large armchair in Gryffindor colors behind his desk.

  The professor himself stood by the window, his massive frame silhouetted against the blue Scottish sky.

  MacLeod turned, his eyebrows rising slightly at the sight of two students instead of one.

  "Professor," Ludd began immediately, stepping around Jack, "I found Semmes wandering the halls during lunch. When I questioned him, he became incredibly belligerent and used inappropriate language. He claims he was meeting with you, though he had no written pass."

  "Because I don't need one," Jack pulled out the note. "You told me to come see you, sir."

  MacLeod's gaze shifted between them, expression unreadable beneath his bushy beard.

  "Aye, I did indeed summon Mr. Semmes," he confirmed, his brogue measured. “He’s where he ought to be.”

  Ludd rose to her full 150-centimeter height, chin tilted up as if it might stretch her an extra inch.

  “He was grossly disrespectful to a prefect, sir. He implied I was—was nagging him! He said—and I quote—” She pointed at Jack, eyes blazing. “‘I’m not your husband!’”

  “Oh yeah?” Jack shot back, voice rising. “Then stop shouting at me like we're married!”

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  “Wheesht.”

  Jack had no idea what the word meant, but the way MacLeod said it froze him.

  The professor's eyes narrowed. “That’ll do. The both of ye.”

  He moved behind his desk like a slow-rolling The wooden floor creaked under his weight. He didn’t sit down.

  “Miss Ludd,” he said, gauntlet resting on the desk, “yer vigilance is noted. But Mr. Semmes came at my request. There’ll be nae detention.”

  Jack grinned with gratification — until MacLeod turned toward him.

  “Mr. Semmes,” he said, his voice sizzling like iron quenching, “ye'll not take that tone wi’ a prefect again. Understood?”

  Jack's smile evaporated. “Yes, sir.”

  “At Hogwarts, we show respect.” He didn’t blink. “Five points from Gryffindor.”

  “Sir!” Jack spouted.

  “Ten.”

  Jack bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper. He felt Ludd's glowing satisfaction radiating like a warming charm.

  “Miss Ludd,” MacLeod turned back to her, “I’ll deal wi’ Mr. Semmes. In future, confirm a student’s story before handin’ out punishments. Good day.”

  Ludd’s self-righteousness dimmed by several lumens. “Yes, Professor.”

  She gave Jack a final disdainful look and left, the door clicking softly behind her.

  The moment she was gone, Jack couldn't help himself. "Sir, that girl has had it out for me since—"

  "Sit down, laddie." MacLeod's voice was serious.

  Bad sign.

  Jack dropped into a spare wooden chair.

  "Had a visitor yesterday," MacLeod took his pipe from the mantelpiece and began to fill it with tobacco. "Ministry official from the Department of Magical Education."

  Jack's heart skipped. "What?"

  "Aye. They've requested copies of your transcripts. Transfer paperwork. Current grades." MacLeod lit the pipe, not with his wand, but with a levitated coal from the fireplace. "Someone's raised questions about special treatment in your transfer application. They’re also reviewing your entry records, wand logs, and prior magical education."

  Wand logs? The bottom dropped out of Jack's stomach. Montfort. Had to be. That little circus in the hallway back then wasn’t just for show - he really was trying to get him thrown out.

  "But—but everything was in order," Jack stammered. "I thought that we followed all the procedures!"

  This had to be a mistake. A mix-up. Some clerk at the Ministry double-checking something routine.

  MacLeod hesitated. Only for a second. But that second stretched like a rope before it snapped.

  Cripes. This wasn’t a mistake.

  "Aye, that we did." MacLeod's pipe sent up a cloud of thick, spicy smoke. "It won't go anywhere, lad. Just bureaucratic nonsense."

  "But what if it does?" The words burst out before Jack could stop them. "What if they find something wrong?"

  "Well... worst case, you'd need to take a term off. Reapply properly for next fall." MacLeod tried to sound reassuring. "Nothing too serious. I’ll speak to Headmaster Hollow-"

  "Nothing too—" Jack stood up so fast his chair scraped against the stone floor. "Sir, that's a whole year! I'd lose an entire year!"

  “Sit. Your flailing won’t help anything.”

  Jack sat, but his hands were trembling.

  A year.

  All his new friends would graduate without him.

  All because some stuck-up aristocratic punk didn’t like him looking at his girlfriend.

  He clenched his hands into fists.

  "You’ve been doing well." MacLeod tapped his pipe with a metal finger. "Keeping yourself out of trouble. Your paperwork is solid, the Ministry made sure o' that. This is just..." He waved his gauntleted hand. "Politics. Games."

  "Games that could cost me my whole life."

  “Dinnae fash yourself, lad. It won’t come to that.” A meditative puff of the pipe. "Try not tae worry about it."

