(will be continued episodically)

Cambridge, September 2008


Cal leaned against the heavy door of the lecture hall. He was late; the room was packed. At its front he caught a glimpse of the wildly fluffy white head and thick spectacles of Professor Prospero Carlisle, noted theoretical physicist, chemist, and--he knew--Potions Master, published in one of the more obscure and theoretical quarterlies, which Cal followed religiously. Today's lecture was on the theoretical possibilities of the tenth dimension, a topic Cal found mundane enough when Professor Inglesworth brought it up in seminar. He squinted through the glass door, face pressed against it uncomfortably. Those equations--

"Excuse me."

He whirled around and felt his bookbag connect with something soft. "Oh--I--"

The taller student raised one eyebrow at him and shoved through, and Cal followed before the door could rebound on him, to take a spot toward the back, half-hidden behind a wall-hanging.

After the lecture, he waited until nearly everyone had dispersed. Professor Carlisle was gathering his papers at the podium, shuffling them into place; he looked up when Cal, approaching, stumbled and knocked over a chair.

"Sorry. Hello. I'm--" He fiddling with one sleeve, then took another step forward and extended his hand. "I'm Calixtus Ferox, Professor, I've read some of your work?" The words trailed off uncertainly, leaning toward the quizzical or confused. He was suddenly afraid there had been a mistake, that it wasn't the right Prospero Carlisle, that--

"Mr Ferox." Carlisle began methodically tucking his papers into his briefcase, still leaning against the podium. "The name sounds somewhat familiar. But we've never had a Ferox at Cambridge before. Generally, your family is of Salem or Florence, correct?" Just as slowly, still painstaking and arthritic, Carlisle drew a wand out of his sleeve and tapped at his briefcase, which locked itself.

Cal drew a relieved breath. "Yes. That's right. I've been following your work, your work on dimensionality and temporal applications of Transfiguration--it's groundbreaking. I'm here for my physics degree, but if you could spare a moment of your time--"

Carlisle's wiry, sparse eyebrows flexed; contracted. He tucked his briefcase under one arm and walked around the podium, looking somewhat younger than he had previously. He put one hand on Cal's shoulder, which was trembling with some constant K, Cal was sure, and smiled.

"Would you like to join me for a cup of tea, Mr. Ferox?"