So here is chapter four. We're getting much closer to this story catching up with the original.

Enjoy and review. Or not. I can't tell you what to do.

Oh. One more thing. In case you hadn't guessed, I am an American. Which is peachy, until the heavy dialogue shows up. Now I've met people from England, but usually only after they've lived over here for a while and they sort of speak like us. (read: ain't that a right-nice thang.) So I guess what I'm trying to say is… If you're from England, and my British dialogue sucks, number one, sorry, and number two, how do I fix it?

o - o - o - o - o

"The beginning is the most important part of the work."

Plato

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o - o

A strong lurch caused Jonathan, who was half hanging out of the hammock, to fall with a thud onto the floor of his cabin. He woke with a startled gasp, springing to his feet in a low crouch and inspected his surroundings. It was the cabin on the Constellation, but it was mostly dark. He had slept all day and the moon cast some faint white light in the cabin. He ran a hand through his hair, breathing heavy. "Son-of-a…"

Jon looked over to Lance, who had adopted the bench in the room as his place to sleep. The sound of Jonathan crashing onto the floor hadn't disturbed him at all. Jonathan snorted as he got up. "I'm fine, thanks, pal." Lance didn't move. Jon shook his head.

Jon opened the door to his cabin and entered the captain's day cabin. With no one around, Jon made for the main gun deck. He found one Lieutenant walking the deck with a wrought-iron lamp in one hand. The Lieutenant came over. "Evening, sir. I'm Lieutenant Lane. Is there something I can help you with?"

"What time is it?"

The Lieutenant pulled out a pocket watch. "Currently zero five forty-five UTC. Current local time zone is Greenland, so zero two forty-five, sir."

Jon's eyes widened. "Well, guess the captain was right."

"About what, sir?"

"Hammocks and sea air."

Lieutenant Lane laughed. "Yes, sir. He told us not to disturb you. Said you probably needed the sleep."

Jon nodded sheepishly. "He wasn't wrong. Is there anyone in the galley?"

"There should be a cook down there, sir. Ought to be able to get you something." Lane extended his hand. "I'd just like to say, sir. It's an honor to meet you. I was one of the officers on board when the R.W.A. took the Connie. You and your team saved my life. I'm sorry things went the way they did. It was incredibly brave for you all to save us like that."

Jon turned a little pink before shaking his hand. "Well, you're welcome, Lieutenant Lane."

Lane smiled. "I'll let you go, sir. You probably get tired of all the attention."

Jon smirked and nodded a bit. "Usually if they only want to talk about me. You'd be amazed how many people forget there were always others."

Lane nodded in understanding. "It's a shame, sir. No offense to you, but your team was just as heroic. I'll never forget them."

Jon clapped his hand on Lane's shoulder. "Thank you. That really means something to me."

Lane smiled. "I'm glad. The galley is down the next set of stairs towards the middle of the ship, not far from the mainmast."

Jon nodded. "Thanks." Heading towards the stairs that led him to the galley, Jon felt a bit more positive about his past. 'It's not so bad if they remember my friends. I just hate it when they only talk about me.' He found himself on the berth deck, surrounded by sailors in cotton hammocks. A few were awake and offered him salutes, which he returned. The galley was in the middle, nestled next to the main mast and served as a part of a wall that seemed to split the ship in two. One cook was cleaning potatoes when Jon peeked into the small candlelit room. He was a slightly over-weight balding man, maybe in his forties. He certainly fit the stereotypical sailing ship cook description. Jon knocked gently on the doorframe. "Excuse me?"

When the cook looked up and saw who it was, his eyes bulged and he stood quickly into a hasty salute, his voice gravelly and gruff. "Ranger Lionheart, sir! Wha… What can I do for ya?"

Jon returned the salute with a smirk on his face. "At ease. It's just Jonathan here. I was wondering if there might be something I could snag to eat. I, um. I slept the day away." Jonathan finished feebly, rubbing the back of his neck.

The cook smiled. "Absolutely si.. Jonathan! I can whip something up for you right now! What would ya like, some eggs? Bacon?"

"How about something simple? Just some ham slices, maybe a roll, some cheddar and some apple cider, if that's okay?"

The cook looked baffled. "Okay? 'Course it's okay, but dontcha want something a bit more… Well, more?"

Jon chuckled. "Nah, I'm okay. I don't want to put you through too much trouble. Thank you though."

The cook scratched his head. "Well, if that's all ya really want, I'm more than happy to get it ready. I would have just thought…" He paused. "Well, never mind. Don't matter."

Jon smiled. "You expected me to be a bit more demanding?"

The cook frowned. "I'm sorry sir. Er, Jonathan. I've just met other soldiers that didn't even fight half as much as ya did, and they acted like…"

"Like prima-donnas?" Jon cut in, frowning. "I don't understand it, myself. We fought and we survived; that's all. We fought for what was right, what was just. We shouldn't be crying for fame. We're no more special than the next witch or wizard."

The cook chortled. "Well, ain't sure about that last bit. I just didn't know what to expect from ya, but I gots to admit, you're right kind. And modest, too." The cook grabbed a small canvas bag, tossed in a roll, a good-sized wedge of cheddar and several thick slices of ham. He tied a string around the bag and handed it and a canteen to Jon. "There ya are, son. A good ol' fashioned picnic for ya." The cook wiped his hands on his apron and then extended one to Jon. "Thank ya, Jonathan. For everything you did. I know you lost…" He wiped a tear from his eyes. "Dang onions. Well, I know ya lost a lot mor'n most, but I know that your friends would be right proud."

Jon shook his hand. "Well, I hope so. Hey, I never caught your name?"

"Oh! It's Leroy. Leroy Biggs."

Jon smiled, lifting the sack. "Thanks for this, Leroy. I'll get out of your hair."

Jon started making for the ladder to the above decks, hearing Leroy talk to himself in amazement. "What a man that one is. Class act."

Climbing up to the top deck, Jon was greeted with an amazing sight. The stars shone like he had never seen them before. They almost didn't look real they were so vibrant. He walked towards the right-side railing and looked out across the sky. Constellation was sailing above the clouds, her bow cutting wakes in the highest cloud tops, sometimes with puffs of vapor swooshing over the deck. The Atlantic Ocean stretched for as far as his eye could see, twinkling in the bright moonlight. It was a mesmerizing view, one that Jon had never really been allowed to appreciate, as all his time on ships before had been in combat, getting ready for combat, or running from combat.

