Magus Meridian

Chapter One -

Wolfsbane

Human. Human blood. Over there. It's small and juicy. Get it. Jump on it. Bite the human. Teeth. Neck. Bite its arm. Blood. It's making noises. Make it stop. Bite it. Stop it's yelling. Rip its arm, lick it-

PAIN!

Run. Get away. Leave the human. Leave the blood...

***

"Shit!"
"Come on, Dan, he's gone. Let's get her to Sick Bay."

"I don't think Band-Aids would do much for this."

"You're an idiot. Here, grab her feet. I'm just gonna... oh God, her arm's totally dislocated."

"Ugh. Nightingale is going to be wild."

"We can deal with Nightingale later. Got the door?"

"Yeah."
"Thanks, mate."

***

Magus Meridian Magical College was unlike a school you'd see in any other part of the world. To begin with, it was founded in the middle of the Australian bush less than 200 years ago by a hodge-podge group of free-settling wizards and witches with alarming senses of humour. The school itself was a large sandstone affair, a manor house, as was the style at the time. The main building, as with the various outbuildings and sheds, maintained a seemingly normal appearance from the outside. However, upon entrance one realised the old charm had been set into place, and even the smallest of tin sheds appeared to be quite as large as a Quidditch pitch on the inside. The small, weather boarded dunny at the far end of the grounds in fact housed the school dragon, Charlie, and was located conveniently near his personal pasture of black-faced sheep. (However, it was also unfortunately close to abandoned termite mounds full of stinging Billywigs, which infuriated the dragon to no end and sometimes meant his sheep were barbecued before he could enjoy chasing them.)

The closest Muggle townships were situated hundreds of kilometres away, so the only concession to Muggle-proofing was a thin, wiggling wire fence strung around the massive boundaries of the school, which did little to keep even curious dingoes and kangaroos out. As a result, many of the wild animals were wandering around the bush suffering various magical maladies - an extra tail, or a remarkable bubble-breathing ability, thanks to the students who made a practice of testing spells upon them (something that was officially frowned upon by the administration, but didn't stop Professor Marks joining in every now and then with his renowned Fire-Farting Hex).

Of course, a dusty old road still ran out the front of the school, but when the occasional trucker passed by and looked twice they'd usually put it down to themselves spending too long on the road or having one too many of Trev's 'special bikkies'. The odd student on a broomstick or the opaline flash of dragon wings went unreported to Muggle authorities, and the trucker who admitted he'd seen some orange winged horses out for a flight was generally laughed out of the pub.

Quidditch at Magus Meridian was, of course, considered both a noble pursuit and fantastic waste of time. Four separate sporting houses (into which students were placed in a random, completely haphazard fashion) each had their own team - Brusselbrook, who played in purple, had a fantastic defence, and Sparrowdell, in orange, which liked to place emphasis on catching the Snitch before anything else. There, too, was Featherwood, in bright yellow, who were proud of their Chasers (three old Feathers were currently on the Australian National Team) and Heraldbirch in green, who just liked to whack the shit out of everyone else with Beater's bats and whatever else relatively heavy they could find.

There were two Quidditch pitches on the grounds, their golden hoops rising higher than the Headmistress' tower office, but not quite as high as the numerous eucalyptus trees that surrounded the entire job (the trees, however, made a fantastic spot to watch practice, as long as you could find your way up to the prime branches without the teachers noticing - ever since a second-year fell on top of the snotty Mrs Featherington whilst she was watching a leisurely game with her pet Pomeranian, Mr Diddles, it had been expressly banned).

One other thing Magus Meridian had was a 17-year-old werewolf that roamed the grounds at full moon. His name was Felix Ashman, he was a Prefect, and he was in big trouble.

***

Stumbling in the dark, Felix staggered through the trees and undergrowth to his little shed, the last remnants of fur still clinging to his naked body, the blood of his victim staining his face. He threw up in a patch of leaves and wiped his mouth on the back of his arm, sobbing as he threw open the shed door and wrapped his old cloak around himself.

