Hey there! Welcome to the Vermillion Institute of Magic, and thanks for checking out my story. It's set during the same time as the books (this would be Harry's 3rd year), only in America. I was super inspired by the awesome story "Friends, Enemies, and Newids" by Muentiger. Go read it if you have the time!


A Brief History Of Magic in North America:

Since the beginnings of North American civilization, there have been witches and wizards. Some Amerindian nations even knew of and accepted their existence. When the Western European immigrants arrived, however, they were slaughtered, degraded, and driven away with the rest of their peoples. The majority of this summary will focus on European-American magic.

Three young Hogwarts graduates were the first British wizards to venture into the new world, and they did so with one of the earlier colonization missions. They established a town to be inhabited by European magic-wielders, and quickly more colonists arrived. They faced the same challenges as all of the old world conquerors, although magic gave them a great advantage over the muggle explorers and granted them more success in establishing a prosperous society.

As soon as the first wizarding village had been established and other magic-wielders had settled in non-magic societies, the three original settlers turned to building an American wizarding school. They selected an unspecified mountain range, but rather than construct an elaborate castle, they built a sort of enormous university, which was coming into style at the time. They used many enchantments similar to those of Hogwarts to protect the buildings and grounds, although the layout is very different.

Instead of Hogwart's four houses, Vermillion has three, named after the three founders: Aaron Ashrod (former Gryffindor), Landor Laywilt (former Ravenclaw), and Barren Baskwood (former Slytherin). The qualities emphasized by the new houses are also different from those in England. Another important difference is the age of students- instead of housing 11 to 17 year-olds, Vermillion has 6 years of study for those of 14 to 19 years of age.

They quickly selected a headmaster and turned their attention to establishing a body of government. At first, it was tied back to the British Ministry of Magic, but when muggle America split off during the Revolutionary War, so did magical America. Our government change paralleled the growth of the muggle government, ending with a bicameral legislature and a president of magic. The split drove the magical governments of the United Kingdom and the United States apart, and the two never made peace. While there is no active war, there is also almost no contact.

While Voldemort may have risen to and fallen from power in Europe, his journey still impacted the USA, and he had many agents (known throughout most of the world as Death Eaters) stationed in America, perpetuating a similar warfare on our own turf. Since his fall and the incarceration of his followers, there have been no wizards to perpetuate a comparable level of horror in the United States of America.

The book slipped off the table and crashed to the floor with a bang; the sudden noise awakened the only occupant of the room. Jacob Hayer-Bently, exactly 14 years of age, sat straight up where he had slumped forwards onto his desk. He rubbed his eyes, glancing around to see what had disturbed him. Night had fallen and the room was pitch black, but he had walked the path from his desk to the window so many times he didn't so much as falter as he climbed to his feet. He leaned against the sill and peered out at the thousands of city lights blinking below and above.

He had known what he was since he was old enough to play with the wands that spouted bubbles or the action figures that engaged in death matches his mother sent him from whichever exotic destination she was visiting. Still, it was his muggle father who had raised him and he had always had some knowledge gaps. He hadn't even realized he was doing anything out of the ordinary until a kindly witch working as an Arts and Crafts teacher had pulled him aside one day to explain that other kids couldn't make the paint change colors.

The New York City suburb they lived in had a high witch/wizard population, so even though his father wasn't magic, his babysitter and many of his neighbors and classmates were. In fact, anyone you saw on the streets of their neighborhood probably had a 50-50 chance of being magic. The muggles of the area lived in blissful ignorance of the world that turned right around them.

Jacob stretched and opened his desk drawer, pawed through the dozens of moving postcards from his mom until he found the thick yellowed envelope from the school. He pulled it out and just held it- he had already read it so many times that he knew it by heart. He had always known he was going to Vermillion, it wasn't any sort of surprise. But he could honestly say that he had never been so excited in his life. Tonight, however, there was a damper on the happiness that had buoyed him for the past week. It was 11 o'clock, and if his father didn't get home soon, he would miss his 14th birthday.

Lila chirped at him and he turned to scratch the bird under her chin. She was a stuffed parrot the size of a loaf of bread, bright red and yellow and blue with black glass eyes. Most of his mother's charms wore off after a few months, but Lila had been flying and singing for 3 years and showed no signs of sinking back to lifelessness any time soon.

Jacob sighed. It was a Saturday, and he'd spent the day alone excepting a stuffed bird. There were kids he knew, kids he got along with, but he really just didn't have friends. He felt too bad keeping his magic a secret around the muggle kids and he'd never gotten along well with the young witches and wizards in his neighborhood. That was why he was so excited to attend Vermillion: he wanted to find a place where he fit in.

The door downstairs open and shut. Jacob headed out of his room and down the narrow hallway, smiling to himself.