Jon started making his way towards the bow, looking for a place out of the way to eat his snack. A few sailors and officers were walking the top deck, making sure the rigging was tight and the Connie was sailing smoothly. They'd salute as he got near, and he'd return it. Eventually he found a spot up on the forecastle railing, against the Connie's bow spirit. Sitting on the large flat railing with his back against the bow spirit, Jon had a mostly un-hindered view of the entire world in front of him. He could vaguely make out Greenland below, with more ocean straight ahead. He set the bag down on the deck and broke off a chunk of cheddar.

He munched happily on the cheese, suddenly feeling elated, knowing that he was heading to something new, and it didn't matter if he was going into a new war or not; this was his choice. He could have said no. He could have stayed at Ilvermorny. He was given that choice. But a man he respected thought he could do this, and that was enough for Jon to say yes. He started laughing. He had no clue what he'd been so worried about. For the first time since he was eleven, he was doing what he wanted to do because he wanted to. He looked back at the Connie's rigging, her sails glowing in the moonlight, the occasional lamp casting warm candlelight across the top deck. He loved this moment, right here. He smiled as another poem came to his mind.

"I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky, and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, and a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking."

A shy voice came from behind him. "I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, to the gull's way and whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; and all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, and quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."

Jon hopped off the railing and turned to see Lieutenant Alexa walk up and rest her arms on the railing next to him. She was in her dress whites, but she was wearing a wool navy pea coat over top. Her honey blonde hair was pulled into a bun, with strands blowing everywhere in the breeze of the ship's motion. The light from the moon cast her in an ethereal light, and Jon saw all the features of her face. She had a slightly large forehead, paired with pronounced, but fair cheekbones. Her nose was strong, but perfectly sized and straight, no bulge on the ridge or a slight twist in either direction. Her jaw was also pronounced, but it had a gentle curve at the bottom. Her smile was large and infectious. Her top teeth were angled slightly out, but it just seemed to add to, what Jon though, was her beauty. She had a light dusting of freckles across her face, and Jon remembered that her eyes were as blue as a summer sky. She smiled shyly at him. "Sea Fever by John Masefield. That's always been one of my favorite poems."

Jon half-smiled. "It's a good one. Seemed fitting."

"Yeah. I can imagine." Lieutenant Alexa looked down at her hands, which she was fiddling with. "Umm. Earlier, below deck. I just… Wanted to apologize. For acting like a schoolgirl."

Jon chuckled. "That's funny. I can't seem to remember anything school-girlish happening this morning at all." Jon grinned at the Lieutenant, as she seemed to be massively relieved. "I'm Jon. Jon Lionheart." He offered his hand.

Alexa took it. "Katherine. Katherine Alexa."

"Pleased to meetcha."

She laughed, then looked back down at her hands, almost seeming to blush. "Oh, we've already met. You might not remember, though."

A puzzled look passed over Jon's face. "Umm…"

Katherine laughed softly. "It's alright. It was, umm. It was the night we almost lost the Connie. Once they had started… Killing the officers. You saved me from the Cruciatus."

Jon sucked in a quick breath, the memory coming back to him.

o – o – o – o – o

There was a scream coming from below on the gun deck. It was the kind of scream you gave when your worst nightmare became real. Jon looked out from behind the crate he was taking cover behind.

Augustus and Jupiter were fighting back to back, blasting spells and hexes up at R.W.A. troops in the rigging. Edward was taking cover behind one of the cannons that had rolled back from its battery position. He was outnumbered eight to one easily, and from the pounding of curses, it wasn't going to last much longer. Jon wanted to help him, but he also knew that the R.W.A. was probably killing crewmembers down below. A high-pitched yell caught his attention.

"Get below, Jon!" It was Kawisenhawe. "They're killing the crew! Help them out, I'll get Edward!"

Kawi bolted towards Edward, blasting hexes at the R.W.A. soldiers that had him pinned. Jon put his wand into his sleeve holster and dove for the grate that was covering the stairs to the gun deck, drawing his saber as he clambered down the stairs. Sure enough, there were five R.W.A. officers torturing several of the crewmembers. Two of the captives were officers, and a large burn mark on the floor indicated someone had already been hit with a Confrigo curse.

None of the five R.W.A. officers had noticed him; Jon thrust his saber toward the soldier closest to him. "Carpe Retractum!" A rope shot out the end of his saber, wrapping itself around the soldier and yanking him into the blade. Jon yanked hard, pulling the saber free, then jumping towards the soldier casting a Crucio on a pretty honey blonde female Ensign.

The soldier spun and yelled "Defodio!" Jon used his saber to block the curse, then stabbed the officer once in the stomach, and again in the heart. Yanking the saber free again, he pointed it at the soldier coming to his right. "Petrificus Totalis!" That soldier fell to the ground frozen.

Another soldier to his left sent a Lacarnum Inflamari towards Jon, which he just barely rolled out of the way of, taking a bad burn to his left shoulder. Ignoring the pain, he cast a Fumos around the room, charging the fourth soldier and slashing him across the throat, then at the back of the knees. This left the last officer, a Captain. He had taken the opportunity to take a hostage and was holding Lieutenant Commander Bushnell against his body, his wand at her head. "Drop the sword, boy, or I'll end her."

Jonathan looked at the Commander, who shook her head slightly. She was fumbling with her right hand, and Jon saw the end of a wand slip out from her jacket sleeve. "Alright. Alright." He knelt, putting his saber down on the deck while reaching back towards his left ankle. The moment the soldier relaxed, Bushnell yanked her arm up and jammed her wand into his left eye, then jumped forward. Jon yanked a spare wand from his left ankle. "Reducto!" The Captain exploded into a fine mist. Jonathan turned and saw the honey blonde Ensign still lying on the deck, whimpering. He knelt down next to her, offering her a hand. "Are you alright?"

Commander Bushnell pulled him away. "She'll be fine, Ranger. You'd better head back up. I'll try and free some of the crew to help, and put that one in the brig." She nodded towards the petrified officer.

Jonathan lurched towards the stairs that went to the top deck.

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

Jon pursed his lips, then took a drink from the canteen. "No. I remember."

Katherine nodded slowly. "I'm a little surprised. A lot happened that night. You almost didn't make it yourself."

