Days passed as I settled into a rhythm at the Muggleborn Tower. Without too many chores and an excess of free time, I found myself at liberty to do whatever I wished. A luxury I hadn't expected in medieval times.
My mornings started a little before sunrise. I'd wake in my small room at the top of the tower, the pre-dawn light barely filtering through the narrow windows. The first order of business was always washing up in the small bathroom attached to my quarters.
The facilities were basic. I used a wooden cup, or maybe it was a scoop, to rinse my hair with cold water that made me gasp every single time. The soap was a coarse bar that smelled faintly of herbs and ash, probably made with lye. It scraped against my skin and left me feeling clean but raw.
The toothbrushes were even worse. They weren't actually brushes at all, but plant twigs with frayed fibers at one end. I had to scrub them against my teeth and gums, and the whole experience left my mouth feeling scraped and sore. I missed modern toothpaste with a passion that bordered on religious.
At least the combs were decent. Then again, how hard could it possibly be to make a comb? Just a piece of wood with teeth carved into it.
After washing up, I would spend time in quiet prayer, just as I had in my previous life. Kneeling beside my bed, hands clasped, speaking to God in the silence of early morning. There was something about that quiet time that centered my day and brought peace to my mind. In a world turned upside down, where everything was strange and frightening, those moments of prayer were an anchor. Then I'd head downstairs for breakfast, or "breaking fast," as they called it here, which actually made sense when you thought about it.
The dining arrangement in the common room had quickly settled into routine. My seat was at a corner of the long table, with Margaret sitting across from me and a six-year-old boy named William to my left. The boy had a habit of kicking his legs under the table while he ate, occasionally catching my shin.
After breaking fast, we children were gathered at one of the living room tables for lessons. Goodwife Fletcher taught us how to read and write, though most of the younger children struggled with their letters. We also learned basic etiquette. How to properly greet someone of higher station, how to behave at dinner or formal events, the proper forms of address for different ranks of society. It was like finishing school for medieval magical orphans.
Following the morning lessons, lunch would be served a little past noon, and then the children were given the afternoon off to play or explore.
I quickly became a favorite target for the younger ones, who would drag me off to explore Hogsmeade or play games. Their favorite was a version of tag that reminded me of cops and robbers, though they called it "The Founders and Dark Wizards."
Eventually, I taught them some games from my old life. Duck, Duck, Goose was an instant hit, though they insisted on renaming it to something more "magical." They settled on "Dragon, Dragon, Phoenix."
"Why must it be a phoenix?" I asked Margaret one afternoon as we watched the younger children run in circles, shrieking with laughter.
"Because phoenixes do fly faster than dragons," she said matter-of-factly. "Everyone doth know that."
"Do they?"
"Aye. My father once did see a phoenix, ere the plague took him. He said 'twas like a bolt of flame across the sky."
Our explorations of Hogsmeade revealed a town smaller than I'd expected but perfectly suited to its population. I got to see the local blacksmith shop, where a gruff man named Edmund worked metal with a combination of hammer and heating charms. The famous Three Broomsticks was there. A two-story building with a painted sign showing three brooms crossed over a cauldron.
There were shops for magical necessities: a potions supplier, a bookshop with maybe thirty books total in its inventory, an ingredients shop that smelled strongly of herbs and stranger things, and a shop that sold magical creatures, or at least supplies for their care.
And of course, there was Ollivander's wand shop. The building was narrow and old, with a sign that read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC." I wondered if that date was actually accurate or just marketing.
The town really wasn't large. Maybe forty buildings total, housing perhaps two hundred people. But when I thought about it, that made sense. England's population in this era was a fraction of what it would be in modern times. If you correlated that to the couple dozen children in Harry Potter's year at Hogwarts, the magical population of Hogsmeade being this small tracked.
It probably didn't help that we were pre-Statute of Secrecy and the witch hunts were at their peak. Most muggleborns were probably dead before anyone from the school could reach them. An extremely sad reality.