"Happy birthday, Jacob," his father called. Jacob imagined him hanging his jacket on the hook behind the door. "What did you do today?"

"Me and a couple of friends went down to Central Park." Well, at least it was only partly a lie.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I got some cake, if you're still hungry."

"Of course!"

His dad turned on the light in the kitchen, revealing fading blue walls. Jacob hopped up onto a stool by the counter and watched as his dad navigated the cramped room. He was African American and proud of it, although you couldn't tell by the way he stood, seeming almost to draw back into himself. He had the same dark hair as Jacob, the same dark eyes, and people always saw the blood tie right away.

"Do you have everything you need for school next week? Have you started packing yet?" his father asked, setting a slice of chocolate cake down in front of him.

He nodded, taking a bite. "I can't wait."

There was a pause. "Have... have you heard from your mom since you got your letter?"

Jacob shook his head, struggling all of a sudden to swallow. "Not for a few months."

They finished the cake in a familiar silence. Jacob rinsed his plate and headed out, but his father unexpectedly reached out and touched his shoulder. "Don't forget your gift."

The box was small, twice the size of his fist maybe, and wrapped in shiny red paper. He opened it quickly to find a brand new baseball, signed by Willie Banks. "So you can take a bit of muggle New York with you," his father explained.

"Thanks," Jacob said quietly, smiling.

"Anytime. Now get to bed!"

He traipsed down the narrow hallway, tossing the ball from hand to hand. In a week, he would be at Vermillion.


The twins were fighting and Sarene was practicing piano and father was talking with acquaintances and mother was shouting at a house elf. Alelle had escaped to the office where she stacked books into castles and enacted battles with pieces from her father's wizard chess set. She knew that at 14 she was too old to be playing with toys, mother told her so all the time, but occasionally she couldn't stop herself. She wasn't allowed to climb trees or practice flying, after all. She had to find something to do with her time or she'd go mad.

She was just biding her time until school, really. Her acceptance letter had already been framed on the wall above her father's desk, beside Sarene's and Madrin's. It was the only time her name appeared among the dozens of awards and drawings. Still, she couldn't help but smile as her eyes lighted on it. Maybe now she would have a chance to prove that she had just as much to offer to her family and the world as the rest of her siblings. She had always felt out of place.

They had already been shopping- she had robes, books, a wand (Aspen wood, Banshee lace, 9 3/4 in, springy), a tiny mewling kitten by the name of Sherwood, and a whole host of assorted magic and non-magic supplies she would need. Going down to the Sorcerer's Bazaar had been more fun than she'd expected, even with her family along. Granted, the twins hadn't stopped causing trouble for two mintues and Sarene spent nearly two hours in the bookshop, but for once the afternoon was about her.

Mother had gone off to find Sarene, taking the twins with her, and left Alelle all on her own for a half hour or so. She'd bought an enormous chocolate ice cream cone and wandered down the cobble stone streets, peering in the shining windows at the whirring, chirping objects on the display cases. It was a hot day with a never-ceasing breeze, and people bustled every which way. She was alone in the middle of a crowd, and for once, Alelle was happy.

And then, of course, they had gone home and everything had gone back to normal. But now, she was simply waiting. Soon, very soon, she would escape all of this pointlessness.

The office door opened and Alelle jumped, accidentally destroying her castles. Her father stood looking down at her with a faint air of puzzled surprise, struggling to connect her to her two perfect older siblings. He had never really connected with any of his children, but with his middle daughter least of all.

"Alelle," he murmured at last. "What are you doing in here?"

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to gather his chess pieces off the floor. He sighed and stayed standing, waiting until she had finished cleaning up.

"I think your mother's looking for you," he said, taking a seat at her desk and unscrewing his pen cap. "Go and find her."

"Yes sir," she said, fingers crossed behind her back, and left the room.

Downstairs, Sarene started in on a fast-paced waltz. Alelle took the stairs to the attic two at the time- they never thought to look for her up there, among the old monogrammed trunks and spiderwebs. Sunlight fell in strips on the floor from cracks in the ceiling, tiny specks of dust sailing through the rays. She laid on her back and stared up at the slivers of blue sky.

When she was younger, she'd loved to playact that she was a gallant knight or a fearless explorer or even an astronaut. She remembered tumbling around in the dirt with Madrin before he didn't have time to play anymore, racing him up trees as Sarene begged them to come back down before someone got hurt. Mother had always been furious when she returned home with bloodied knees and torn dresses. After all, she had to uphold the family name. She was a pureblood high-class witch, and she needed to act like it.