Jon nodded. "Yeah. Not, um. Not a favorite night."

Katherine seemed to step a little closer to where he was sitting. "I'm so sorry. About your friends. They were all very brave. I don't think we'd be here if it wasn't for all of you."

Jon gave a small smile. "Thank you."

Again, she seemed to get closer. "If you don't mind me asking, what have you been doing since the war ended? We haven't heard a whole lot about you after the Battle of Ilvermorny."

"Not a lot, really. Just trying to unwind. Get used to life without war." Jon answered, shrugging. "Aren't you on duty? Shouldn't you be, umm…"

She chuckled, appearing to have shifted even closer. "Lieutenant Nox can handle the watch for a few moments." She bit her bottom lip. "Is it true you might be going to another war?"

Jon looked at her puzzled. "Come again?"

"Well, Captain Aubrey briefed us on why you were here, and that we needed to keep it a secret. Is it true? The Dark Lord might be back?"

Jon sighed. "Nothing's really been confirmed. There are rumors, but nothing else. I'm just supposed to see if those rumors are true and help fight if they are."

"Wow."

"Wow?"

She seemed to blush again, looking back down at her feet. "If I were you, I'd never want to see so much as an argument. But here you are, going off into what could be the most dangerous fight in the whole Wizarding world. Just after getting done with a Civil War. " She looked at him with admiration. "I wish I was as brave as you."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Well, you're still here. You could have resigned your commission. Gone to Ilvermorny instead of the Wizarding Naval Academy."

Katherine was standing right next to him now, her hands holding onto his left arm. "I guess that's true. But there's a lot of pressure from people for me to stay here. You… You don't really have that. You can do whatever you want."

Jon looked at her hands, then back into her face. "Umm… Yeah. I guess I could." He struggled to think of something to say and in true male fashion came up with something spectacular. "So, um. What's up with the uniforms? They're a lot newer than I, um, remember."

She chuckled. "It's part of MACUSA's attempt to present a renewed and more unified country. We got them first, being the flagship and heading out to re-establish relations. Eventually, every unit will get a new uniform."

"Ah." Jon went pfft. "I'm not gettin' my memos."

Katherine laughed. "She bit her lip. "Can I ask you another question?"

"Yeah. Sure."

"Are you… Hmm. Are… Do you have a girlfriend?"

'Uh oh.' Jon shook his head. "Uh. Nope. No."

She looked up at him. "That's good." She leaned up to kiss him.

Jon was tempted to let her kiss him, but something about it felt wrong. He gently grabbed her by arms and stopped her. "Whoa… Umm. Easy there." He pulled back and saw hurt written on the Lieutenant's face. "Hey, I'm flattered. Really, I am. You're a very beautiful girl, but… I don't know you. I mean, maybe I'm living by an archaic code or something but…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "I've never… Kissed a girl before. And I'd kinda like to know the first girl I kiss."

She stumbled back a step. "I just thought…Oh, I'm so stupid!" She turned and stormed off towards the quarterdeck, leaving Jon feeling bewildered and a bit guilty.

He turned back towards the ocean, shaking his head. Grabbing the block of cheddar off the rail of the ship, he took another bite. "Yep. That went well."

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o - o

The last day of the journey went smoother in Jon's opinion. He stayed in his cabin to catch up on some reading and stay out of the crew's way. Captain Aubrey extended an invitation for dinner the last night of the trip with several of the officers. Lieutenant Alexa was not there, and aside from a quick toast to the Seventh Rangers, the meal was filled with laughter and Jon made friends with much of the command crew.

The morning the Constellation arrived in London was foggy and rainy. According to Captain Aubrey, the British Ministry of Magic had arranged for this, as they were concerned the Constellation's Disillusionment charms weren't up to par with their standards. Several Aurors flew alongside the Connie to guide her slowly up the Thames.

Per Captain Aubrey's request, Jon stayed in his quarters for the river trip, watching the city pass by in his cabin. "We're putting in at a Ministry dock at the Palace of Westminster. Just in case the press over here has gotten word of you, we need to keep you hidden. I'll have Commander Bushnell get you when we're ready to disembark."

Eventually the calls to take in sail were given, and Constellation slowed to a halt hovering next to the Westminster Palace. Jon checked the clock on the wall against Big Ben. "Ha! Big Ben's off by two minutes."

The door to his cabin opened and Commander Bushnell came in, carrying a large wooden cage. "Morning. I brought this for Lance. You'll need to keep him in it for the time being." Lance cawed and eyed the cage mutinously. Bushnell laughed. "And I don't think I'm going to help with that. Hey, where's your backpack?"

Jon picked his pack off the floor. "Got it."

"Empty it out real quick. I noticed you don't have it extended."

Jon looked puzzled but quickly dumped everything on the floor. "Oh! Undetectable extension charms. Duh."

Bushnell worked on the bag silently for a moment before handing it back. "I'm surprised you don't know how to do that yourself."

"Well, I had… Others that knew how to do it."

Bushnell laughed. "Ah. Teamwork."

Jon grinned. "Exactly."

"Well, you're going to have to learn how to do that for yourself now." She took a step back looking over Jon's appearance and frowning suddenly, seeing the two flags still on his jacket. "Hey, I'm sorry, but we're gonna have to take those flags off." She pointed her wand at each flag and the stitching came undone, the flags falling to the floor. A quick Reparo had the jacket looking like the patches had never been there.

Jon bent down and grabbed the flags from the floor, stuffing them in his backpack. "Well. It's getting real now, isn't it?"

"You bet it is, Ranger." She put her wand away, seeing Jon stiffen in determination at the title. "You know what to do, soldier?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled. "Good." The Constellation shuddered gently as she splashed into the Thames. "Remember, keep your military background out of your history, your extra wands hidden, and try to act like a normal teen."

Jon remembered something a No-Maj told him in New York. "Normal is just a setting on a washing machine."

Bushnell laughed. "Well, there you go."

Looking out the windows of the cabin, members of the Ministry were helping to secure Constellation to the dock. Several soft thuds indicated that gangplanks had been extended to the ship. Jon started putting all his stuff back in his backpack, unceremoniously chucking things in to save time.

"Oh," Bushnell said. "Lieutenant Nox told me something last night. He mentioned that Lieutenant Alexa made an advance towards you."