He couldn't remember whom it was he'd bitten. A werewolf's mind isn't built for that sort of thing. Transformed, his only desire was to hunt humans, and now, after six uneventful years of wandering the school grounds - one attack - the instinct had finally, momentarily, been calmed.

Felix wandered to the small shower in the corner of his shed, turned the hot tap on and scrubbed at his body with a ragged old flannel.

It wasn't his fault he'd been bitten back when he was ten, visiting America with his family. He and his sister Melinda - yes, he'd said a million times before, THE Melinda Ashman, now Captain of the Hobart Hobgoblins - had unknowingly gone wandering one full moon night. A single old werewolf had attacked them, but Melinda - with reflexes becoming of the Brussel Keeper - had dodged aside, leaving Felix to be ravaged.

Felix wasn't bitter. It was just something that had happened. At least he'd survived, and he'd gone on to Magus Meridian and made friends - something he'd heard it was terribly hard to do in many other countries, where lycanthropy was horrendously feared. Not many other societies would have accepted him with a slap on the back and 'She'll be right, mate.'

He was lucky.

Felix spat out a mouthful of red, rubbed at his face and watched the blood rinse from his hands, his guts chilled in horror.

He hoped his victim was lucky too.

***

Twelve-year-old Darcy Quigley surreptitiously poked at his Game Boy with his wand. He'd been playing it all through the holidays, and come back to school halfway through Pokémon Red (his Charmeleon was near evolution) to realise that it wasn't going to work. He was trying to charm it to work by magic, but unfortunately hadn't quite figured out the right incantation.

He looked up from his work to stare at his big sister, in the Sick Bay bed. Against her spiky blonde hair, her face was abnormally white. Her freckled skin had paled to grey, matching the old bandages wrapped around her head, neck and left arm. Purple-black bruises were starting to form all over the visible parts of her arms. Aside from that, something wasn't right. Darcy put down his Game Boy, studied Fen's face while rubbing his chin and letting out a studied "Hmm" before realising someone had put her red, plastic old-lady glasses (they put one in mind of Dame Edna, especially that time when Fen had accidentally turned herself purple) on the table beside the bed. Carefully, he unfolded them and put them on Fen's face - whoops, poked her eye a bit there - and tried to bend them to fit her face better. There. That looked all right. He sat down on her bed and started trying to press her mouth into a grin.

"Argh!" A strangled scream came from under his fingers and Fen sat up, panting. "Shit!" She looked at her brother, eyes wild as she tried to pull herself free of the scratchy Sick Bay blankets. "Darce! What are you - oof!"

They fell out of the bed in an ungainly tangle of freckled limbs, Darcy banging his tailbone on the tiled floor and Fen landing smack on top of him, her elbow sticking in his chest.

"Ow!" Darcy tried to roll over, squinting at his Game Boy, which had joined them on the floor. His precious bit of plastic was lying on its face, batteries slightly dislodged. Darcy reached to flip it over, and his heart skipped a beat as he caught a slight flickering on the screen. His attention was diverted, however, as he realised that his sister was awake, sprawled on top of him in a very uncool and pretty uncomfortable way, and that the Headmistress was running into the room in hurried conversation with the nurse, Mary.

Fen dragged herself to her feet. "Next time, Darce," she mumbled uneasily as she pulled herself back into bed, "I wake up in Sick Bay, please refrain from sitting on me." She adjusted her tear-drop shaped glasses and blinked. "Poking in the eye is also for no."

Darcy grinned at her.

The Headmistress had reached their bedside. Dr Nightingale pushed strands of grey hair out of her eyes while trying to maintain some composure. "Good morning Fenella," she managed pleasantly, as if she had spotted her down at the shops, rather than sitting in the Sick Bay since midnight after being notified a student had been mangled by another student in his werewolf form and was likely going to become one herself. "We've, er, got a few things to tell you."

"That's good," Fen said with a wan, slightly crooked, smile.

