Well, here we go with chapter three.

This one might be short, as I'm not sure yet where a good break point will come up.

"Big jobs usually go to the men who prove their ability to outgrow the small ones."

Theodore Roosevelt

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

Many teenagers find it difficult to wake up early even on the best of days. Jonathan never had that problem. His biggest problem now was getting to sleep. During the war he had learned to sleep so lightly that the slightest rustle of leaves would wake him up.

On top of that his sleep was usually fitful, but tonight it had been dreamless and quiet. Shorter than he would have liked, but he was used to that, too. He sat up in bed and cast a look at the small mechanical clock that sat in his window. The hands pointed to four thirty. 'Great. Well, I guess that works. Constellation leaves for London at nine. This gives me plenty of extra time to get ready.'

Throwing off his bed covers, Jonathan made for the shower. He dove in for five minutes, washing quickly under ice-cold water. Stepping out feeling completely awake he went back into his bedroom, lit a lamp on his desk and got ready to get dressed. He had two outfits laid out. One was his standard fare; leather lace-up boots, boot-cut jeans, a khaki henley, and his leather jacket. The other was what he had originally planned to wear.

Hanging on the back of his room door was his Ranger uniform. While most Rangers wore whatever they were comfortable in underneath their distinctive hooded brown robes, Rangers that had formed one of the twelve Ranger Detachments were given full military uniforms. Black leather boots that went to the middle of Jonathans calves sat at the base of the door, with blue-gray wool trousers hanging above them, a gold pinstripe down the sides. A double-breasted dark navy cavalry jacket hung over the trousers, twelve brass buttons glinting in the light from the desk lamp. Golden braids were on the shoulders, which lead to ovular epaulettes on the end of the shoulders. Golden tassels hung from the epaulettes, and a silver seven was sewn into the top of each.

Hanging on a coat rack to the right of the door was his hat. A dark navy cavalry hat, with the right side of the brim pinned up against the crown. On the front were two wands held by hands crossing each other, with the number seven resting above the wands. A gold band went around the hat at the break. Hanging under that was his sabre. The sabre could also function like a wand; it's handle made of ebony wood with bright brass inlays, with the core being Wampus hair.

When he had been setting the uniform out last night, Headmaster Webster had sent down an owl with a note:

Dress in plain clothes. We need to keep your history as secretive as possible. The press will be watching Constellation; your movements need to be quiet.

As Jon got dressed, he started to worry about what he'd gotten himself into. 'If I have to keep my history a secret, how am I going to behave? What if I can't fit in with students that haven't dealt with war? What if I don't get along with Harry? What if he's an annoying nitwit who rides on the fame of his name? What if I can't help him?'

He shook his head. Tobias himself had recommended him to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. No one knew Jon better, and Jon trusted Tobias. He could do this, and he would. He looked over at the perch Lance was sitting on. The eagle had his head turned around, tucked into his right shoulder. Occasionally his tail feathers would wiggle, indication he was dreaming. Jonathan pulled a small bowl of diced meat from a cooler in his desk and walked over to the eagle. "Hey buddy, I need you to wake up." He placed the small bowl on two arms that held it for Lance, then scratched the top of the eagles head. Lance twisted his head around, opened one eye at a time then chirped a good morning to Jon. "There you are. It's a big day today. You'd better eat. Do you know where the Constellation is?"

Lance bobbed his head twice while gnawing on a piece of meat. Jon scratched his head again. "Good. I want you to fly out to her and wait for me." John pulled a note for the captain of the Constellation from his pocket and tied it to Lance's right leg. "Get that note to the captain and he'll take care of you until I get there, okay?" Lance cawed in agreement. "Good. Eat up and head out. I'll still be here for a while." Lance nipped Jon's finger then kept eating.

Jonathan walked back to the door, took his uniform off the hooks, folded each piece neatly and tucked them into his trunk. He reached into his hat, grabbed a chunk of liner and gave a stout tug. His cavalry hat popped inside out, transforming into a light brown cowboy hat. After stuffing it on his head, he grabbed his saber and laid his sabre on top of everything else in his chest, closing the lid gently. He pulled his wand from his holster and cast a password spell, then two reducio spells to shrink the trunk to an easily carried size. Slinging his oversized canvas backpack over one shoulder and tucking the trunk under one arm, he looked to Lance. "Fly safe. I'll see you soon." Lance chirped back as Jon opened the door to be greeted by Tobias Webster.