  Jack nodded numbly. His mind was racing. How many other "games" would he have to deal with? How many other ways would Montfort try to get him kicked out?

  “Aye.” MacLeod studied him with cool appraisal. “But listen closely now. Do nothing rash. Dinnae flap yer wings about the coop because they’re trying to rattle ye. That’s the game. That’s what they want—for you to lash out and give them reason.”

  He picked up a folder from his desk and flipped it open idly. “Tell yer mates. Ravenhurst, the lot of them. A pack o’ daftie loons, but their hearts are in the right place.”

  His blue eyes fixed Jack in place. “You’re not alone here. Play the lone wolf, and you'll find yourself ripped apart.”

  Jack swallowed and stood, spine straightening unconsciously. “Yes, sir.”

  He moved toward the door. MacLeod’s voice stopped him cold.

  “Jack.”

  Jack turned.

  “Don’t go thinking you’re clever enough to sneak off to Hogsmeade this weekend. You’ve still got time left on yer gate. Stay put.”

  Jack flinched. “Yes, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  How the hell did he know about that?

  Did one of the portraits overhear? Did Teddy say something too loud? Did somebody nark? Did MacLeod just know?

  Probably all of the above.

  He left the office with the weight of every unsaid thing pressing on his shoulders.

  He trotted back to the Great Hall. One more sword hanging over his head. One more way they could hurt him if they wanted to.

  Franklin.

  The worst part was there wasn't anything he could do about it except wait.

  The Great Hall was thick with the scent of leek and potato soup, steam curling from russet earthenware bowls. Jack slid onto the bench between Henry and Oliver, his own bowl untouched as he recounted what MacLeod had told him.

  Across the table, Mina Mulholland looked up first, her eyes bright. Her friends Lavinia Lloyd and Arabella Pemberton leaned in as she did, like daisies tracking sunlight.

  “That weasel Montfort,” Teddy growled, brandishing his spoon like a basket-hilted claymore. “First he surrounds you in the hallway, then he goes after you in class, then sends his powdered-up prats after you, and now this? What’s next, poison in your tea?”

  “Poison's a woman's weapon,” Oliver noted, tearing into a hunk of bread. “He's using parchment cuts. Thousands of ‘em.”

  “They haven’t a leg to stand on,” Mina said, sharp as a snapped wand. Her Dublin lilt made it sound more like a verdict than a guess. “Booting the first ever American transfer over a bit of paperwork? MACUSA’d go spare. We’d have a war on your hands.”

  “Montfort is just trying to scare you,” Lavinia added. Her voice was softer than Mina's but conviction flashed in her eyes. “It's all bark.”

  “My dad says the Ministry’s practically begging Washington for a pat on the head these days.” Arabella gave her soup a slow stir. A few strands of light brown hair had come loose from her side twist, and she didn’t bother fixing them. She was a sixth-year as well, bubbly but surprisingly perceptive. “They won’t risk an incident unless someone up top’s spectacularly thick.”

  Jack forced a smile.

  Right. Because governments never did stupid things.

  Something worse was gnawing at him. He waited until the girls were reabsorbed in their food and conversation before leaning close to Henry.

  “I think MacLeod knew about Hogsmeade,” Jack muttered. “About us planning to sneak me out. Remember that stupid hat talk? He told me not to try anything.”

  Henry’s spoon froze midway. For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face—guilt? Annoyance? Then his grin clicked back into place like it had never left.

  “Probably the bloody portraits,” he murmured. “Gossiping oil-licked buggers. Can't keep a secret to save their artificially extended lives. And we were being too loud. Don’t blame yourself. Blame the Snapdragon.”

  “We were joking anyway,” Oliver chimed in.

  Jack nodded, but a lead weight settled deeper in his gut. Who could he actually trust here? Every face in this castle felt like it might be listening—painted, ghostly, or otherwise.

  Even…

  “Never mind that,” Henry said suddenly, clapping him on the shoulder cheerfully. “We’ve still got Quidditch practice this afternoon. And nothing cures angst like dodging Bludgers.”

  “Speak for yourself, Hal,” Teddy chuckled. “I prefer beer.”

  “Cor,” Oliver said with a wince. “Nearly forgot. We’ve got that bloody Magical Integration seminar last period today too. Then Quidditch. Then Astronomy at midnight tonight.”

  "And here we were thinking it was going to be easier after O.W.Ls," Henry grumbled.

  “Where’s this seminar bollocks again?” Teddy asked, mouth full.

  “Academic Wing lecture hall,” Oliver replied. “Third floor. Whitby's leading it. So at least it’ll be entertaining.”

  Jack exhaled. “Yeah.”

  The word landed like a stone in his bowl. He moved his spoon through the soup without lifting. The soup rippled in lazy circles.

  “Can’t wait to be personally blamed for the decline and fall of the British Magical Empire,” he muttered.

  Nobody laughed.

  He wished he was home.