She rolled over onto her stomach and peered through a hole in the wood. It led down into a guest bedroom, but some stray bit of magic had gone wrong and looking through it you saw the living room instead. Sarene's blond curls, nearly identical to Alelle's (although better brushed), bounced in time to the rhythm of the music. One of the twins scampered across the carpet and out of sight into the dining room. She sighed and rolled back over. She simply didn't fit in that picture.

There was a loud crack as Binda apparated into the attic. Alelle sat up.

"Time to come to dinner, miss," the house elf said, lower lip trembling.

"Did mother discipline you again?" Alelle asked.

Binda nodded sadly. "Binda must learn to obey her commands, miss. She deserved it."

Alelle frowned and straightened the knotted pillowcase the servant wore as a hat. She had been with their family since the accident, and mother always treated her more harshly than the other elves. She was Alelle's favorite, however. "I'm sorry."

"Mistress seemed very impatient that miss comes to dinner," she said.

"Alright, I'm going," she groaned, climbing to her feet. Seven more days, she reminded herself. Seven more days.


Shelley's parents hadn't quite been able to reconcile themselves with the whole situation yet. Conversation at dinner time had been forcibly normal each night (ignoring the half curious, half frightened glances they couldn't seem to control), and they had taken her shopping for school supplies, after all. Still, she knew that they were just waiting for hidden camerapeople to jump out and shout "surprise!" After all, it wasn't every day a kindly old man turned up on your doorstep to tell you your daughter was a wizard.

She was shocked too, of course, but it made sense. Strange things had always happened to her. In fifth grade, a four-leaf clover rage had run its gambit and she had found one every single time she looked. And then only a year ago, she had fallen through a patch of ice to the pond below and still climbed out completely dry. Now she understood why and an enormous new world had opened up for her.

They'd went shopping a week or so ago, and she'd already read all of the books they got- the ones on the school list, and a few extras just because. She'd been too scared to try any actual magic, although she hadn't let her 10 inch pine-with-owl-bone wand out of her sight. She didn't know if she was scared that she'd make a mistake and burn the house down or scared that she wouldn't be able to actually do any magic. Probably both.

"Dinner in ten, Shel," her mom called out of the kitchen. Her parents owned a family bookshop and they lived in the flat above. She'd grown up with books for her best friends, reading everything she could get her hands on. They were in a cold corner of nowhere, Minnesota, and in the winter, barely an evening went by where she wasn't curled in front of the fire with a collection of poetry or an autobiography. Books, however, could never really dispel the longing she felt for actual people who understood her.

"Alright," she called back, shutting The Basics of Potionery and setting it on top of the teetering pile beside her bed. She picked her way over the heaps of robes and brand new-magical devices to the bathroom to wash her hands. People often assumed that because she was smart she was also organized, but her disaster of a bedroom quickly dispelled that notion.

"So you'll be leaving in a few days," her dad said as she took her seat. He said it casually, although his voice was carefully controlled.

She swallowed her spaghetti too quickly and nearly choked. When she had cleared her throat, she answered. "One more week."

"Are you excited?" her mom asked.

She nodded empathetically. "I can't wait. I've read most of the books already. I heard they have an incredibly library, though."

"I got a few books while we were out, too," mom said, nodding. "They certainly helped me to understand all of this." Her father shrugged. Shelley's mother was the reader, her father was the businessman. He liked to read, too, he just didn't devour everything with words on it the way his wife and daughter did.

"We're going to miss you a lot, Shel," dad told her. "Are you going to condescend to write to us and let us know how you're doing?"

"Of course!" she affirmed. "Bat mail!"

Her father laughed, clearly not sure whether or not she was joking. Well, according to Vermillion: 1723- Present, which supposedly updated itself with important events, Bat Mail was indeed the main method of communication, although many students used birds instead (because bats might be good postmen, but they don't make the best pets). She didn't have any animals yet- she was allergic to cats, afraid of rats and toads, and not particularly well-versed in the care of birds. She had gotten an odd little puffball that rolled around in its cage and slept in socks and did absolutely nothing else.

"Not vampires, I hope?" her dad asked, only half-kidding.

"Don't worry- vampires only bite on Thursdays," was her sarcastic reply.

Conversation for the rest of the evening came easy, like it hadn't since she'd gotten her letter. Her mom even asked her to help with the dishes again, what used to be a nightly tradition.

"Is it really all true?" she asked Shelley, elbow-deep in warm, soapy water. "I know about the magic, but I mean werewolves and vampires and ghosts and what not? How much of the Brothers Grimm should I believe?"

Shelley shrugged. "I don't really know. I'll let you know when I get there."

"Well, take care of yourself," her mom said. "We fully expect you to write home once a week."

"I'll do my best," Shelley grinned. "Don't worry, mom. I'll be fine. I'll be happy."


Ta-da! How'd you like? Please please pretty please leave a review! I honestly use concrit to improve my work, if that's what you have for me.