"You two," Warrington said after a long fuming pause, "seem to have some basic misunderstanding of how the whole flag switch dare is supposed to go down."
James slumped in the rickety chair in the attic office of Hermes House. Next to him, Ralph sighed and stared hard at the stained yellow carpet. Warrington leaned on the wobbly old desk, all four of whose legs seemed to have folded wads of paper under them.
The Zombie House office was tiny and crammed with bookshelves despite its noticeable lack of books. The shelves were, instead, heavy with unusual odds and ends, brick-a-brack, piles of unopened post, tools, amusingly shaped papier-mâché art projects, and the occasional skull, most wearing sunglasses and plastic noses. The wooden door was covered with a nearly life-sized poster photo of Theodore Hirshall Jackson caught in a stern pose, wagging a long finger at the viewer, his dark brow lowered. Construction paper letters were tacked above the poster's head, spelling out the words 'I WANT YOU to GIVE ME A HUG AND A COOKIE'.
Warrington stood up straight and paced along a narrow path worn through the room's detritus, passing between the desk and the single round window. "The point, you see," he went on in a strained voice, stabbing his right finger at his left palm, "is to not make Zombie House look like a bunch of bumbling nincompoops. Anything beyond that is, frankly, gravy. Gravy!"
Warrington punched an inflatable doll made to resemble a rather ghastly clown. It bobbed on its weighted base and swung back, squeaking.
"They were Werewolves," Ralph moaned weakly. "I barely saw them before they dropped on me like a piano. They were wearing camouflage! They had bits of bushes stuck to their hats! I thought I was being attacked by some kind of weird American dryad monsters!"
"They were Werewolves!" Warrington hissed, rounding on the boys, his eyes wild. He struggled to compose himself and swiped a hand over his face, sighing vehemently. "Look. You're new here, so I'll give you a helpful little lesson on the intricate societal politics that define life here in the hallowed halls of the Aleron. We hate the Werewolves. Here endeth the lesson. Got it?"
"But they had actual members helping out the pledge, who just happened to be my brother," James rallied. "They attacked us before we had a chance to react!"
"That's how Werewolves work!" Warrington cried, exasperated. "They're Werewolves, for Zark's sake! To them, everything's a battlefield! Their one weakness is when people yank the battlefield out from under them! That's the Zombie way!"
Ralph raised both hands, palms up. "But what could we have done?"
"Gummy shoes!" Warrington rasped, deadpan. "Stick them to the ground like flies on flypaper! Or the Jelly-Legs Jinx, or Tickling Hexes, or even spontaneous explosive intestinal gas. You can't just face down a Werewolf, you have to embarrass them. Their insufferable pride is their ultimate weakness. Any Zombie knows that!"
"Sorry," James said miserably, "we're new to all of this. They got to us before we had a chance to respond. We'll do better next time. Give us one more chance!"
Warrington boggled at James. He spluttered, "They left you hanging by the Zombie flag from the belfry landing! The entire school saw you up there before Franklyn was able to get you down! You made us a laughingstock! Zombies do the laughing, pledge! Not the other way around!"
"Now whose pride is at stake?" Ralph mumbled.
"And you," Warrington said, turning to Ralph, his eyes blazing. "I'm surprised you can talk at all, after being hung up on the Hermes House flagpole for the last three hours! If you could die of wedgies, we'd be arranging your funeral right about now!"
Behind Ralph and James came the sound of stifled laughter. James turned around. Against the rear wall, in an old clawfoot chair with threadbare upholstery, sat the President of Zombie House, a small dapper man with what appeared to be, for all intents and purposes, goat's legs. He was dressed in a tailored jacket with tails, an immaculately tied yellow ascot, and a natty grey vest. Two stubby purplish horns adorned his temples. His name, James now knew, was Professor Felix Stanford Cloverhoof, and he was apparently a faun, also known, for some reason, as the Jersey Devil.
"I'm sorry," Cloverhoof said, recovering himself and assuming a serious expression. "Do continue, Mr. Warrington. You are on quite a roll."
"I'm done," Warrington said, moving back around the desk and plopping into his chair, which squeaked in protest. "With both of them."