"Oh." Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "Umm… Yeah, she… Kinda… Yeah." He looked at Bushnell. "She's not in trouble, is she?"

"No. You're not a member of the crew, so fraternization isn't prohibited. I just wanted to thank you for stopping her."

"Uh. Thank me?"

Bushnell chortled. "She's been… Mildly obsessed with you since you saved our lives. If she'd actually kissed you, one of two things would have happened. She'd have either never shut up about it and annoyed us to death, or she'd have felt miserable and guilty. As it is she already feels pretty embarrassed about it."

Jon crammed the last shirt into his backpack. "Well, she doesn't need to feel bad. I mean… I'm flattered. Really, I am. It's just…" He sighed. "I don't really know her. And I'm getting ready to be here in England for who knows how long. And who knows, maybe I'll want to stay here when the whole Voldemort threat is over. So it's just… Really, really crappy timing."

Bushnell looked at him approvingly. "For only being fifteen, you see things incredibly clearly. I'll let her know she can stop feeling embarrassed."

"Can I do that, actually?"

Bushnell's eyebrows went up. "You want to talk to her?"

"Well, I may have… Really badly explained how I felt about her. And, I mean… She is really pretty." Jon shoved his broom into the backpack.

Bushnell laughed. "So there is a normal fifteen-year-old boy in there. Okay, Jonathan. I'll go get her. You finish packing." She left the cabin.

Jon turned his attention to Lance. Lance looked at him, looked at the cage, then glared at Jon. Jon smirked, but then knelt in front of Lance. "I guess I owe you an apology first, pal." Lance tilted his head in a look of confusion, wanting Jon to explain.

"I made the assumption you'd want to come with me. I didn't really give you a choice. So I'm giving you one now. You can come with me to Hogwarts, or you can go back home with the Connie. I know you still have a brother back home, and there aren't going to be any female bald eagles around here so… So I understand if you want to go back home."

Lance looked even more frustrated, and when Jon went to scratch his head he nipped at Jon's fingers as if to say "You're a real idiot, you know? I'm your friend, I'm going with you."

Jon pulled his hand back, chuckling. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to give you a choice, pal. It could get rough. But if you're coming with, you're gonna have to go in this cage for now."

Lance scowled at the cage, but jumped from his window perch and walked into the open cage, hopped onto the perch on gave Jon a "Satisfied?" look.

Jon laughed and gave Lance a chunk of salted ham. "Thanks, Lance. I'm gonna need your help while I'm here, I know it."

Lance looked at Jon and chirped softly. Translation; "I know."

A small cough came from behind him. "He's a really sweet eagle."

Jon stood up and saw Lieutenant Alexa standing in the door to his cabin. He smiled. "Yeah. He's… My best friend. Look, I umm. I wanted to talk to you about the other night."

Katherine turned pink. "I was… Being childish…"

Jon waved her off. "Eh. We are kids, still." Jon chuckled. "Look, I just wanted to say that I really am flattered that you're interested in me. It's just… Bad timing." He looked down. "If I wasn't going off to do… Whatever it is I'm gonna end up doing… I'd be very interested in you."

She went from pink to red, but a smile graced her lips. "Thank… Thank you."

He smiled back. "You're welcome."

She looked away. "So, ummm…"

He nodded. "Yeah."

She walked up to him. "Well, be safe, Jon." She leaned up and kissed him on his cheek, lingering a little longer than normal. She smiled as she pulled back. "That's for luck." Then she walked out of the room.

Jon sighed, turning to grab his backpack, trunk and Lance's cage. "Oh well."

"That was very sweet of you." It was Bushnell.

Jon turned to look at her, his backpack on his back, trunk under his left arm, holding Lance with his right. "Really?"

She nodded. "She feels much better. You can see it, she's all bouncy as she walks around the ship now."

Jon's brow furrowed. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh… Enough."

Jon pinked. "Well, I meant it."

"I know." She pulled out a pocket watch. "Alright. Let's get you out of here. Small change of plans; the Ministry sent a car for you, it's going to take you to King's Cross station where you're supposed to get on a train heading for Manchester."

"Right. To my, uh, family."

"Correct. Go in and act like you're gonna catch a train, but get a cab to take you to Charing Cross road. You can't miss the Leaky Cauldron, I'm told." She showed him a canvas bag before stuffing it into his backpack. "Galleons, sickles, and knuts. There's an account opened for you at Gringotts Vault in Diagon Alley. You could retire now and live quite comfortably for the rest of your life, honestly." She handed him a wallet. "And that's local No-Maj currency. Enough to get you through a couple of months in No-Maj London."

Jon put the wallet in his back jeans pocket and followed the Bushnell to the top deck. Several prominent looking Ministry officials were talking with the American ambassador and Captain Aubrey, who gave Jon a nod as they caught each other's eye. Bushnell led him down a gangplank towards the Palace. She pointed to a wooden door on the wall facing them. "There are two Aurors waiting to inspect your luggage in there. I can't go with you past this point. From this moment on, Mr. Lionheart, you're on your own." She extended her hand. "Good luck."

He shook it. "Thank you, Commander. For everything."

"No. Thank you."

Jon walked towards the wooden door, opening it with a heavy creak. Before he stepped inside, he turned and gave the Constellation one last look. It was as if the Constellation had become America, and this could be the last time he'd ever see it again. On the top of her mainmast, the standard of the Seventh Rangers popped in and out of the low ceilings. "Goodbye, old girl." He turned and entered the palace, seeing the two Aurors that would inspect his luggage.

Two men wearing brown trench coats stood with their hands in front of them. They could have passed for No-Maj secret service, if it wasn't for the wands in holsters tucked into the fronts of their pants. One had medium-length curly black hair, the other was bad. They both had faces that you would see and forget in an instant. 'Perfect for being an auror, I guess.'

The one with hair spoke first. "Good morning, sir."

"'Mornin'."

"You must be Jonathan Lionheart. I'm Auror Whitehall, this is Auror Gripple. We're with the Ministry of Magic to inspect your luggage. Would you please set your bag and trunk on the floor please?"

"Yeah, no problem." He set his bag and trunk on the floor. "The, uh, trunk is under a reducto."

The bald one nodded. "That won't be a problem."

They spent the next ten minutes going through his stuff. Jon was a bit nervous, but he just turned that into standing like an impatient teenager: a little restless, and always looking around.

