text: [Themes: Fan fiction, fanfic, magic, treasure hunt, Harry Potter, alchemy, fan fiction, female protagonist, Gay/queer protagonist, homosexual protagonist]
  
  Magic is real.
  
  Or that's what the Headmaster of Hogwarts College--no, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--wants you to think. Assuming that you're not going insane, it seems like he's probably right. How else could you explain the way he appeared out of nowhere, or how he made you speak in rhyming couplets for ten minutes, or how he brought your grandmother's Lladró figurines to life and had them dancing with each other, or packed all your things with the wave of a wand, or...
  
  Then, he asked you to be his new Professor of Muggle Studies. Whatever a "Muggle" is. You just needed to sign the contract, say good-bye to your old place, and you'd be whisked away. By magic. To Scotland. To start your new job immediately.
  
  You asked for a little while to think. What you really meant, of course, was "a little while to go on a bender in celebration of all your notions about life and the world being shattered." That worked out pretty well, except you woke up with a pounding headache and a signed contract. Oh, and an old shoe, which apparently you are supposed to touch whenever you want to be transported. You're not sure how that works, but he put it around here somewhere--you can't quite remember where--and you'd better find it if you want to make it to Hogwarts.
  
  A magical contract is probably pretty unbreakable, yeah?
  
  An exploration of the wonderful world of wizardry, with apologies to J.K. Rowling, by Flourish Klink
  
  Your simple one-room flat, suitable to the needs of a young teacher. The place was advertised as a steal, and everyone who sees it has to admit that its bones are good. Unfortunately, it hasn't been redone since before the Second World War. Also, it's about the size of a postage stamp. It's cheap, anyway... You've got a bed, a wardrobe, a table, and an ancient Aga to cook on. One lonely broadside hangs on the south wall. The door on the north wall leads to the rest of the building. A packed trunk stands in the middle of the floor.
  
  On the table are a contract, a Hogwarts brochure, and a handful of yellow Jelly Babies.
  
  > read: A lot of legalese committing you to teach at Hogwarts for a full year, blah, blah, blah, painful death if you don't fulfill the terms of the contract, blah, blah, blah, then the signatures Albus Dumbledore and Alice Armstrong. Yep. That's your drunk-signature. You'd know it anywhere.
  
  Holy shit. It says that they can erase your memories if you don't actually hold up your end of the deal. It says they can hex you. What does hexing even mean? It doesn't sound very pleasant. ...looks like you're going to have to go to Hogwarts.
  
  [Author's Note: You play as Alice Armstrong, the new Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland, even though you've never heard of "muggles" before and never knew magic was real until the headmaster proved it to you. But when you arrive at the school, you discover that a botched spell has made everyone disappear and you're now trapped within the castle. Is this something you can fix without magic?]
  
  > examine broadside
  Sangita printed it. It's set in black type on white paper--an excerpt of poetry by Shelley.
  
  You read: All day the wizard lady sate aloof,
  Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity,
  Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof;
  Or broidering the pictured poesy
  Of some high tale upon her growing woof,
  Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye
  In hues outshining heaven - and ever she
  Added some grace to the wrought poesy.
  
  Now that you know what you know about magic, having "The Witch of Atlas" on your wall is pretty damn ironic.
  
  > take all from the table
  You can't use ALL in this story. Sorry.
  
  > examine the Babies
  Jelly Babies just like any you'd buy in a shop, except they're all yellow.
  
  The Grand High Mugglewump or whoever he is kept offering you sweets. You tried to slip them down your sleeve so you didn't have to eat any. Hopefully he didn't notice. Even if you liked Jelly Babies, you probably couldn't have kept them down--you were pretty much in shock after he appeared unexpectedly in your flat. Maybe he thought that raising your blood sugar would help? Do wizards even have blood sugar? Well, of course they have blood sugar, they're human, aren't they? ...aren't they? God, this is not a good line of thinking.
  