"Oh yeah, you were bitten by the werewolf guy!" Darcy supplied chirpily. "I didn't tell you. I've been here since six-thirty and I still can't get my Game Boy to work properly. You take Transfiguration, don't you Fen? Maybe it could be something to do with changing the batteries into something else."

"Darcy," the Headmistress managed, smiling at him indulgently despite the rise in her voice, "your sister will be just - just fine now. You can go and have some breakfast, if you like." Her eyes turned back to Fen, whose smile was flickering as she looked between the nurse, Dr Nightingale, and her little brother.

Darcy frowned and played with the Game Boy's 'on' switch for a second.

"Right-o. See you, Fen. Don't let the bed bugs bite."

***

The toast had gone a little cold and the flies were starting to get into the jam, but it was still okay, Darcy thought, jamming the last crust into his mouth and finishing it off with a swig of orange juice. He had Potions first up this morning, and he knew for a fact that Professor Marks had been collecting fresh frogspawn yesterday, so it was likely to be something really gross.

"G'day, Darce, mate." Fen's best friend, Fox, swung his lanky legs into the seat beside Darcy. "I hear the old lady's in Sick Bay."

"Yeah." Darcy chewed on the inside of his cheek. "She was bitten by the werewolf. Pretty cool, huh?"

Fox's long face was pensive for a second under his alarming mop of curly hair. "I don't know about that."

Darcy shrugged. "Everyone thinks the other werewolf is awesome. Isn't he a prefect?"

Fox's eye twitched. "Yeah, the smarmy arsehole." He looked serious, something that was very unbecoming to his face. "My great-great-uncle Harold was a werewolf, back in England. Gran says they were awful to him. One time he even had a bounty on his head, until the Werewolf Registration laws came in."

"Hmph," Darcy snorted, his twelve-year-old world knowledge coming into play. "They don't do that now. Not in Australia."

Fox chewed thoughtfully on a bit of Vegemite toast. "Lucky old Fen, eh?"

"She'll have an awesome scar on her neck," Darcy prophesised, a wicked smile on his face. "I'll call her Scar Neck."

"Hopeless," Fox groaned.

"Wolf Girl?" Darcy suggested eagerly.

"Grumblebum will be more like it." Fox flicked his crust onto Darcy's plate.

"What about Bitey?" Darcy wheedled.

"Do you know why she was out on full moon?" Fox tried to ask.

"Nup," Darcy shrugged. He looked thoughtfully at the ornate plaster-worked ceiling for a second. "Fenzilla!"

"You're getting there, mate," Fox sighed, clambering to his feet.

***

"I was collecting whortleberry leaves on the full moon at midnight," Fen said, pulling a face. There was still an unspoken question in Dr Nightingale's eyes. Fen sighed. "For my Potions assessment. It's for my NEWT, Doctor, I couldn't afford to order any in-"

"Then you should have picked a different potion, Fenella. I need not remind you now of the dangers of going outside on a full moon. Not only is there our Felix to deal with, there are numbers of unregistered werewolves roaming the bush. You're just lucky-"

"Lucky that I'm a werewolf?" Fen snorted, interrupting.

"Miss Quigley," the Headmistress said quietly. "In this situation, it is entirely your own fault. I suggest you meet with Felix to discuss how you're going to cope. I trust you know who he is - he's in the year below you if you don't. Although I presume he'll find you first. Have a good day."

She turned, her sensible robes rustling, and strode off to talk to Mary.

Fen slouched down into her pillows, rubbing hard at the tear that threatened to spill from her right eye. Old bat. Where did Nightingale get off telling her that being cursed for life was her own fault? Sure she'd disobeyed curfew. But Felix Ashman wasn't exactly innocent either. How could he be, Fen mused, when he was running around with a chunk of her neck in his belly?

