Newt Scamander stepped out of the Checker cab and handed the driver a crisp green twenty dollar bill.
"I don't have change for this!" the taxi driver growled.
Newt waved him away indifferently, "That's okay, keep it."
The driver's eyes opened wide at the bill in his hands. "Big mazuma, mister!"
Newt was careless with how much muggle money he was spending. Dean Ruthephus had sent him an owl with travel expenses, including several hundred dollars in funny green papers. While aboard the Trans-Atlantis, Newt passed an idle hour studying the strange bills. The unmoving portraits of wigged white men on them looked for all the world like wizards, and they contained cryptic runes and symbology and messages in Latin. But Newt couldn't make heads or tails of what they were worth.
The wizard took a look around the campus of Slonimb College, lit by a full moon and a few streetlamps. The young school was only a couple of years old, but it contained many beautiful Victorian buildings which had been repurposed for the new institution. A large mansion stood in the center of campus, flanked by stately houses converted into student lodging. He assumed the big central building must be Chesterhome. He had been invited there to meet with some of the English wizards and witches who worked at the Bronxvitch School of Witchcraft, which had been founded alongside - or rather, was concealed within - Slonimb College.
Newt ascended the stairs of the mansion and passed through the columns leading to the entryway. The foyer was lit by yellow electric lighting and was mostly empty except for two schoolgirls reading quietly at a desk.
"Excuse me, how do I get up to the seventh floor?" Newt asked as he approached them.
One of the girls, rather pretty with curly red hair, replied, "Seventh floor? Chesterhome doesn't have a seventh floor."
"Oh, right - terribly sorry." Newt backed away from the Muggle girls, the ginger giving him a queer look. The other girl was quite petite, with long brunette hair, dressed in an oversized sweater, and she gave him no notice. He placed his briefcase on an empty desk and rifled around inside for Dean Ruthephus' letter. He pulled out a tea kettle and turned around to see the redheaded girl still studying his odd behavior.
He put the kettle back in and took out an old black-and-white profile photograph of his girlfriend, Porpetina. The Daguerreotype smiled and arched her back at him. Newt pushed away a sad thought, tucked the photo next to a braided lock of her shock-white hair, and finally found the Dean's letter. It simply instructed him to meet them at the seventh floor meeting room on the evening of September 6th, 1922. Attached as a second page was a crude drawing of a busty demon, her eyes empty. He put the letter and the picture away and wandered down a corridor until he found a door leading to a stairway.
Exhausted from the day's travel, Newt climbed the six flights. At the top was a door labeled "RESTRICTED - ROOFTOP ACCESS." He pulled his wand out of his suit coat and whispered "Alohamora."
The door opened to a candle-lit hallway lined with oil paintings. Newt took his dress robes out of his briefcase and pulled them over the suit he had worn for the transatlantic journey. The hallway contained no doors, and the figures in the paintings watched him as he walked past, commenting to each other under their breath about the attractive visitor. At the end of the hall was a massive portrait of a girl about twenty years old. She was beautiful in an otherworldly way, her hair cropped in a fashionable bob. The painting was illuminated by flickering candles. A plaque identified her as "SADIE SLONIMB."
"Good evening, Miss Slonimb," Newt addressed the girl in the painting. "This wouldn't happen to be the seventh floor meeting room, would it?"
"Well, hotsy-totsy!" she replied. "The girls will be glad to see you arrive on campus. And an Englishman too! I'm sure they'll find your accent so distinguished!"
"Yes, well, I believe I'm expected. If you could just tell me where the meeting room is…"
"Settle down, cowboy," she laughed. "You're in the right place. The Albion Cultural Club is gathering in there as we speak. But I do wish you'd join me for a nightcap after you've settled in. I've got a friend Sandollar with a surefire hookup on hooch. What d'ya say? Let's get spifficated."
Newt demurred, "Very kind offer, thank you, but perhaps another evening." The portrait of Sadie Slonimb frowned and opened up for him.
Newt was relieved to see a few dozen witches and wizards in school robes standing around a large, oval, wooden table, most with a goblet or a pewter coupe in hand. An elderly, clean-shaven wizard rushed up to greet him, shaking his hand and offering a him a drink.
"Ah, so there are libations to be found in the States," Newt remarked to the old wizard. "Professor Ruthephus, I presume."
"Please, please, it's just Grover," he replied.
Newt raised his eyebrows at the suggestion that he address the Dean of Magic by his first name.
"We're honored that you will be joining our operation here for the fall term," he continued. The Dean's English accent had some American vowel sounds creeping in from years of living stateside. A house-elf hobbled into view and handed Newt a goblet of wine and then quickly vanished from sight. "Come, come meet some of the Bronxvitch faculty."