Over the weeks, I got better at speaking Early Modern English. By the end of February, I could properly understand most sentences being spoken, though I still had to concentrate. Reading was easier. I had time to piece words together and make sense of sentences on the page. I'd finished the history book from the tower's small library and picked up some interesting facts.
First: pureblood lineage wasn't yet a core tenet of magical society. Mostly because the population was too small and every magical person was too precious to lose. That said, there were already some who thought muggleborns were too big a risk to allow into the school. Hence the tower. A compromise solution that let them take in every muggleborn whose name appeared in the Book of Admittance while keeping them separated from the "proper" magical children.
It was harsh, separating children from their families. But when you considered that said families were likely to kill the child for witchcraft, or in their view, demonic possession, it was probably the best decision available.
Second: Hogwarts had been around for centuries now, allowing magical folk to openly live in community. According to the history book I'd read, it was the first western magical school to be founded, and its robust wards and defensive structures had allowed wizards to settle in the area without having to live in constant secrecy and fear. The book had a passage that stuck with me:
"Hogwarts has stood for centuries, its presence allowing magical folk to openly live in community rather than scattered in secrecy. According to the chronicles, it was the first western magical school to be founded, and its robust wards and defensive structures gave wizards the confidence to settle in the area without fear of reprisal. Perhaps the greatest reason for this permanence, and arguably the most important magical innovation in our history, was the creation of the Muggle-Repellant Charm and its attendant wards by Rowena Ravenclaw. These protections became the cornerstone of wizarding society, shielding homes and halls alike from intrusion, violence, or invasion. Yet whispers persist among scholars that Ravenclaw's charm was not wholly her own invention, but rather a refinement of older divine or infernal magics."
Third: Nicolas Flamel was real and very much alive. The history book mentioned him as having created the Philosopher's Stone and being proclaimed the pinnacle of alchemy. He'd been alive for "several centuries" at this point, which meant he was already ancient.
I filed that away too. The Philosopher's Stone was real, which meant immortality was possible. That could be useful knowledge later.
As winter wore on, we children were called to dinner together each evening as the sun set. After the meal, we were allowed to sit by the fireplace or retire to our bedrooms.
I would have liked to have paper to write on, but while magic made some things cheaper, paper was not one of them. Most parchment was made from animal skin. Vellum or parchment proper, taking considerable time and effort to treat before one could write on it. Instead, we had slates with charcoal to write on and erase, similar to a chalkboard. Primitive, but functional.
It was during one of these evening gatherings in late December that the children started bothering me for stories. "Nicholas, tell us a tale!" young William begged, tugging on my sleeve. "A tale of adventure!"
"Aye, a tale!" several others chorused.
I looked around at their eager faces, illuminated by firelight, and made a decision that would change everything. "Alright," I said. "But first, I need to tell you about something called Christmas."
Margaret looked up from where she'd been mending a small tear in her dress. "Christmas? What manner of thing is that?"
And wasn't that a culture shock. Christmas wasn't really a thing here, especially not in the magical community. The non-muggleborns celebrated Yule or some other pagan holiday. Christmas was definitely off the list.
It was like being an American in another country during November and finding out Thanksgiving didn't exist anywhere else. And if there was no Christmas, there was no Santa Claus. Perhaps the most iconic figure throughout the world, aside from religious ones like Buddha, Muhammad, and of course Jesus Christ. Nearly every child at one point had believed in the jolly fat man.
So, like any good American recognizing unclaimed territory, I became a pioneer and liberator! Well, in a manner of speaking.
"Christmas," I said, "is a holy day celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. It falls on the twenty-fifth of December, and it's a time of joy and giving and family."
"Some do celebrate the birth of Christ," Goodwife Fletcher said from where she sat with the infant. "At the Nativity. But they do not call it Christmas."
"Well, that's what it's called where I'm from," I said. "And at Christmas, there's a special figure called Saint Nicholas. Or Santa Claus. Or Father Christmas. He has many names."