Fen sighed, wiping her damp face on her shirt. They'd dressed her in the horrible pink flanno jammies that Gran had given her for Christmas. Mum had insisted she pack them, maintaining that the old tracky daks and singlet Fen usually wore to bed weren't good enough to parade around in a dorm full of other 'obviously cultured and well-groomed' teenage witches. Her mother obviously hadn't met the majority of Fen's roommates, or indeed imagined that Ness McCullough's skimpy marijuana-print nightie existed.

Fen laughed to herself. Here she was, bloodied and bandaged in the middle of a life-changing crisis, and she was worried about being seen in teddy-bear print.

So, she thought, trying to gather all the things flying around in her head, I'm a werewolf. Change into a hirsute, snarling monster thing once a month, run around trying to bite people's throats out. Well, that wasn't much different to usual. Most of the school thought she was bonkers anyway.

Hm. Fen straightened her glasses and looked at the double doors leading out of Sick Bay. She'd heard a bit about this Felix fellow, mainly that his sister was captain of the Hobart Hobgoblins, who were currently coming second in the Antipodean League. Felix himself, she remembered, was a Prefect, and Fox (along with the other purebloods - blue-bloods, they were generally called - whose families had moved from England) had been disgusted that a werewolf could attain such an honour. Fen had punched him and said he was just a jealous bastard. He'd tipped his Pumpkin juice on her head, and then Mr Allison had given them both detention.

Fen paled. Surely Fox's views on werewolves wouldn't extend to her. They'd been best mates since Year Eight, when they'd both tried out for the same Beater position in the Heraldbirch Quidditch Team. (Fox got the spot, but Fen joined up a few weeks later when the other Beater had left, citing that Fox was 'bloody mad' and they had to study for their NEWTS that year anyway. The bump on the head that Fox had given him when he swung at a Bludger and missed probably didn't help much either.)

For the second time in that hour, Fen tried to get out of bed. She fared much better this time, only stumbling when her bare feet hit the cold tiles, and realising that, shit, she had lost a lot of blood last night. Fen steadied herself on the bed beside her.

"Hey," the year nine boy across the aisle (who was fighting off a bout of Spattergroit) said uneasily. "Aren't you s'posed to stay in bed?"

Fen scratched her head sheepishly. "Erm. Gotta wee. Yeah, that's it."

"You don't look like you can make it," the kid said with a grin. "Besides, there are bedpans. Have you used one? They're kind of weird."

"Thanks for the info, Spotty," Fen grumbled. "Listen, do you know if they lock those doors?" She pointed at the entrance to the Sick Bay.

The boy shrugged and resumed reading his comic.

"Fine." Fen said bravely. She shuffled towards the exit.

***

Still halfway through putting his robes on, Felix dashed through the halls to Sick Bay. Mary was noisily sorting through her potions, mumbling to herself as she tried to find Essence of Wormwood, her abundant backside wobbling.

"Mary!" Felix half-yelled, causing the nurse to jump and toss a bottle of tincture into the air. He caught it and held it out for her. "Who did I bite? Is - are they okay? They in here?"

Mary held a hand to her chest, catching her breath. "Master Felix," she swooned in her Scottish lilt. "Don't be sneaking up on me like that. Now, your little patient is here, she'll manage."

Felix winced. "It's a she?" He had a mental image of a tiny first-year in pigtails, big blue eyes looking mournfully up from a pile of bandages. He nervously toyed with his Prefect badge and tried to smooth his hair. "Could I see her?"

Mary folded her arms with a thin little smile. "Off you go then. Headmistress said she'd need to see you anyway. You don't need any healing today, before you leave?"

"I'll be right," Felix said, his throat tight. He pushed open the double doors into the Sick Bay, taking a hurried stride.

And collided with a tall, skinny something in pink flanno. They both fell over. The pink flanno cursed. Felix leapt to his feet and stared down at his assailant.

A round-faced girl with a turned-up nose and weird spiky hair was sitting on the tiles, her cheeks bright pink. Pointy red glasses sat crooked on her nose. She grinned up at him. "You must be Felix."

Felix stood still, blinked a little. "I know you."