Eventually, the bald one spoke. "Your broom is unique. I've never seen a metal broom before."

Jon smiled. "One of a kind. Ilvermorny has a broom maker and she's a little… Eccentric."

"Is it weaponized?"

"Nope. Just really fast."

The broom was shoved back into his backpack. Auror Whitehall looked at him. "So, how bad was the war?"

"Oh. Umm. Pretty bad."

"I understand you lost your parents. I'm sorry to hear that."

Jon nodded, swallowing. "Thanks."

"Did you do any fighting for the military over there?"

Jon shook his head. "No. I stayed at Ilvermorny. The only fighting I saw was when Ilvermorny was… Attacked. We all kinda had to fight then."

Whitehall nodded. "I'm sorry you had to go through that. But things are quite peaceful here in England. You'll be able to have a nice quiet time here."

Jon nodded, fiddling with his feet. "I hope so. I don't… Really want to go through that again."

Whitehall nodded, and Auror Gripple handed him his backpack. "Alright, everything looks in order. We have a car waiting to take you to King's Cross-station. There you can catch a train to see your relatives in Manchester."

Jon nodded. "Gotcha."

The two men led Jon down a long and ornate hallway that ended in glass double doors leading to a courtyard under the shadow of Big Ben. A British Racing Green Jaguar Mk10 with Ministry seals on the back doors sat idling in the drive around the courtyard, another trench coated Auror sitting in the driver seat. "Auror Royce will drive you to Kings Cross. And welcome to England, Mr. Lionheart. Like I said, you'll have a much quieter life here, I'm sure of it."

Jon nodded, extending his hand. "Thanks." Whitehall shook his hand while Gripple loaded his bag and trunk into the trunk of the Jag. Jon carried Lance and his cage into the backseat. Whitehall shut the door and the Jag rolled away, heading to King's Cross.

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o

It was a quiet twenty-minute ride to King's Cross in the Ministry Jag. The Auror driving didn't say anything, and Jon was glad for it. The less talking he needed to do to officials, the better.

Eventually, the Jag came to a stop in front of King's Cross. The Auror went for the trunk while Jon stepped out and surveyed his surroundings. He was surprised; there didn't appear to be any other Aurors at the station. He took his backpack and trunk from the Auror, thanked him and made for the inside of the station. Once he was inside, he took a quick glance behind him.

The Auror was apparently satisfied Jon was going where he was supposed to, and the Jag rolled away. Jon took a quick look around for anyone that looked cliché and spy-ish. Satisfied that no one was around, he walked back outside and hailed a London cab. "Can you take me to the Blockbuster on Charing Cross Road, please?"

The driver nodded. "Sure thing, mate."

After throwing all his stuff in the cab, the driver started making his way to Charing Cross Road. It took about fifteen minutes and Jon made the mental observation that most everything magical in London seemed to be pretty bunched together.

The cab came to a stop in front of the Blockbuster and Jon paid his fare. Standing on the sidewalk holding his stuff, he looked around for the Leaky Cauldron. The only thing that seemed to stick out was a run down and wore out storefront, so Jon started walking towards it. Sure enough, as he got to within a few feet, the wooden sign went from old and beat to bright and new looking, the Leaky Cauldron written on it in gold letters. Jon took one last look up and down the street to make sure he wasn't followed, then walked on in.

It was not what Jon was expecting. In America, most inns and bars resemble No-Maj locations, except for the oldest of businesses. Here, the Cauldron made Jon think he stepped back into the fourteen hundreds. Jon half expected to see knights sitting at the tables. There was an old and beat looking oak bar, several old oak tables and chairs, and stairs to a second level to the left of the room. There were only a few people in the bar, and they were very clearly wizards and witches of stereotypical No-Maj depictions.

A large but old and stooped bald man came out of what Jon assumed was the kitchen and entered the bar. He saw Jon standing in the middle of the room looking a bit puzzled. "Hey boy, come here."

Jon did as he was asked, but felt suddenly nervous. He made like he was scratching his back to get his hand close to his first, and favorite wand.

The bartender leaned over as Jon stood next to it. "Is your name Jon Lionheart?" The old man whispered.

Jon tensed even more, hand tightening on the grip of his wand. Jon was supposed to meet Headmaster Dumbledore here, and this wasn't the man he'd seen in pictures. "Depends on who's askin'."

The barman moved his hands in a low "easy now" motion. "Easy lad, it's alright. My name's Tom, I run the Cauldron. Headmaster Dumbledore set up a room for you." He reached over and grabbed a key from the wall and handed it to Jon. "Room nine is yours. Dumbledore will be here around seven tonight to see you." He dug into his apron and pulled out a letter, handing it to Jon. "Your acceptance letter to Hogwarts, as well as a list of all the supplies you're going to need."

Jon took the letter, calming down a bit. "Thank you, Mr…"

The old man waved him off. "Tom's fine. Everyone calls me Tom." He eyed Jonathan, then leaned in. "If you don't mind me saying, you look like you've seen a few things. Where are you from, lad?"

"The States."

"Oh. We heard rumors… About a war. Is it true?"

Jon swallowed, nodding. "Yeah. They're true."

"And you were in it?"

Jon winced. "Sort of. The last battle of the war was over our school Ilvermorny. It was… Hell." Jon looked down, trying to be an emotional teen. "I, um. I lost a lot of friends."

Tom shook his head. "Ah, lad, I'm sorry to hear that. I wish I could say that things here were going to be better, but there are… Rumors and strange goings-on. It's getting a bit scary."

"So I've heard."

Tom scrutinized Jon, then had a small look of realization. "Ahh. So that's why you're here."

Jon tensed again. "I don't know what you mean."

Tom smiled. "Of course, of course. I know you don't." He wiped his hands on his apron, stepping back. "Well, like I said, room nine is yours. The entrance to Diagon Alley is through the wall in the courtyard out back. There's a trashcan; tap the brick three up and two across from the can. There you can buy all you need." He noticed Lance in the cage. "My my, a bald eagle! Do all American wizards have one?"

Jon laughed. "No. Just me. That I know of, anyway. I saved his life. He's been with me ever since."

Tom laughed. "Animals can be very strange sometimes. Love their freedom but will give it up for the right person." He looked at Jon thoughtfully. "I have a good feeling about you, boy. But you'd best head up and settle in for a bit. Folks are paying attention."