Tobias smiled. "I figured you'd already be awake. Come with me. Celeste has something she think's you're going to love. Did you sleep alright?"

Walking down the hall towards the broom hangar, Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I slept alright. Not long, but at least it was quiet."

Webster nodded. "I understand. How do you feel about doing this?"

Jonathan chewed his lower lip. "I want to do this. I'm just worried I'll blow it."

Webster raised an eyebrow. "How do you think you'll do that?"

"I'm going to have to be a little on the sneaky side about this. And I'm not sure I can do that very well. I can sneak into a place and play a part for a little while. Go in, get something or someone, and get out. And I'm usually having someone try to hex me on the way out." Webster chuckled. Jonathan continued. "I'm just worried that I'll… Cause trouble."

Webster wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulders. "Well, you excel at causing trouble." Jonathan chuckled, and Webster continued. "Just keep details about your involvement with the C.W.A. out of what you tell people, and you're just a teen who went through a lot. If you slip up and do something major, like use your patronus or a spell no fifth-year should know, just say you learned it on the run with the Rangers." Webster turned Jonathan so they stood face to face. "And be yourself. Be funny, courageous, kind. Be a warrior poet. And if you can't do that, be like that spy from those No-Maj movies you like."

Jonathan smirked. "James Bond?"

"There you go. Be James Bond."

Jon laughed. "I think I can do that."

Webster pulled Jon in for a quick hug. "I know you can. Now," they opened the door to the stairwell that led to the broom hangar. "Celeste has been working on this for a while. She's very proud of it, and when I told her what you were doing, she rushed to get it ready. I don't think she's slept in two days."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and opened the door to the broom hangar. It was a large stone room, with one large rectangular door at the far side. The hangar was lit by several hundred candles that lined the walls, and eight chandeliers that floated up by the ceiling.

There were probably some three hundred brooms in the hangar. About half belonged to the school and students for learning to fly, Quidditch and personal time. The school brooms were simple affairs. Beginner brooms were "Cubs," small brooms with bright yellow bristles and bands painted on them so they could be easily seen. Quidditch and personal brooms ranged from either Thunderbirds, which were fast but easily broken, to SuperBolts, which were not much slower, but heavier, more durable and easier to fly. These were painted in the various house colors of Ilvermorny.

The really impressive brooms were the ones used by the military. They were painted in either silver or olive green, with a few having the very tips painted assorted colors to signify squadron leaders. And all had extra prongs on the front, just past textured handholds.

There was a squadron of twenty green painted Atalanta brooms. These brooms were the strangest looking; the rider sat on one think heavy spine like normal, but behind him the broom split into two sets of bristles. In front there were three prongs; one on top of the main spine, and the other two on the lower left and right sides. It was faster than anything the school used, going nearly one hundred and ten miles an hour, but it was hard to knock out of the sky. Jonathan had seen many Atalanta pilots come homeon only one bristle, with cracked spines or with the front all smashed. The three prongs up front acted like wand tips; a pilot could cast spells, jinxes and curses while flying, and with three individual prongs, with three individual wands, an Atalanta was not a broom you wanted to tangle with.

Another squadron of twenty brooms sat next to the Atalanta squadron. These were Polaris models. Polaris brooms were very straight affairs; everything was designed to be as perfectly straight as possible. Only one prong hung under the main spine, and the bristles were short and bunched in a perfect cone. The broom was a little disappointing because it was neither fast, nor stable, nor tough. Polaris squads suffered the heaviest losses in the war, but the fact that they were the easiest to make made them the unfortunate backbone of both the C.W.A. and R.W.A. broom corps.

The last squad of twenty brooms was the most impressive. These were Voodoo models. Voodoo brooms had curved spines that allowed the pilot a much more aerodynamic and comfortable position. They were sanded and painted like glass, so they cut through the air cleanly. The bristles were a straight and long affair, affording the Voodoo extremely fast speeds more than two hundred miles an hour, while still maintaining a very tight turning circle. Two elegant prongs stuck out from the nose, but they were short and tucked close to the body to allow a more streamlined profile. Voodoo brooms were not quite as tough as Atalanta models, but the incredible speed and handling made up for that shortcoming. They were also accurate; the deadliest broom pilots earned their kills on Voodoo brooms, Jonathan included. However, these models were banned from use in other countries because of their weaponized nature. Which meant that Jonathan would be going to England without his broom.