The children leaned forward, captivated.
I started with "A Visit from St. Nicholas," or as most people knew it, "The Night Before Christmas." I had to adapt it on the fly, changing some of the more modern references, but the core story remained.
"'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse..."
By the time I finished, the children were enthralled.
"A man who doth fly through the sky in a sleigh pulled by reindeer?" William's eyes were huge. "And he doth bring gifts to children?"
"That's right," I said. "He keeps a list of who's been naughty and who's been nice. And on Christmas Eve, he visits every house in the world in a single night, leaving presents for good children."
"How doth he enter the houses?" Margaret asked, her practical nature showing through.
"Down the chimney," I said.
"But how doth he not get stuck?" another child asked.
"Magic," I said with a grin. "It's all magic."
Over the next few weeks, I told them more stories. The classic Santa origin. How Saint Nicholas was a real man who gave gifts to the poor. The story of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, which really clicked with the children. A flying deer with a nose bright enough to light up the night? They loved it. I told them every Christmas story I could remember that would make sense for the time period.
As winter gave way to spring, things at the tower changed. The older children were given choices of trades or labor to take up. The work was light. We were still children, after all. But it was meant to teach us useful skills and help the community.
The girls either helped with animal care, assisted the local seamstress, or worked as helpers to the herbalist and potion-makers, fetching ingredients and doing minor manual labor.
The boys were sent to the fields and craftsmen. Three were assigned to scare off minor pests in the fields. One worked at the blacksmith's shop, tending the fire. Another became a hauler, carrying parcels and materials throughout town.
As one of the older children, I had more options but also more responsibility.
I was required to gather firewood for the tower. Both for the living room fireplace and the kitchen. I also worked for the town carpenter, a patient man named Thomas Woodwright, carving and smoothing furniture and various odds and ends for custom jobs.
"Thou hast a steady hand, boy," Master Woodwright said one afternoon as I worked on smoothing a table leg. "Most children thy age do rush and make mistakes. But thou art careful."
"Thank you, sir," I said.
"Where didst thou learn such patience?"
I thought about my engineering education, the countless hours spent on precise calculations and careful measurements. "My father," I lied. "He taught me that haste makes waste."
Master Woodwright nodded approvingly. "A wise man, thy father. 'Tis a pity he is gone."
The work was hard. Over a few weeks, I developed actual muscle tone from the constant labor of hauling wood from the forest to the town. Keep in mind, the forest was a mile out. Carrying wood that distance, especially when you're in a ten-year-old body, was no easy feat. Master Woodwright took pity on me and helped me obtain a finer axe head, which made cutting the wood slightly easier. But hauling it was still brutal.
By the time March came around, and yes, they still used the same calendar months, just a day or two off from what it should be, I could finally speak Early Modern English properly. I was still slower than native speakers, having to think about my grammar before I spoke, but I could hold conversations without embarrassing myself.
"Thou dost speak much better now," Margaret said one morning as we walked to the carpenter's shop together. She'd been assigned to help the seamstress, whose shop was nearby. "When thou didst first arrive, thy speech was most strange."
"I thank thee," I said carefully. "It hath taken much practice."
"Aye, but thou hast learned well." She smiled. "Mayhap by summer thou shalt speak as well as any of us."
Spring was now in full swing, and with it came plowing and planting season. Let me tell you: magic made everything so much easier.
Whereas a normal person would have a hoe and struggle to maintain a couple rows in a plot throughout the year, magical farmers could plow an entire plot in a couple of weeks, plant seeds in days, and conjure water on demand. Though with how rainy Britain normally was, they probably didn't have to worry about that last part.
The biggest challenge, it turned out, was pests.
Instead of having to deal with a few normal species like wild pigs, crows, rats, magicals had to deal with pixies, diricawls, nifflers, and other magical creatures. I guess warding wasn't very common, or maybe it was just too difficult for regular farmers, because I didn't see any protective wards on the farmland.