"Gotcha. Thanks, Tom."

Jon headed upstairs and entered room number nine. He set Lance's cage down first, then dropped his backpack and his trunk on the floor. He looked at Lance. "I'll let you out of the cage, but you can't leave this room. Not yet. We don't really know what to expect." Lance chirped and nodded, then hopped quickly flew to the top of the four post bed and sat watching the door.

"As for me, buddy. I'm grabbing a nap."

o – o – o – o – o – o – o - o

Jon grabbed about four hours of sleep before opening the letter and checking the list of things he would need to buy. Seemed like simple stuff; work robes he would need, and a set of dress robes. He had plenty of oxfords and slacks from Ilvermorny, but he'd probably need to replace the pullover sweaters to match the Hogwarts coat of arms. That left a couple of books; The Standard Book of Spells grade five and Defensive Magical Theory. Jon rolled his eyes. 'I'm gonna have to play dumb for that.'

He stuffed his list into an inner pocket in his leather jacket and threw the jacket on. He cast two Engorgio spells on his trunk to bring it back to size, reached in and grabbed his wand holster. It was a dark leather holster, mildly resembling Old West rigs that Cowboys used to wear. It sat angled on his body, the right side leaning down farther than the left. He grabbed his favorite wand and slid it in, then grabbed the moneybag the Commander had given him and made his way downstairs, casting a Colloportus on the door to his room.

He stepped into the small courtyard out back and found the correct brick, giving it a quick tap with his wand. The wall opened to reveal a small cobbled street that easily belonged in a seventeen hundreds London. There were shops all over and Jon made his way quickly and quietly to each one he needed, picking up his supplies.

An hour later he was almost ready to go back to the Leaky Cauldron. The experience of Diagon Alley was nothing like what he was used to. At Ilvermorny, most of these things were waiting for students at the school. Books were often second hand, especially during the war, but students took care of them so they lasted. Uniforms came from a school tailor, but the students that were in the C.W.A. just wore their uniforms to class in case they needed to leave quickly, which Jon always did.

Jon stumbled onto a shop called Ollivanders. He looked inside and saw it was a wand shop. Intrigued, Jon stepped inside. He watched as an old man with curly white hair and silvery eyes helped a young witch pick out her first wand. Jon found the process amusing as the girl tried several different wands and seemed to only create havoc around the shop.

It wasn't quite as elegant as when Jon got his first wand. While there were a few wand shops in America, they were usually only used by rich or snobby students. While Jon's parents weren't hurting for money, Jon decided to use Ilvermorny's wand crafter. She was an old Native American woman known simply as the Wand Crafter. No one knew a lot about her, except that she was something of a gypsy, traveling the world to create her wands. She was also known for always matching a wizard with their wand on the first try. Jon smiled as he remembered the day he got the wand strapped to his thigh.

o – o – o – o – o – o - o

The door to the broom hangar closed behind him, and Jon found himself looking at an all-wooden purple and brown Gypsy wagon. He stepped towards it, stopping just before the steps that led to the door at the back. A soft voice called to him from inside. "Come in, young Lionheart."

His heart sped up as he opened the door and stepped inside. The wagon was dark and smoky, but smelled pleasant, almost like a forest in the rain. An elderly American Indian woman sat cross-legged in front of a small blue fire, waving the smoke from the flames around the wagon. He fidgeted. "Hello."

She looked at him and smiled a large, kind smile. "Hello, Jonathan. I've been looking forward to meeting you. Please, sit."

He sat down cross-legged in front of the fire. "How… How do you know my name?"

"I know many things about you, Jonathan. And I desire to know even more. Did your parents tell you that I gave them their first wands?"

Jonathan nodded. "My mom did."

"And did they tell you what happens?"

Jon looked concerned for a moment. "They said you're gonna look into my head and heart. To see what kind of wizard I will be so I can get a good wand."

She laughed. "Not a good wand, young one, the right wand. There is a difference. You will learn this as you grow older." She paused, looking him over. "Are you afraid?"

He paused. "A little."

"Too afraid to go on?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. I can do it."

"That is good. You are brave, like your parents." She reached into the fire and pulled some flames out, holding them in her hands. "You will feel no pain." She blew the fire into his face, and it went down his mouth and up his nose. His eyes rolled back into his head, but he could still hear what the woman was saying.

"Hmm. A strong heart. With bravery and determination. I suspected as much. With honor, and loyalty. A code. Ahh… A little impulsive. Could be trouble. Pride, but not in himself. In his actions. Never stops. A fighter."

She continued. "But there is more than just a warrior. Love. A deep ability to love. Concern for others. Intelligence. A love for knowledge. Kindness towards all. Fairness. Protectiveness. And passion. Much passion. A drive like I've never seen. A true warrior poet."

She blew some smoke into his face and his eyes rolled back to normal. He felt dizzy for a moment but shook his head quickly to refocus. She smiled at his playfulness but became sad looking. "A wizard such as yourself is made to suffer. And suffer you will, I'm afraid. Most warriors do. But you will also flourish. You will grow to be a great warrior, and a powerful force in the wizarding world."

"But you must be careful, young Lionheart. Power and strength alone will corrupt any person without control. You must stay true to whom you are. You must never lose your humility. Your ability to love. You must always only fight for what is right. You must keep your emotions in check. If you can stay true to who you are, and do not let others sway you from the course… You could be one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived."

She pulled a wand from her left shirtsleeve. "I crafted this wand many years ago, and both it and I have waited for a wizard worthy of it." The wand was two-toned crème and dark brown. "This is Yew wood, from a tree in Scotland. A land famous for men like what you will become."

"Like I'll become?"

She smiled. "A warrior poet, Jonathan." She held the wand out with both hands. "Twelve and a half inches in length, and supple. It can bend a great deal without breaking, yet it is still firm and will stand strong against long odds. Much like I suspect you will. The core comes from a Phoenix I encountered in Japan, a land of renowned warriors."

She gave Jon a stern look. "Stay true to yourself, Jon Lionheart. For with this wand, you will have the power over life and death. It is an immense power, and only the strongest of wizards can wield it properly. For good." She handed him the wand.

As soon as the wand touched his hand, Jon felt a warmth inside. He looked the wand over, noticing all the intricate carvings. He looked at the bottom of the grip and saw… "A lions head!" He exclaimed.