Webster looked around the hangar, not seeing anyone. "Celeste? You in here?"

A loud crashing came from their left as a dark-skinned girl with orange hair fell off the top of a worktable. Celeste was Native American, from a Comanche tribe in Colorado, and aside from her striking orange hair she also had vivid hazel eyes. Paired with a large smile, a constantly upbeat attitude, and a knack for always stating the truth no matter how uncomfortable, everyone at Ilvermorny loved her. Almost as much as she loved flying.

She had made her first broom when she was eleven and though it's maiden flight was all of nine seconds long, she dedicated herself to mastering brooms. It was said she was the best broom maker in the world, but the last four years had meant her brooms never got a chance to compete against anything from the rest of the world.

When Jonathan came back to Ilvermorny after his parents were killed, Celeste had made it her mission to be available for him. She took the role of a big sister and helped him with any studying he needed help with. She listened to him, played games with him, taught him to fly. They had grown close over the last few years. Which is shy Jonathan wasn't surprised when, despite being completely exhausted, she was just as eccentric as she always was.

She sprang up off the floor and spun to face the two men. "Oh! Jonathan! Tobias! Hi!" She ran over, slamming into Jonathan with the force of a steam engine. "I've been waiting for you all night! How are you!? Are you excited!? I'm excited! I've heard Hogwarts is beautiful. Not as much as Ilvermorny, of course, but still. Did you sleep well? You look tired. Are you worried? You're going to be fine. A natural warrior you are! My grandfather…"

Jonathan laughed. "Easy, Celeste! Easy. I'm fine, thanks. A little tired, but I'll be alright."

Celeste smiled even brighter, which Jonathan thought was impossible. "Oh, that's good! I'm so happy for you!" She squealed again and hugged Jon again with a force that made Jon grunt. "I've got something for you! You're gonna love it! Come on!"

Celeste bounded away towards her workstation and then off to the right, stopping at what was obviously a broom under a canvas tarp. "So. Take a guess!"

Jonathan chuckled. "It's a broom?"

She nodded excitedly, her smile getting just a bit wider. Jon looked at Tobias who just shook his head with a knowing smile on his face. "Yes, it's a broom! Silly, really, what else would it be? But it's more than a broom. It's your broom!" She yanked the cover off the broom to reveal what looked like a Voodoo, but it didn't have the weapon prongs. "I call it the Mustang! After the old American No-Maj fighter from World War Two? I thought you'd like that. Well, that and I like horses."

It looked a bit like a Voodoo, but instead of being painted silver this broom looked like polished aluminum. The curve in the spine was a little more pronounced, and the footrests were a little farther back, making the broom look even more aerodynamic. The bristles were black, and Jon thought at first they were wood until he walked up to them and touched them. "Aluminum?"

She nodded. "Even better! Titanium! Well, at least in the bristles. The spine is from live oak, but I've skinned it in aluminum. She cuts through the air like nothing. All the new materials make her go well past two hundred! I got the inspiration from the last Triwizard Tournament. That boy, Harry Potter, used his broom in the first challenge, getting an egg from a dragon. Problem is, he almost got scorched. And a lot of pilots in the war got scorched on brooms too. This one, not a problem!" She stepped back admiring her work. "She's one of a kind. For now, I guess. And meets all codes for import under current standard British inspections." She wore the grin of a Cheshire cat on that last statement.

Tobias caught the look. "What do you mean, standard British inspections?"

She giggled. "Currently, the British Ministry of Magic only inspects incoming brooms for the most common of broom spells. Spells for speed, ease of handling, cushioning, and the like. Simple. They do NOT inspect for concealment spells." She leaned over the spine of the broom and whispered very gently "Defender Libertatis."

A small rectangular hatch opened on the top of the spine, near the nose of the broom. Inside was a compartment that was just large enough to hold… "A wand?" Jonathan asked.

Celeste jumped up and down a couple times. "Yes! See, the British Ministry of Magic isn't allowing any of our weaponized brooms into their country. Not that you can really blame them. But I thought it might be useful for you just in case something happens. The whole nose of the broom acts like a weapon prong. You can also pull the wand out if you're worried about shooting someone with a petrification hex in the middle of a Quidditch match."

Jon's smile was wide now. "Thank you, Celeste. Really. That… Wow. That took a lot of work."

She waved him off. "For you, it was nothing."

"What do I need to say to get that open again?"