He didn't really. He knew her name was Quigley, she was in the year above him, and she was alternately praised and cursed by the Potions teacher, Professor Marks. She played Quidditch - Beater, he remembered - and once he'd heard that she and her Beater friend had flown a pair of Mrs Featherington's undies from the middle hoop during a game of Quidditch. He knew that she looked ridiculous in those pyjamas - and that she was now a werewolf.

"Sorry to interrupt your navel-gazing," an amused voice said from below him, "but I'd appreciate a bit of help getting up. This whole 'getting bitten by a werewolf' thing takes a lot out of you."

Felix blinked, shaking himself back into action. He stuck out a hand and helped pull the shaky girl to her feet, a little amused to find that, standing up, she was exactly the same height as his towering six foot.

"But you'd know all about that," the girl continued, smiling at him.

"Hm?" Felix tried to remember what she'd been saying.

"Getting bitten," she restated. "You were a werewolf before you came here, weren't you? I remember the blue-bloods were a bit grumpy when they heard a werewolf would be starting here." She pulled herself onto the closest bed and sat there watching him.

"I was ten." Felix sat down on the bed across from her. "It happened when I was visiting America. My parents went mad trying to find me a cure."

She snorted. "I don't think I have to worry about that. Mum's a muggle, and one of Dad's mates in Perth is a werewolf. My little brother thinks it's positively awesome." Her face looked tense for a second. "But I assume it doesn't have many good points."

Felix shrugged. "You don't have to take Astronomy lessons."

"Fat lot of use that is to me now," the girl grinned. "I've already got my OWL in them, and I was just starting to study for my NEWTS. I guess I'll have to take another subject."

Felix opened his mouth to agree when Mary bustled in, a goblet in her hand.

"Ah, Miss Quigley. Here, I've whipped you up a quick Pepper-Up potion, it'll take away a few of those aches and pains. You'll still feel flu-ey for a week or two, but what do you expect, hm? Now, once you're done, let me check under those bandages. Felix here gave you quite a nasty old bite, and we all know that werewolf injuries don't heal cleanly. I'll just check on my little spotty friend first, all right?"

Felix cleared his throat. "Well, I, erm, better be going then." He stood up, giving the girl a wobbly version of his winning smile. "I'll come and see you again this afternoon - er... Miss Quigley."

"It's Fen," the girl said, wincing as she swallowed the potion and steam started spewing out of her ears. "And I'll probably be on Number 2 Quidditch pitch. I'm not staying in this god-forsaken Sick Bay all week."

"Hey," the boy with Spattergroit interjected from across the room, as Mary puffed up his pillows, "it's not that bad."

Fen rolled her eyes as the steam poured out of her ears, giving Felix the distinct impression that she'd gone mad. "I'll take your word for it, my spotty friend."

***

My dearest Doctor Nightingale;

It has become known to us that your student, Mr Felix Ashman (werewolf), has committed the terrible crime of biting a fellow student, Miss Fenella Quigley, resulting in Miss Quigley's contracting of Lycanthropy. We at the Ministry can comprehend the amounts of paperwork that this attack will entail, and of course completely understand that you have been unable to inform us yourself.

Unfortunately, as Australian Magical Law demands, we have had to report this attack to the Werewolf Regulation Office (WRO) at the British Ministry of Magic, who were quite shocked that something so horrendous could occur in the safe confines of the school grounds. Two British WRO representatives and, of course, myself will be calling by this afternoon to discuss Werewolf Safety Measures at the school and the continuing educations of Mr Ashman and Miss Quigley.

Hoping you are well;

Franciscus T. Higgins

Minster for Magic.

***

"Afternoon Frank," the Headmistress greeted the Minister for Magic as he stepped out of her fireplace, absently brushing soot from his large belly and half-head of stringy greying hair. With his green three-piece suit and red cloak, he looked a little like a bald Father Christmas.