"I'm afraid that Mr. Warrington is quite right, my friends," Cloverhoof said breezily, climbing to his hooved feet. He straightened his vest and picked a fleck of dust from his lapel. "Zombie House does have its standards, ill-defined and amorphous as they are. I quite suspect that you will be rather happier elsewhere."
"But…," James exclaimed, stammering. "But, but…!"
"I had a rather lengthy discussion about the affair with the Chancellor this morning after he… er… extracted the both of you from your various predicaments. I agree with his assessment entirely. There is really only one house for students with your particular… ahem… aptitudes."
"Oh no," Ralph moaned. "Not Igor House."
Cloverhoof blinked at Ralph and smiled a little crookedly. "Igor House?" he said inquiringly. "No, not quite. Come along boys. The morning is well begun and surely you have classes to attend to. Tonight, you will begin life in your new society. Surely you will fit in very nicely."
"Which house?" James asked unhappily, standing up and moving toward the door as the faun professor swung it open.
"Why, I'd have thought it was obvious," Cloverhoof replied brightly. "Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't rush there in the first place. The Chancellor has determined that you should be assigned to Bigfoot House. I'm quite certain that you will find it very… er… reassuring."
James and Ralph slumped where they stood.
From the desk behind them, Warrington grinned wickedly. "See you on the Clutch course, boys!" he announced, and chuckled humorlessly.
"I don't see what the big deal is about Bigfoot House," Lucy said, rolling her eyes. The sun was setting over the campus, painting long purple shadows over the lawns and footpaths as the students made their way back from dinner in the cafeteria.
"That's because you got into the house you rushed for," Ralph grumped. "You've got the blood red tie to prove it."
"Looks excellent too," Zane added.
Lucy smiled demurely. "Thank you. But the point is, you were probably never meant to be in Zombie House anyway, and if you'd ended up there, you probably would've been totally miserable."
"Hush your mouth!" Zane exclaimed, covering his ears with his hands. "That's the Zombies you're talking about!"
"And a fine bunch they are, I'm sure," Lucy soothed. "Just not for James and Ralph. Obviously it fits you like a suit of armor. Albeit, yellow armor, with a clown's wig on the top."
"Now you're talking," Zane nodded, mollified.
"But Bigfoot House," James moaned. "They're the nobody dorm."
"In that case, it fits you two perfectly," Albus said, coming up from behind.
James glanced back at his brother darkly. "When did you get here, you big turncoat?"
"At least my turncoat comes with a burgundy tie," Albus replied, brushing off his blazer and peering critically down at himself. "Pretty dashing, isn't it?"
Ralph narrowed his eyes. "You ever hear the phrase 'blood is thicker than water'?"
"I haven't gotten that far in Potions yet," Albus answered breezily.
In a careful voice, Lucy said, "That was a rather awful thing to do, Albus, leaving your brother up there like that."
"Oh, he was fine," Albus waved a hand. "It was either him or me. Before I was a Werewolf, I was a Slytherin, remember, and we Slytherins take every break we can get. It's the Gryffindors that are all self-sacrificing and noble. If you look at it that way, I was just helping James to be true to his heritage."
James flung out an arm and backhanded his brother on the shoulder, shoving him backwards. "I'll show you a thing or two about nobility, you sodding git!"
"Ah, ah, a
h…," Albus warned, wagging a finger at his brother. "Werewolves look out for each other. Now that I wear the grey and burgundy, anything you do to me is likely to be repaid by the Brotherhood of the Wolf. I'm just giving you fair warning. I don't want to see you get hurt, big brother."
"'Brotherhood of the Wolf'," Zane scoffed. "There isn't a real werewolf in the bunch. If any of your brotherhood was confronted by a real wolf, they'd scurry like mice."
Albus rounded on Zane. "But Zombie House is full of the walking undead, right? At least in terms of brainpower, from what I hear."
"Them's fightin' words!" Zane proclaimed stridently.
"Will you both shut it," Lucy interrupted, getting between the two of them and placing a hand on each one's chest, pushing them apart. "This is a silly thing to argue about. Everyone knows that both the Werewolves and Zombies cower before the dark mystery of Vampire House."
Zane spluttered while Albus pushed Lucy's hand away. She smiled haughtily, raised her chin, and walked on.