"Defender Libertatis. It's Latin. It means…"

"Defender of Liberty." Jon finished.

Celeste looked shocked. "You know Latin? I didn't know that. I mean, obviously, you know some, what for spells and all, but you, like, actually know Latin. Cool. But yeah, Defender of Liberty. I thought it suited you."

Jon walked around the broom and wrapped Celeste in a hug. "Thank you so much for this."

She squeezed him back, then ruffled his hair as she backed away. "Don't mention it, kiddo."

Tobias coughed. "I hate to wrap this up, but Jonathan needs to get some breakfast still. Once he's eaten, I need to go over a few more things with him before he goes to Boston."

Suddenly, the smile vanished from Celeste's face. Jon put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Her eyes started to water and she sniffled. "I think it just hit me… This means you're leaving the school. And you… You might be going to fight in another war." She pulled a rag from a back pocket and blew her nose. "I sat here just thinking in my head 'Oh, he's just going to get a fresh start,' all the while building you a fighting broom because you're actually going to fight the most evil wizard that's been known to have lived." She looked Jon in the eyes. "Now I'm scared."

Jonathan pulled her into another hug. "Hey, hey. Look, I'm going to be fine. I know what could happen, but nothing's really been confirmed. Right Tobias?"

Tobias came up and put a hand on Celeste's shoulder. "He's right, Celeste. Nothing about Voldemort is confirmed. They could be wrong."

Jon pulled back and brought Celeste's face up to look into her eyes. "See? Besides, this isn't goodbye. This is… Until then. We'll see each other again. I'm coming back one day."

Celeste blew her nose again. "You promise?"

Jon nodded. "I promise. Besides, who else would break all your brand-new brooms if I didn't come back?"

She smiled. "I can find plenty of riders for that." She wiped her eyes. "Just please be careful."

Jon hugged her again. "I will. I promise."

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

Breakfast had been a short affair. No one else was up yet, so he ate a simple breakfast of eggs with bacon and yogurt before heading up to the Headmaster's office. Walking up to the headmaster's door, two Rangers saw him coming, saluted and then opened the door. He returned the salute as he stepped inside. Once the door closed, he looked at Tobias. "I don't think I'll ever get used to that."

Tobias laughed. "You will one day. Just not now. Now we need you to act like a normal student. Have a seat." Jonathan sat down across from Tobias. "There are just a few little details that are new, or that I just want to go over again. First, Senator Parker has permanently sealed your service record. It's been classified top secret to the highest level of MACUSA. Not even the President could see your file. That means that there is just a handful of people who know who you are and what you're doing. No one in England, apart from Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape, has any clue who you are and what you've done."

Jon nodded. "And I need to keep it that way."

"Correct. Dumbledore believes that the British Ministry is conspiring against himself and Mr. Potter to keep Voldemort a secret. If that's true, and they knew you're record, there's no way you'd be allowed to do this. As it is, you're already making history."

"How's that?"

"You're gonna be the first American to walk the halls of Hogwarts as a student, not just an invited guest. It's a big deal."

Jon clicked his tongue. "Gotcha. So, the Ministry knows I'm coming."

"Yes. They're under the impression that you're coming to England to be with the last of your living relatives. As a result, you're going to be enrolled in Hogwarts to finish your wizarding education. When you get there, don't expect too many questions from their inspectors. They've got a file that explains everything. Questions?"

"This family we're pretending I have. Are they coming to meet me at the Constellation?"

Tobias shook his head. "No. No one will come for you at the Connie. You'll head to a pub called the Leaky Cauldron on Charing Cross Road. There's a Blockbuster Video just up the street; you can get a cab to take you there, then walk to the Cauldron. That's where you'll meet Headmaster Dumbledore. But take a cab to King's Cross station, first. Switch cabs there and then head to the Leaky Cauldron. Anything else?"

Jon thought for a second. "Nope. Behave. Keep my past to myself. Make friends with Harry Potter, and help him beat a wizard named Voldemort. If they're right about this wizard. Seems simple enough."

Tobias smirked. "Run on the impression that they're right. Until you have concrete evidence that makes it obvious they were wrong, operate as if the threat is real and keep a sharp eye. Besides, it might even help you make friends with Mr. Potter."

Jon frowned. "I hope. But I kinda feel like a fraud."

"I know, but if this goes the way both Dumbledore and myself think it will, you and Harry will be friends quickly and for real. Then you won't be a fraud anymore, and you'll be helping a real friend."