"Ah, Annie," he managed, looking behind him to see if the two representatives that had accompanied him were on their way. "I think... we might be in a bit of trouble here." He looked around her cluttered tower room, at the blooming potted plants and boxes overfilling with parchment, peering around the sides of rickety bookshelves. "Are the students here?"

"They've just been sent for," Anne Nightingale sighed. "What are those pre-judging pen-pushers going to do to them?"

"Nothing too horrible," an accented voice piped from the fireplace. "That was lovely alliteration, by the way."

A thin girl, no older than twenty, with orange hair and square glasses smiled at the two. "Hello. I'm Yolanda Jo-"

"Er- Miss Jones," a croaky voice broke in. "Sit down and take out your parchment, please."

Yolanda sat quickly as her superior cleared his throat and blew his nose with great fanfare, then proceeded to hold out his hand for Dr Nightingale to shake. She dropped it rather quickly.

"Lionel Grimlock," the man introduced himself, dabbing at his red nose once more. "Sorry, excuse me, I've got a bit of a head cold. Winter back home, you know. Frightfully chilly."

"I'm sure." The Headmistress smiled thinly, trying to ignore the used handkerchief balled on her desk. "Could... could I offer you all some tea?"

Grimlock ignored the hopeful look on Yolanda's face, gesturing with a new handkerchief. "Oh, no, no thank you Anne - may I call you Anne? - Far too hot for that right now. No, let's get to business." He cleared his throat once more and plopped into the armchair behind him.

"Now..." He crossed his legs, conjuring a sheaf of parchment. "What kind of anti-werewolf protection does the school have, to begin with?"

Yolanda's charmed quill jumped and scribbled its way across the page, then quivered in anticipation.

Dr Nightingale bit at the inside of her lip and tried to sound collected. "We do advise the students to not go outside on full moon, of course-"

"Of course," Grimlock allowed. "I do, however, mean your wards. Do you use a monthly reinforcing charm?"

"I'm afraid," Dr Nightingale said forcefully, "that we do not. It is not in the school's wishes to exclude any student, especially if they have important needs."

"Needs?" Grimlock seemed to sputter, drawing himself to his full height. "You understand, madam, that the werewolf is a dangerous and underestimated foe! They actively seek to kill! The Ministry itself-"

"Um," Felix's voice came from the doorway. "Have we come at a bad time?"

All the heads in the room swivelled towards the pair, standing wide-eyed in their orange-and-black uniforms, the picture of innocence.

"We can wait outside," Fen offered earnestly.

The Headmistress smiled. "Mr Ashman, Miss Quigley. It's nice you've decided to join us. Mr Grimlock was becoming most... anxious."

Grimlock, hiding behind the premise of blowing his nose, allowed a little wave.

"You both know Minister Higgins," Dr Nightingale continued. With a sharp glance at Frank (who was earnestly shaking hands with Felix), she added, "and there will be no mention of Mr Ashman's extraordinarily talented sister. Just this once."

She clasped her hands together and looked straight at Grimlock. "Now, to the matter of this pair's 'continuing education,' don't you think?"

Grimlock blinked, nodding his head. He looked down at his notes, then looked up at Nightingale again. "...Surely you have at least an Anti-Muggle charm, it's hardly-"

"We've never had a need for such a preposterous thing, Mr Grimlock." The Headmistress' voice grew tight. "Please return to the topic at hand, I'm beginning to lose my patience."

There was silence for a second, until Grimlock cleared his throat.

"Hmm," he managed. "Well. There isn't a - a great deal of opportunities - what I mean is, there is yet to be found a cure for this condition; as I was saying before, it is exceedingly dangerous. There is, of course, the study of Wolfsbane potions, which have been somewhat successful in Britain and parts of Europe." Grimlock fidgeted, trying not to look at the students beside him.

"Begging your pardon, sir," Felix spoke up, "but I've researched the Wolfsbane potion. It's a little more advanced than my level, I understand that only a very talented wit-" he stopped halfway through, staring at Fen as if he'd only just realised she existed.

The four other heads in the room swivelled to face her.

"I'm not that good," Fen choked.