"She sure picked that up fast," Ralph said, impressed.
"Come on," Zane urged irritably, yanking Ralph's elbow. "The Bigfoots' mansion is over here. Let's get you inside and introduced to your new pals. I've never even seen the inside of the dorm since I've never been friends with any Bigfeets."
James sighed as they walked toward the staid brick structure. Apollo Mansion, home of Bigfoot House, was by far the least interesting of the houses. It stood square and straight in the orange sunset, looking like a sentinel guarding something nobody really wanted. There was virtually no landscaping around the mansion except for a few squat shrubberies that ranged around the foundation in a businesslike manner. A short stone stairway led to the front door, which was adorned with a large pewter knocker in the shape of a foot with splayed toes.
"So, are there any actual Bigfoots in Bigfoot House?" Ralph asked as they climbed the steps.
"Maybe," Zane shrugged. "That would put them on a level higher than either the Werewolves or the Vampires. They haven't had any real werewolves or vampires in their houses for centuries."
James asked, "What about the Pixies, Igors, and Zombies?"
"I don't know about the Pixies or Igors," Zane said, reaching for the huge knocker, "but the old President of Zombie House was this crotchety professor named Straidthwait, and he taught class for nearly a week before anyone knew he'd died of brain failure or something. Apparently, he'd spent too much time in deepest Africa during a summer vacation and drank a few too many native potions. Once he found out he was dead, he insisted on being buried in the campus cemetery, ambulatory or not." Zane grinned at James and Ralph and clacked the door knocker three times, shaking the big wooden door.
"You're making that up," Ralph insisted. "They didn't bury him alive!"
Zane shook his head. "He wasn't alive. He was dead as a doorknob. Said so himself. I hear he performed his own eulogy and told everyone that he was looking forward to being buried. Said it was going to be like the ultimate retirement. It's engraved on his tomb, in fact. I'll show you sometime."
"No thanks," Ralph replied as the door opened. A small boy with pasty skin and huge glasses looked up at Zane.
"I know you," he said meekly. "You gave me donkey's ears last year."
"Did I?" Zane blinked, thinking. "Could be. I gave a lot of people donkey's ears last year. It was all the rage. Hurt, did it?"
The boy stared up at Zane. "No. But it made me want to eat lots of carrots. And it made it easier to hear the lectures in Mageography. I didn't mind, really."
"Good man," Zane said heartily, clapping the boy on the shoulder. The boy tottered.
"I'm James," James said, stepping forward. "And this here's Ralph. We're… er… Bigfoots."
"You sure are," the boy said, looking up and down at Ralph.
"I remember you," Zane said, squinting. "Pastington, right?"
"Paddington," the boy corrected. "Wentworth Paddington."
"Can we come in?" Ralph asked hopefully. "Only, we'd like to get settled into our new rooms. If we have to sleep in the common dorm with that crazy clockwork monkey for one more night…"
"Oh, sure," the boy said blandly, stepping backwards. "Everything's pretty much wherever you find it. The dormitories are all up on the third floor. Game room's in the basement. Everything in between is what it is."
James stepped into the foyer of the house. It was neat and high with a small unlit chandelier dangling overhead. A dusty banner drooped from the chandelier, faded with age. Dark blue letters on an orange background spelled the words 'BIGFOOT PRUDE'.
"Oh, that," Wentworth said, following James' gaze. "That was made by Kowalski's mom when he was a freshman. English isn't exactly her first language, but Kowalski was so proud of it that we couldn't bring ourselves to take it down."
Zane nodded up at the banner. "Makes perfect sense to me, Went. So where's the party at anyway?"
Wentworth blinked behind his huge glasses. "Party?"
"Where's the rest of your Bigfoot pals?" Zane clarified. "And your president? James and Ralph here should probably meet them all, shouldn't they?"
"Oh," Wentworth said uncertainly. "Sure. I guess so. Come on." He turned and padded away, heading toward a huge stairway that dominated the main hall. After a sidelong glance at Ralph and Zane, James followed.