The Wand Crafter laughed. "Yes, young Lionheart. As I said, both the wand and myself have waited a long time for you."

Jon waved the wand gently, causing sparks of all different colors to shoot out. "It's amazing." He looked at the Wand Crafter. "I swear I will always do what is right."

She smiled. "I know you will."

o – o – o – o – o – o – o

Jon rubbed the grip of his wand gently, smiling at the memory.

"Excuse me, young man. May I help you?"

Jon turned to see the old man standing next to him. "Oh, no. Sorry. I was just… Admiring."

The man smiled. "Wands are meant to be admired as much as they are to be used. I always appreciate a wizard that appreciates wands, however, I don't think I've ever seen you in here before."

"Ah. Well, I'm not from around here. I'm from the States."

The man's eyes widened in excitement. "Aha! You're the first ever American to study at Hogwarts! Jon… Jon Lionheart, I believe. It's a very good pleasure to meet you. I'm Garrick Ollivander." He extended his hand.

Jon shook it. "It's good to meetcha."

Ollivander smiled, then looked at Jon's wand. "If you don't mind me asking, I know it's very personal, but… May I see your wand?"

Jon nodded, pulling his wand from his holster. "Sure."

Ollivander inspected the wand, his eyebrows shooting up immediately. "Yew. A rare wood. And supple. Twelve and a half inches long." He looked at Jonathan with a scrutinizing look. "May I inquire as to the core."

"Uh, the feather of a phoenix from Japan."

Ollivander took two steps back from Jonathan. "A Japanese Phoenix is a powerful being. These wands always choose a warrior…" He looked at Jonathan with almost distrust. "I believe I already know, but who crafted this wand, was she the one to give it to you?"

"Yes, she did. I only know her as the Wand Crafter. She's a… Bit of a gypsy, really."

Ollivander relaxed and smiled immediately. "Ah, all is well then! I have met your Wand Crafter. She's a bit eccentric for my tastes; her wands aren't very consistent. But her craftsmanship cannot be denied. And she has never given a wand to a dark wizard." He handed the wand back to Jon, who tucked it gently into his holster. Ollivander looked him up and down again. "There's more to you than we know, isn't there Mr. Lionheart?"

Jon swallowed, not sure of what to say. "I don't know what you mean, sir."

Ollivander smiled again. "Well, we'll know soon, I guess." Another young wizard came into the store. "Ah, yes, I have to go. Do take care. And good luck at Hogwarts!"

Jon left the store, watching Ollivander help the young boy pick a new wand. He looked at a clock hanging off Gringotts Wizarding Bank. It was six thirty. Jon headed back to the Cauldron.

o – o – o – o – o – o – o - o

Jon was packing all his new things into his backpack and trunk. He hadn't eaten yet, but he figured he'd wait until after he spoke with Headmaster Dumbledore. He was putting his new robes into his backpack when he heard a 'crack' out in the hallway. He turned and drew his wand, approaching the door cautiously. A soft knock at the door made him less nervous.

"You may put the wand away, Mr. Lionheart."

The voice was soft and lighthearted. Jon put his wand back in the holster and opened the door. He was greeted by a kind old wizard with a long silver beard, with long silver hair. A purple cloak covered his robes, and half-moon spectacles sat in front of kind, bright blue eyes. His nose was long and crooked.

The wizard smiled. "Hello, Jonathan. I'm Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. May I come in?"

"Oh. Yeah, please." Jon held the door open, the checked the hallway once Dumbledore was inside before closing the door. "Sorry about the mess. I just wanted to be packed for tomorrow."

Dumbledore nodded, sitting in one of the wingback chairs in front of the fireplace. "Quite understandable. Tomorrow is a big day. Are you looking forward to it?"

Jon nodded. "Yes, actually. A lot. I was, umm… A bit worried I'd be dreading it."

Dumbledore smiled. "That's certainly understandable. It's a lot of change happening very quickly."

"Huh. Yeah, it is that."

"Were you able to find all your supplies?"

"Yeah, easily enough. Diagon Alley is, uhh. Different, than what I'm used to. Kinda amazing, actually."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, it can be." He looked at the books on the bed, his brow furrowing. "Did you need to buy used books? I was under the impression you would be given a significant allowance."

Jon went slightly pink. "Oh. Yeah, I was. I'm just, kinda used to old books. The war made getting new ones a bit tricky. Besides, you should always try to live well within your means. Never know when you might need money for something important."

Dumbledore nodded, impressed. "Quite true. Very wise of you. Will you sit?" Jon sat in the other wingback chair. Lance turned to look at the both of them from the top of the bed, and Dumbledore looked up at him. "Oh, hello. You must be Lance."

Lance chirped happily. Jon grinned. "That's him. He came with, even when I offered him a chance to stay."

Dumbledore smiled a knowing smile. "Well, eagles are arguably the most loyal of the birds. How did you two come together?"

"I saved his life. He was being abused by some kids. He's been with me ever since."

Dumbledore smiled. "It is said that the bald eagle is the wisest and pickiest when it comes to choosing a companion, which is why they are rarely seen with wizards. They rarely find a wizard they can live with." Dumbledore looked at Jon as if seeing something rare. "Anyway. Do you know why I wanted to meet you here?"

Jon nodded. "You wanted to go over what you think is happening, and make sure I know what I could be getting into."

"Just so. Tell me, what do you know already. I do not wish to insult your intelligence."

Jon sighed. "Well, Cliff's notes, I suspect. Umm. You have a young wizard, close to my age, named Harry Potter. He seems to be the target of a dark wizard named Voldemort, who hates wizards that come from a No-Maj family."

Dumbledore nodded. "Continue."

"Uh, for whatever reason Voldemort tried to kill Harry as a baby and failed. Harry's parents were killed, but Harry survived. It was believed that Voldemort was dead until recently when Harry Potter claimed to have seen Voldemort get a new body during the Triwizard Tournament."

Dumbledore stroked his beard. "Roughly accurate. May I ask why don't you seem afraid of Voldemort?"

Jon shrugged again. "This may sound cliché, but I don't have fear of another man. Or, woman, for that matter. Besides, you have to name your enemy if you're going to fight him."

Dumbledore nodded. "Well said. Now, you are correct in your brief assessment. However, there are a few important details. Voldemort has followers. Many of them. They've either been in hiding since the First Wizarding War, or they've been locked away in Azkaban. Those that are free have been re-grouping and placing themselves in positions of power inside the Ministry of Magic. The Death Eaters have…"

Jon interrupted. "The who now?"