Newton Scamander, his head clogged with the names of beasts and faeries from all over the world, nonetheless struggled tell various people apart. Ruthephus barraged him with one introduction after another, and he knew he would be hopeless to remember the name of Professor Inglewood, the Herbology fellow, or which of the conjoined twins Professor Chao and Professor Chao taught Arithmantic Theory and which taught Numerologic Economics. At least the Bio-Potions Master, Professor Rowentree, would be hard to forget: a one-foot-tall Irishman who was almost certainly half-leprechaun.
Ruthephus guided Newt over to a group of younger witches, one of which struck the traveler as especially lovely - a slender, black-haired girl with heavy eye-shadow and a permanent frown. He didn't quite catch the names of the other graduate students, but he made an effort to memorize the name of Cass Hitchens.
"Cass here is doing some very exciting research on Preemptive Dark Arts Prevention," cooed the Dean of Magic.
"Is that so?" Newt asked her.
"Oh, yes, well, I'm not sure how exciting it is, you know, to study latent dark tendencies before they start to develope into evil, but, uh, Bronxvitch has granted me a very generous fellowship, and I'm honored to be here."
"You're a Londoner?" Newt noticed her accent. "What year were you in Hogwarts? Did you study Defence Against the Dark Arts with Professor Yaxley?"
"Yes, sorry, I mean, no. I didn't attend Hogwarts."
"Really? Did you study abroad? Beauxbatons?"
"No, I was homeschooled," she explained. She bowed her head as if she had said something wrong. Newt was curious, but, before he could engage her further, Dean Ruthephus had pulled him over to meet a few ghosts.
"Newt Scamander! Your reputation precedes you!" bellowed a hairy, barrel-chested American who pushed right through the ghosts and grabbed Newt's hand with a bone-crushing grasp.
"This is Professor Garfungal Washingbeard," Ruthephus said. "Our resident lecturer on Magical Creatures, and the world's preeminent expert on Appalachian Magizoology."
"Yes, of course," Newt rescued his hand from the burly American's grip. "I've read your work on Cherokee Thunderbirds. At five thousand pages, it was quite… exhaustive."
"We have so much to discuss!" said Washingbeard. He took a lazy swig from his goblet and black wine dripped down his thickly bearded face. The Professor gave a slovenly impression, with gross white stains all over his cloak. "I've heard that your forthcoming compendium of magical creatures keeps getting longer and longer. You know, Augustus Worme is a good friend of mine. When can we expect the publication of… what will it be called again?"
"The working title is Catalog of Terrible Magical Monsters of the Known World: Their Environs, Diets, and Other Useful Information, Including Locations."
"Catchy," said Washingbeard. He pulled Newt and Dean Ruthephus in conspiratorially and lowered his voice. "Now, Newt old boy, we all know why you're really here. If you're free tomorrow, please stop by my office and I'll fill you in with everything we've learned about the Succubeast."
"Shh, shh!" Ruthephus warned. "Not here, Garfungal."
"Tomorrow sounds perfect," said Newt. "I'm afraid it's been quite a long day for me. I'm beginning to wonder where my accommodations are…"
"Of course, my friend," said Dean Ruthephus, steering him away from the large Magical Creatures instructor and heading over back towards the entrance. He whispered in Newt's ear, "My apologies, he wouldn't normally be invited to the Albion Cultural Club meetings - it's strictly for Hogwarts grads and other expatriates, you see - but Garfungal insisted on being here at your arrival."
"It's quite alright." Newt set down his untouched wine goblet and smiled around the room at the welcoming reception. He noticed the pretty girl called Cass Hitchens, her face lit from beneath by the oil-lamps, and wondered if she would be in any of his seminars.
He apologized to the faculty members who were bidding him goodnight. "I had to get up rather early this morning to board the Trans-Atlantis and I believe Greenwich time is set to four or five hours later than it is here."
Professor Ruthephus stepped out into the corridor with portrait of Sadie Slonimb swung closed. "Ready for that nightcap, cowboy?" she asked him.
"You'll be lodging right here in Chesterhome," said the Dean of Magic. "This remarkable estate was built by Terdley Slonimb with the fortune he made from his Manhattan department stores. We've, uh, accentuated it a bit here and there, adding a few floors and some secret classrooms, of course. Your chambers are right over here on the left." They turned down a corridor which had not been visible when Newt first walked up the hall. "Suite 7a is one of the nicest rooms on campus, reserved for distinguished guests and visiting scholars like yourself. I trust you'll find everything you need. Unfortunately, it does not have its own private lavatory, but the seventh floor bathrooms are quite nice and just at the end of the hall. You'll need this key."
"Thank you for your hospitality," said Newt. "I'm sure I'll be quite comfortable here."