Book 1 - James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing

Finally, the room hushed. James looked up and saw Professor Jackson entering, carrying something
under his arm. The object was large, flat, and wrapped in cloth.
“Good morning, class,” he said in his usual, brusque manner. “Your last week’s essays are graded and
on my desk. Mr. Murdock, would you mind distributing them, please? On the whole, I am not terribly
disappointed, although I think most of you can be relieved that Hogwarts does not generally grade on the
curve.”
Jackson carefully set his parcel on the desk. As he unfolded the cloth from around it, James could see
that it was a stack of three rather small paintings. He thought of the painting of Severus Snape and his
attention perked up.
“Today is a day for taking notes, I can assure you,” Jackson said ominously. He arranged the
paintings in a row along the shelf of the chalkboard. The first painting was of a thin man with owlish glasses
and an almost perfectly bald head. He blinked at the class, his expression alert and slightly nervous, as if he
expected someone, at any moment, to jump up and shout “Boo!” at him. The next painting was empty but
for a rather bland wooded background. The last showed a fairly ghastly clown in white face with a hideously
large, red smile painted over its mouth. The clown leered inanely at the class and shook a little cane with a
ball on the end. The ball, James noticed with a shudder, was a tiny version of the clown’s own head, grinning
even more insanely.
Murdock finished handing back everyone’s papers and slid back into his own seat. James glanced
down at his essay. On the front, in Jackson’s perfect, left-slanting cursive, were the words, Tepid, but
borderline cogent. Grammar needs work.
“As always, questions about your grades may be submitted to me in writing. Further discussion will
be obtained, as needed, during my office hours, assuming any of you remember where my office is. And now,
onward and upward.” Jackson paced slowly along the line of paintings, gesturing vaguely at them. “As many
of you will recall, in our first class, we had a short discussion, spearheaded by Mr. Walker,” he peered beneath
his bushy eyebrows in Zane’s direction, “about the nature of magical art. I explained that the artist’s
intentions are imbued on the canvas via a magical, psycho-kinetic process, which allows the art to take on a
semblance of motion and attitude. The result is a drawing that moves and mimics life at the whim of the
artist. Today, we will examine a different kind of art, one that represents life in a wholly different way.”
Quills scratched feverishly as the class struggled to keep up with Jackson’s monologue. As usual,
Jackson paced as he spoke.
“The art of magical painting comes in two forms. The first one is just a more lavish version of what I
illustrated in class, which is the creation of purely fanciful imagery based on the imagination of the artist.
This is different from Muggle art only inasmuch as the magical versions may move and emote, based on the
intention--and only within the imaginative boundaries--of the artist. Our friend, Mr. Biggles here, is an
example.” Jackson gestured at the painting of the clown. “Mr. Biggles, thankfully, never existed outside the
imagination of the artist who painted him.” The clown responded to the attention, bobbing in its frame,
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