"Voldemort's followers are called Death Eaters."

"Ah. Well, that's… Lovely. Not."

Dumbledore smiled. "No, indeed. Regardless, they have been creating some trouble, most notably at the Quidditch World Cup, where they cast the signal of the Dark Lord in the sky."

"I'm guessing panic ensued?"

"Oh yes. But it was put to rest quickly, and no one was harmed permanently." Dumbledore paused. "I believe the Ministry is conspiring against myself and Mr. Potter. They're denying everything Harry has claimed, even going so far as to smear him in the press."

"Well, most journalism nowadays is pretty yellow. A good indication of the truth is often the opposite of what the press prints."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I would agree with you on that, especially if your news comes from the Daily Prophet. Now, the Ministry has also restricted my authority, which is why there was a bit of cloak-and-dagger work to get you over here. If the Ministry knew what your war record was, there's no way they'd have let you in."

"Headmaster Webster said the same thing."

"He was quite right. Now, I have to ask. I've seen your record. I know what you've done. What you've gone through. I must ask, are you sure you want to help? This is going to turn into another war. You don't deserve that, not again."

Jon smirked. "No one deserves it, Headmaster. It just happens." Jon got up and walked to the window overlooking Diagon Alley. "I remember when the war first started, I wanted so bad to fight and stop it quickly. I was only eleven. There wasn't anything I could do. I… Lost my parents pretty quick in the war. The Restorative Wizarding Army considered them traitors. We're a pureblood family, but my parents raised me not to care about that. As the war dragged on, and more people died, I wished that I'd had a chance to stop it before it got as bad as it finally did."

Jon turned to look at Dumbledore. "I lost a lot of friends. Because of bigotry in a nation that was supposedly beyond these petty things." Jon looked down. "When the war came to an end, I settled back into Ilvermorny like I was supposed to. But I hated this past summer. As strange as this may sound… I've missed the war. When I was fighting, I felt like I was making a change. When they asked me to just go back to school, it kinda felt… It kinda felt like I'd lost that power. The power to fight for good."

Jon sat back down. "I'd like to not fight again, sure. But there's trouble coming. And this Harry Potter… He sounds like he could use the help I can give. The help of a soldier." Jon smirked. "The help of a warrior poet. And I want to help him if I can."

"But you don't know him."

"True. But if Voldemort succeeds, and kills Harry, what then? Is he just going to stop? Take over England and say, 'Eh. I'm done.' I doubt it. I wouldn't if I were evil. I'd want more." Jon leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "This may be overly patriotic, but my country just got done tearing itself apart over this same reason. If Voldemort wins here, America won't be able to fight him off. We're too weak from our own war. That means my home is in danger, and the friends I left, they're in danger too. So yes, Headmaster. I'll help the Boy Who Lived. Even if it's the last thing I do."

Dumbledore stared at Jonathan. "My dear boy. You are one of the most extraordinary wizards I have ever met. The rest, I am happy to say, you will meet tomorrow." He smiled. "You and Harry are going to be excellent friends, I can promise you that. Now, there are a couple more details you should know. Did you headmaster mention Professor Snape?"

"Yes."

"Professor Snape is not very fond of Harry. He can, honestly, be very unfair towards Harry. They do not get along. When you meet him in person, you must not let on that you know of him, and you must not attempt to have friendly contact with him."

Jon was puzzled. "If he doesn't like Harry, why did he help get me over here?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, I cannot tell you why. I must simply ask you to trust me, and do as I say in this matter."

Jon nodded. "Alright. Don't like Snape. Got it."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Your headmaster also mentioned that you're not very fond of bullies. Your record shows you've fought with several witches and wizards in your age group that were bullying other students."

Jon turned pink. "One or two, yeah."

Dumbledore grinned. "I must warn you, there are several cruel students in Hogwarts. And most of them are from pureblood families. I'm sure you can imagine why they bully people."

Jon clenched his right fist. "Yes."

"Please try not to take discipline for these actions into your own hands. Inform the head of your house as to what happened, and they will do what is necessary."

"I'll do my best."

"I know. Also, speaking of houses, we'll need to have you sorted. When you arrive at the school on the Hogwarts Express, try to stay with Harry. When you enter the great hall for the start-of-term feast, I'll call you forward and we'll sort you. I know you have a certain distaste for being the center of attention, but unfortunately, you will be for a few moments. You are, after all, making history."

Jon blanched. "Uh. Okay."

"Very good. Now, you know where the train leaves from?"

Jon nodded. "Yes. King's Cross, platform nine and three-quarters."

"Yes. The train leaves exactly at eleven in the morning." Dumbledore stood up. "Well, Jonathan. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow at school. Oh, I almost forgot." He reached into his robes and pulled out three pictures. One was of Harry Potter, the other was of a bushy haired brunette girl and a red-headed freckle-faced boy. "You have probably already seen Harry's picture, but the other two are his closest friends. The girl is Miss Hermione Granger, and the redhead is Mr. Ronald Weasley. Now, Hermione and Ronald are prefects this year in Gryffindor house, so you should be able to get to Harry without too much interference tomorrow."

Jon took the pictures. "Got it. I'll be ready."

"Of that, Mr. Lionheart, I have no doubt." Dumbledore extended his hand. "Thank you, Jonathan. Your doing this makes our future look much brighter."

Jon shook his hand. "Well, I'm not sure about that. But you're welcome. I'm glad to help."

Dumbledore smiled, then stepped into the middle of the room and with a crack, he apparated out. Jon looked at Lance and sighed. "So. Dinner?"

o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o - o

A ten thousand plus word chapter. I am so sorry. Is now a bad time to tell you Tolstoy is a personal hero?

Well, that's kind of a lie. I'm not sorry. I wanted to fit all this into one chapter. Ugh.

But now, that good stuff begins.

Please leave a review, and thanks to those that have followed and favorited the story, that means a lot. It's good to know folks like it.

Again, if I've really messed something up, please let me know. I know that I'm kinda making a mess with canon, but I'd like to be accurate. And if my British-isms are screwy, let me know.

Next chapter should be up in a week and will start with Jon meeting Harry. From there, we'll parallel the books fairly close.