"I hope."

Tobias's eyes twinkled. "You'll be fine. Now, let's get you out to Boston." He reached into his desk and pulled out an awkward looking plastic box. He opened it on his desk to reveal a small ship's deck bell. "You ready?"

Jon grabbed his bags from where Tobias had set them against the wall and stood in front of the desk. "Ready as I'll ever be."

Tobias smiled, then extended his hand. "One more thing I want you to know, Jonathan. If you were my son, I'd be very, very proud of you. I AM very proud of you. And if your family was still here, I think they'd be proud of you too."

Jonathan shook his hand. "Thanks, Tobias. That… That means a lot to me."

Tobias nodded. "Touch the bell when you're ready. You'll land in the Connie's dock house. Commander Bushnell is waiting for you. Good luck, Jonathan."

"Thanks." Jon reached out and touched the bell, then felt like he was being sucked into his navel.

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

With a sudden crack, Jon found himself standing in the middle of the brick dock house for the U.S.S. Constellation. Being built on a dock, it was a small structure of one room with eight white painted oak desks, with Navy officers sorting paperwork and issuing orders.

A few people looked up to see who had just entered the building, but only one of them paid any attention; Commander Alexandria Bushnell. She was a short woman standing at five foot two inches, but her impeccable posture and her sharp, smart face gave her a presence of power and authority. She wore a current No-Maj white Naval dress uniform, and her fiery red hair was tucked into her dress cap. She excused herself from her conversation with two ensigns and walked up to him, saluting briskly. "Ranger Lionheart, it's good to see you again."

Jon saluted quickly. "I'm not techni…"

"Technically a Ranger. Yes, I've heard. But I was there, Jonathan. I saw. You saved my life and the lives of half our crew. Not to mention the Connie herself. You're a Ranger to myself, my captain and our crew. And you always will be." She looked over his luggage. "You need a hand with any of that?"

Jon, red faced, shook his head. "No, I've got it. Thanks though."

"Alright. Let's get you on board. The press won't be here for another hour, and while the Wizarding Times agreed to keep you out of any stories, there are always more vultures lying around. Oh, your eagle got here about an hour ago. He's in your cabin. Odd to see an eagle living as a pet."

Jon followed Commander Bushnell as she walked out of the dock house. "Well, I saved his life when he was a chick. He's stuck with me ever since."

Bushnell nodded. "Well, eagles are as loyal as they are lovers of freedom. I guess that will just add to your legend."

Jon snorted. "Legend." He stopped as he realized he was standing just in front of a gangplank that led up to the Constellation's port side. He took a good long look at the graceful old ship.

The last time he had seen the ship, she was badly damaged. Several cannon ports had been blown open much larger than they were designed. The main mast had been broken more than halfway up, and most of her sails had been burned and scorched. Holes and splintered wood had been everywhere. Now, though, she looked brand new. Fresh black paint glistened in the light of Boston Harbor, with clean white sails furled on their masts. 'Kinda stinks the No-Maj's can't see her. She's even prettier than the Constitution.'

Commander Bushnell had noticed him admiring the ship. "Gorgeous isn't she? She took quite a beating, but we patched her all up. She's ready to fly for another hundred years." She pointed to the top of the main mast. "Do you see that flag?"

Jon looked and saw an Army cavalry flag; red on top, white on bottom, with a forked tail. In the red section is had in bold white letters "C.W.A.," and in the white section with bold red letters is said "7th Rangers." Jon felt his eyes water a bit. "Our standard?"

Bushnell nodded. "Constellation will fly under that flag for as long as she flies in the Navy. A tribute to you and your team. There's something else you should see."

Jon followed her up the gangplank and onto the quarterdeck, next to the wheelhouse and the ship's bell. The bell sat a few feet in front of the wheel, and was sitting on a thick oak platform. On the platform was an enormous brass plaque, nearly five feet wide and four feet tall. Bushnell turned and looked at Jon. "We had it installed during the repairs. As a tribute."

Jon squatted in front of the plaque to read it, taking his hat off.