Nightingale flicked her wand at one of the cabinets behind her, an orange folder flying out and landing neatly on her desk.

"Miss Quigley," the Headmistress said slowly, running a finger down columns of grades. "You've never achieved anything less than an O in your Advanced Potions class. Professor Marks is forever chorusing about your innumerable fine qualities in Potion-making." She raised her finger in thought. "I also remember telling you to work on a different potion for your NEWT."

"Doctor-" Fen said weakly.

"You'll thank her for this," Grimlock added in brightly.

"Miss Quigley, really," Frank said, fidgeting with the corner of his cloak. "What have you got to lose?"

Fen looked at Felix desperately. He shrugged.

She sighed. "Fine. I'll do it." Paused. "As long as the Ministry pays for the ingredients. Last time I went out to gather potions ingredients I turned into a werewolf."

Felix stifled a laugh, and Nightingale smiled. "I am sure that could be arranged. Frank? You'll see to it?"

The Minster for Magic had slumped a little in his chair. "Yes... yes, of course, Anne. Not a problem."

"Wonderful," the Headmistress said briskly. "Miss Quigley, Mr Ashman, you're free to leave."

"I'll be in contact, Doctor Nightingale." Grimlock got to his feet, and Yolanda hurriedly packed away her notes.

Frank and Anne were left alone in the messy tower office. They looked at each other. Sighed. Anne gave a flustered little smile. "Firewhiskey, Frank?"

---*----

Glossary

Antipodean Opaleye: A dragon native to New Zealand, which may migrate to Australia. It is considered the most beautiful dragon - its scales are pearly, and it is named due to its eyes, which are glittering and multicoloured.

Bikkies: Short for Biscuits, also known to Americans as cookies. 'Trev's Special Bikkies' is a reference to hash cookies.

Billywigs: First described in JK's Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them. The Billywig is a small blue insect native to Australia. Its sting causes giddiness and levitation, however allergic reactions and abusing them as drugs can cause permanent levitation, as you will see!

Dame Edna: A brash, aged, purple-haired transvestite comedienne. Famous for her terrible style sense, including massive glittery decorative glasses, and calling everyone 'possums.'

Dunny: A small (4 foot square) outdoor shed with a toilet leftover from pre-plumbing times. Generally located as far away from the main house as practical.

The entire job: Seems to confuse some people. In this case, you could replace the word 'job' with 'thing' - as in 'A fence surrounded the entire thing.'

Flanno: Flannelette, or flannel. The stuff winter sheets and PJ's are made of.

Hodge Podge: generally messy. In this case, a 'hodge-podge group of wizards' would be wizards from all walks of life, pureblood, muggleborn, free settlers and foreign immigrants etc.

Jam: What Americans would call jelly. The mushed-up fruity stuff that you spread on toast.

Jammies: (Pronounced Jah-meez) Pyjamas.

Singlet: Tank top.

Tracky Daks: Cornerstone of Australian fashion. Tracksuit pants, or sweat pants. (Pronounced 'Track-ee Dax.')

Vegemite: The great Australian spread. This is something you either love or hate - a thick black yeast-derived spread that goes on toast or sandwiches.

I've had some people wondering how the Australian grade system works. Here's my best explanation. To begin with, our school years start in February and finish in December, since our seasons are the other way round. Our Summer holiday is also our Christmas holiday, a chance to unwind before you start a new year. Australian high schools start in Year 7 - generally when you're about 11 years old (I turned twelve my first year of high school, and I was the youngest). Year 8's would be 12-13, Year 9's 13-14, etc. Fen and Fox are in Year 12, and they're about 18. Felix is about 17, as he's in the year below them. Darcy is in Year 8. OWLs would be taken at the end of Year 10, and NEWTs at the end of Year 12. I've kept the Hogwarts test and grading system, since after all, Australia is still under British rule - the magical society even more so, as you will have gathered from the Grimlock scene.

If you've anything else that needs explaining, feel free to do so in the Review thread!