As the four descended into the mansion's basement, they heard a babble of voices and the clack and clatter of billiard balls. Turning a landing at the base of the stairs, James found himself in a low, cluttered room, filled with mismatched sofas and chairs, end tables, and a small galaxy of lamps with battered shades. Students lounged in groups throughout the space or drifted around a collection of very antique game tables in the dimmer recesses of the basement room. A huge white refrigerator sat like a deflated blimp in the corner, flanked by a stuffed deer's head on one side and a moose head on the other. The moose head wore a tasseled nightcap and seemed to be sleeping. None of the occupants of the room looked up as James, Ralph, and Zane entered.
"He's over there," Wentworth pointed. "In the middle, with his feet on the disarmadillo."
James followed Wentworth's gesture and saw the President of Bigfoot House lounging on a low orange sofa, his feet propped on a small animal that appeared to be half aardvark and half tank. James recognized the man as the one who had sat next to his father at Professor Longbottom's assembly. With a start, he realized that his father was sitting next to the man even now, laughing happily and holding a bottle of some American beer. Harry saw his son from across the room, grinned and waved him over.
"I heard you'd been assigned to Bigfoot House," he called as James, Ralph, and Zane threaded through the various chairs and tables. "You couldn't have found a better home. Er, no matter what path got you here," he added, smiling crookedly.
"Hey, Mr. Potter," Zane grinned, plopping onto a nearby chair.
James settled onto a low, bowed sofa and sighed. "So you heard, eh?"
"I suspect most of magical Philadelphia knows by now," Harry replied. "You're a Potter, after all. Your picture will probably be on the front page of the Daily Prophet by tomorrow morning, along with a pithy caption written by Rita Skeeter herself."
James slumped on the sofa. "Bloody hell. You really think so?"
"Who cares? You won't be there to see it, at least."
Zane stroked his chin. "Knowing Rose, she'll cut it out and send it to you, though." He glanced at Ralph, who nodded.
"However you got here," the man on the sofa next to Harry smiled, "Bigfoot House is proud to have you." The man was relatively young and quite thin with a neat dark haircut and mild features. James could tell by his lack of American accent that he was not originally from the United States.
"Yeah, well, we're glad to finally have a home, I guess," Ralph commented. "Even being a leftover is better than being stuck in the common dorm."
"Oh, we don't have leftovers in Bigfoot House," the House President said, straightening and producing his wand from a back pocket. "
All Bigfoots are essential members of the clan. One for all and all for one. Go orange and blue!" With that, the man pointed his wand at James. There was a flash and James startled. He glanced down at himself and saw that his black tie had been transformed to a bright autumn orange, and his blazer was now dark blue. Another flash lit the room and Ralph's uniform was transformed as well.
"Not so handsome as Zombie yellow," Zane said critically, "but better than plain black at any rate. You were starting to look like those stiffs from the Magical Integration Bureau."
"Everyone listen up," the president of the house announced loudly, taking his feet off the disarmadillo and sitting up straight. "This is James Potter and Ralph Deedle, the newest members of Bigfoot House. Let's show them a nice welcome, eh?"
Halfhearted cheers and applause filled the room, lingering rather pathetically as the president beamed at James and Ralph. The disarmadillo wandered slowly away, sniffing at the skirts of the sofas and munching the occasional piece of stale popcorn. When the noise of the cheers finally petered out, James flopped back into the depths of the sofa again.
"So how do you two know each other anyway?" he asked, looking back and forth between his dad and the Bigfoot President.
"Oh, your father and I go way back," the president smiled. "I helped make him the man he is today, in fact. Gave him his first shot, back when he was just a little squitter who barely knew how to hold a wand."
"I think it was Professor McGonagall who actually got me on the team," Harry corrected, shaking his head and smiling. "You just taught me what I needed to know to not get killed on the pitch."
"And a good job I did, too!"
"Anyway," Harry laughed, "as it turns out, James, yours and Ralph's new house is headed up by one of the best professors on campus. He came to the States years ago and, for reasons I can't even begin to guess, decided not to leave. James, Ralph, this is my old friend and fellow Gryffindor, your new president, Oliver Wood."
"Wood!" Zane proclaimed, smacking his forehead. "That's your name, not Birch. I was close, though, wasn't I?" He grinned aside at James and Ralph.