BE IT KNOWN, ON TWELVE DECEMBER NINTEEN-HUNDRED AND NINETY-FOUR, U.S.S. CONSTELLATION WAS COMMANDEERED BY FORCES OF THE RESTORATIVE WIZARDING ARMY IN AN ATTEMPT TO CHANGE THE MOMENTUM OF THE AMERICAN WIZARDING CIVIL WAR. THOUGH HEAVILY OUTNUMBERED WITH NO RE-INFORCEMENTS IN RANGE, THE CONTINENTAL WIZARDING ARMY'S SEVENTH RANGER DETACHMENT ENGAGED IN A RESCUE MISSION OF THIS SHIP AND ALL CAPTURED CREW. THE RANGERS INVOLVED IN THIS ACTION ARE TO BE REMEMBERED HENCEFORTH AS THE SAVIORS OF THE CONSTELLATION.

JONATHAN LIONHEART, SEVENTH RANGER COMMANDER, AGE 15, SURVIVED

KAWISENHAWE, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 16, KILLED IN ACTION

RACHEL LONGWOOD, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 16, KILLED IN ACTION

AUGUSTUS GREENMOUNTAIN, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 16, KILLED IN ACTION

CRYSTALINE ICE, C.W.N CAPTAIN, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 15, KILLED IN ACTION

FIGHTING BEAR, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 15, KILLED IN ACTION

JUPITER BEAM, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 15, KILLED IN ACTION

EDWARD WOODHORN, C.W.A. RANGER, AGE 14, KILLED IN ACTION

TO THE SACRIFICE AND BRAVERY OF THESE FEW DO WE COMMIT THE FUTURE OF THIS VESSEL. LET CONSTELLATION HENCEFORTH BE KNOWN AS THE NINTH MAN OF THE SEVENTH RANGER DETACHMENT.

WE, THE CAPTAIN AND CREW OF U.S.S. CONSTELLATION, ON THIS NINTH DAY OF JUNE, NINETEEN-HUNDRED AND NINETY-FIVE, HIGHLY RESOVLE THAT THESE DEAD SHALL NOT HAVE DIED IN VAIN.

The plaque then held the signature of every member of the Constellation's crew. Jon wiped his hands over the names of his teammates, eyes watering again. Sometimes he wanted to feel horrible and guilty about his decision to come after this ship, but he could never shake Crystal's last words; "My dad. He'll be proud. I'm proud. We saved our girl."

Crystaline Ice was the third daughter of Admiral Vincent Ice of the Navy. Her family had been in the Wizarding Navy for over one hundred and twenty years, and the members of her family had served on Constellation as either Captain or Commander. She had always hoped to one day earn a commission to the Constellation and be her captain one day. Admiral Ice had shared the same hopes.

While Jon was in Ilvermorny being treated for his wounds after saving the ship, Admiral Ice had visited him. When Jon told him what his daughters last words were, the man cried, but he nodded his head. "She's right. I am proud. Damn proud. Of her. And of you." Admiral Ice got up and walked away. Crystal was then posthumously awarded a Navy command of Captain, and given a service history of captain of the Constellation, becomingthe fourth member of her family to have served under her standard.

One tear slid down Jon's cheek before he spoke. "It is foolish and wrong to mourn the men who died. Rather we should thank God that such men lived."

"General Patton. It's a good quote. He was right, you know." Bushnell spoke softly.

Jon nodded. "They knew the risks. Truth is, I was the one who hesitated. I didn't want to go in so badly outnumbered. But they pushed for it. They wanted to go. So we did." Standing up, Jon looked up at the rigging, felt a gentle sea breeze run through his hair. "I just hope it means something in twenty or thirty years. I hope I… Make them proud."

"I know you will, Jonathan. You're just that kind of person." Bushnell looked out towards the bow and saw the sky turning pink. "I need to get you down below to meet the captain. He wants to meet you and set you up in your quarters. Follow me."

Jon nodded and followed her down to the gun deck where there was much more activity. Men and women were moving crates of supplies all along from fore to aft, from spellballs to coffee, some seventy sailors moved through the deck. All of them stopped and offered a salute as Commander Bushnell walked past, and maintained the salute for Jonathan, but added stares and whispers as he walked past. "Ain't that Lionheart?" "Can't be, not tall enough." "I thought he was older; he looks so young." "Best wizard to ever live, that one."

Some of them even spoke to him. They'd extend a hand and say something like "I was here, sir. The night you saved our ship. You and your team saved my life." Or "Remember the Seventh!" Or "We owe you our lives, sir."

A young female lieutenant with blonde hair sticking out of her cap saw him, dropped her box of canned goods and blushed bright red. "It's a real honor to have you sir. Oh!" She went bright red. "Um. I mean to have you here sir, on the ship. We… I… I'm honored, sir."