The more magical the plant, the closer to the village it was grown and the more protected it was, with all the farmers pitching in to guard those plots.
I learned that for every farming family to have enough to eat and sell throughout the year, they had to pitch in everywhere, just like their non-magical counterparts. Though the scale at which they farmed was comparable to what modern machinery could manage.
I didn't see any greenhouses, so I guessed the science behind controlled environment agriculture hadn't come about yet. Nor did I see any irrigation systems. I also wondered if they had preservation charms to make crops last longer. That would be worth looking into.
While the planting season ran its course, I made my first real invention: a sled to haul firewood.
Adults could just use levitation charms or other spells, though I still didn't really understand the difference between charms and curses. But I had to haul the wood manually, and the tower didn't have money to spare for anything beyond essential toiletries and food. My sled was simple: flat wooden runners with a small border around the outside to hold the firewood in place. I wanted to make a wheelbarrow, but I was too short and pushing uphill would have been impossible for me.
About halfway through March, I had my first prototype. A slightly curved sled with a small discarded rope tied to the front. I eventually scrounged together enough leather scraps from Master Woodwright's shop to create proper straps by the end of March. I can't tell you how many times a small bump or rock on a hill caused my firewood to fall out before I got the borders right. But once I did, the difference was incredible.
While hauling with the sled wore me out faster than carrying individual pieces, the time it took was reduced by nearly five times. Instead of carrying ten pounds of wood in each hand over a mile, making trip after trip after trip, I could now pull a full load at once.
If I were older, it wouldn't have been as much of a problem. But a ten-year-old carrying firewood over a mile repeatedly was no easy feat. Every now and then, one of the younger boys would come help me, but after a trip or two, they'd be too exhausted and discouraged to continue.
"How dost thou manage it, Nicholas?" William asked one afternoon, wheezing from the exertion. "My arms do feel like lead."
"Practice," I said, which wasn't exactly a lie. "And stubbornness."
Margaret appeared beside us, carrying her own burden. A basket of mended clothes from the seamstress. "He doth never give up," she said. "Even when he should."
"Is that admiration I hear?" I teased.
She rolled her eyes. "Admonition, more like. Thou art too stubborn for thy own good."
As summer approached, things warmed up nicely. The temperature reminded me of a good Texas fall day. Mild and pleasant, with just enough warmth to be comfortable.
It was in July that things changed dramatically.
Margaret and I were brought to Ollivander's to get our first wands.
We'd received our Hogwarts letters a week earlier. The parchment was thick and yellow, sealed with purple wax bearing the Hogwarts crest. Mine had read:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Euric Gamp
Dear Mr. Nicholas,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your response by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
*Professor Septimus Malyn*
Deputy Headmaster
The supplies list was extensive: three sets of plain work robes, one winter cloak, one pointed hat, a pair of protective gloves, cauldron (pewter, standard size 2), glass vials, telescope, and a standard set of books including *The Foundations of Spellwork* by Adalbert Wren, *A Chronicle of Magic in Britain* by Gervaise Oliphant, *One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi* by Phyllida Spore, *Magical Drafts and Potions* by Arsenius Jigger, and *The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection* by Vindictus Viridian.
Goodwife Fletcher had sat Margaret and me down in the common room to discuss what this meant.
"Thou shalt be enrolled into Hogwarts come September," she said, her round face both proud and sad. "This be a great honor and a great responsibility."
"All thy supplies shall be paid for by the school," Goodwife Fletcher continued. "But thou must needs repay this debt through work during thy time at Hogwarts. Cleaning, assisting professors, maintaining the grounds. Whatever tasks thou art assigned, thou must needs complete them faithfully until the debt is paid."
Margaret and I exchanged glances. We'd expected something like this. Nothing was truly free.
"However," Goodwife Fletcher added with a small smile, "as a gift for thy acceptance, thou art each allowed one small purchase for thyselves. Something not on the required list. Something just for thee."