  > take the Babies
  Taken.
  
  > examine the brochure
  A tri-fold brochure, like you'd see in any admissions office. This one just happens to have moving pictures, including an aerial view of a craggy, hodgepodge castle that must be Hogwarts itself.
  
  You read:
  
  Headmaster Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump International Confed. of Wizards)--et cetera, et cetera.
  
  ...wait a minute. That's not what the brochure said when Dumbledore gave it to you at your interview. Then, it was about Hogwarts College--not Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry--and it was all about how Hogwarts provides extensive bursaries for nearly all its students, and how they follow a unique educational programme, focusing on life skills and personal interests. And the pictures didn't move--and there certainly wasn't a picture of students flying around on broomsticks--and the section about Hogwarts's history didn't mention that most of the historical alumni still live there as ghosts.
  
  Of course, now that you think about it, it must have been an enchanted brochure. After you accepted the job and Dumbledore broke the news about magic to you, its nature changed. That makes as much sense as anything seems to lately.
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a Hogwarts brochure
  a contract
  a handful of yellow Jelly Babies
  an identity card
  
  > examine the identity card
  The usual lilac-and-salmon card, with a picture of you looking awfully peaked.
  
  You read: ALICE ARMSTRONG.
  
  > examine the trunk
  A steamer trunk that once belonged to your grandmother, covered in dingy brown canvas and lined with outstandingly ugly floral-sprigged paper. You can't see the paper, of course, because it's closed, stuffed to the brim with your clothes and knicknacks.
  
  Headmaster Dumbledore waved around that ridiculous wand and everything just jumped in there. The Lladrós even wrapped themselves up in newsprint to make sure they wouldn't crack! That probably convinced you more than anything--parlor tricks aside, absolutely nothing could make all your stuff fit in that little trunk except magic.
  
  > open the trunk
  There's nothing on top of the trunk, and you'd better not look inside. Everything's packed, and if you opened it you probably couldn't get it closed again. Anyway, you know that the old shoe's not in there.
  
  > take the trunk
  That's too heavy for you, and anyway, why would you want to carry it?
  
  > look at the wardrobe
  Sturdy, tall, wooden; a relic of your Grandma Gigi. The inside is lined with outstandingly ugly floral-sprigged paper, twin to the trunk she also left you.
  
  > open the drawer
  You bought the bed when you broke up with Sangita. The drawer was the selling point: so functional! Now that it's about to go into storage (well, that's what the Headmaster said would happen, anyway. Maybe it's going to go into a pocket dimension or something. Who knows?) you're feeling a bit wistful. Sangita was great, and you still pretty much miss her. It's been a year, though, and you'd better get over it. Maybe it's a good thing you're starting over in Scotland. There definitely won't be anything there to remind you of her.
  
  Nothing inside, not even dust--no old shoe.
  
  > open the wardrobe
  You can remember Grandma reading you the Narnia books; you used to hide inside the wardrobe, behind her fur coats, and pound on the back wall to see if anyone in Narnia, on the other side, could hear you. The sound of the door creaking open brings it all back: the scent of the moth balls, the feel of her papery skin, the heavy warmth of the coats around you.
  
  No old shoe here, either. All this searching is doing exactly nothing for your headache.
  
  > examine table
  An old plastic-topped table. A bit wobbly.
  
  > examine aga
  An ancient Aga, with the classic black top and white front panels, rusty and unassuming. At least the stove is functional, and you use the oven for storage.
  
  Actually, part of why you ended up taking this flat is the Aga. It's sentimental, really. When you were a small child, your parents' house had one just like it. Your mother never liked to cook--for her, a family meal meant going round the corner for curry take-away instead of actually sitting down in a restaurant--but whenever your grandmother came to visit, she'd make the most incredible meals on that crummy old thing. You can still practically taste everything--she did all the standards, a roast one day, bubble and squeak the next, tarts and scones and pies. Unfortunately, she never taught you any of it.