Bushnell stifled a laugh. "Why are you down here, Lieutenant? Don't you have an ambassador to help on board?"

The Lieutenant's eyes widened. "Oh! Yes, ma'am!" And she rushed towards the steps up deck.

Jon followed Bushnell into the captains' day cabin. "Well, that was… Something."

Bushnell smiled. "I'm sorry. I told them you were coming and that they weren't allowed to tell anyone. I should have also told them to treat you like any other officer."

Jon shrugged. "It's okay. I think."

Bushnell walked up to another door and knocked. A deep voice responded. "Come."

Bushnell and Jon walked into the ships lounge; a small room set up at the very stern of the ship with windows affording an awesome view of the city of Boston. Standing next to the table in the center of the room was the ship's captain. He was a tall, bald African American man, and he had to stoop everywhere he went. Even stooping, he was a large man. Easily two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, he had an intimidating presence that even made Jonathan feel a little inferior. He was looking over the maps to England, making sure he had plotted the best route. When he looked up and saw Jonathan he smiled widely and warmly. "Ranger Lionheart. It's very good to meet you. I'm Captain Gideon Aubrey. What do you think of the Constellation since her refit?"

"She's a real beauty, sir."

Captain Aubrey nodded. "Not another like her anywhere. With a proud legacy, too. I hope I do her proud." Aubrey affectionately brushed the ceiling beams, almost as if he was brushing the neck of his prized horse.

Jon smiled a bit. "I'm sure you will, Captain."

Aubrey smiled again. "Thank you. Did you have any troubles getting him on board, Commander?"

Bushnell smirked. "Just Lieutenant Alexa, sir. She apparently has a small… Crush on Ranger Lionheart. Dropped a box of canned goods. I had to remind her she was supposed to help our ambassador get on board." She gave a brief description of what happened.

Aubrey laughed. "She was a little excited when I first announced our guest. I'm sure she'll survive the encounter. Well, Ranger Lionheart, let me show you to your quarters." Captain Aubrey walked over to a door on the starboard side of the lounge and opened it, revealing a small room the occupied the wing of the ship's gallery. A net hammock hung along the back window, and a small bench was cut into the wall opposite the hammock, with a mirror above the bench. Outside the windows was a gorgeous view of Boston Harbor. All the windows were open, and sitting in one…

"Lance!" Jon walked up and scratched Lance behind the head. He chirped appreciatively, nipping at Jon's left index finger.

"Ah, yes. He arrived about an hour ago. Smart bird, your eagle. Fast, too. Well, I know the quarters are simple but the view is amazing. And it'll give you plenty of privacy. Feel free to come up on deck at any time once we're under way. The stars are amazing at the altitude we're planning to sail. There will be a bell for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And if you need something in between, the cooks can come up with something for you."

Jonathan set his trunk, bag and broom on the floor, turning to Captain Aubrey. "Thank you, this is perfect." He yawned suddenly. "Sorry."

Aubrey chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Your Headmaster sent a letter with your eagle, stating you hadn't slept well. Feel free to catch some shuteye. With us needing to keep you away from prying eyes, that might just be the best use of your time for now. Besides, nothing better than sleeping in a hammock with the sea air in your cabin."

Jon extended his hand. "Thank you again, Captain. Commander."

Aubrey shook his hand, then Bushnell. "Don't mention it, Jonathan." Bushnell said. "Grab some sleep."

As the two officers closed the door, Jon took his hat off and climbed up into the hammock. After he got comfortable, he looked at Lance. "You gonna be okay, Lance?"

Lance cawed a positive note. "Good. Stay close to the ship if you go flying, I don't want you getting lost." Lance tilted his head and squinted. "Don't give me that look. Just stay close, okay?" Eventually, Lance bobbed his head in a slow yes.

Satisfied his eagle would listen, Jon put his hat on, tugging it over his eyes and fell asleep to the sounds of feet walking wood decks, water lapping on the ship's hull, and a faint sea breeze wafting through the open window.

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

So here is chapter 3. The hardest part of writing a story with an OC in a well-established story is the building part. You need to create a backstory to try and bring your OC to speed with the universe you're plugging them into and making them worthy of being in that story. It can feel like a slugfest sometimes. I'm sorry this is taking so long.

Spellballs, in case you're wondering, are the wizarding world equivalent to cannon balls. They can explode into different spells on contact.