Archive of Our Own

They met for the first time when they were both thirteen, shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley.

It wasn’t that they met, really, but that was the first time they saw each other. Alfred, bored while waiting for his cousin Arthur to finish up in Flourish and Blotts, had decided to go gaze at the broomsticks in the shop across the way. Matthew, who had been following family friend Francis through the crowds, had glanced over just in time to lock eyes with Alfred as the other boy stepped out into the street.

They’d turned back to their original directions almost immediately. Neither had spared a glance back at the other—they were simply passer-bys, strangers with their own pre-decided agendas that did not include a second party.

.

The second time they saw each other, it was during the Welcome-Back Feast.

Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams, both transferring into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had found themselves sharing a boat as they and the first-years were taken to the castle. Neither had talked to the other—while both boys were comfortable on the water, it seemed rude to disrupt the experience the first-years were having. Or lack thereof, as one young wizard yelped that he’d never been on a boat before.

They hadn’t spoken either, not until Deputy Headmaster Professor Filius Flitwick had left them in the alcove to introduce the incoming class to the rest of the school. Then the whisperings started, and Alfred drew up the courage to turn to Matthew and ask where he was transferring in from.

“Beauxbatons,” Matthew replied, tugging the wizard’s hat on his head further down his head. “I wanted to come earlier, but my father wouldn’t let me. What about you?”

“I’m originally from the great ol’ U.S. of A!” Alfred grinned. “Didn’t get to go to Ilvermorny, though. Kinda sucks, it sounded cool. I tried the homeschool-tutoring-correspondence course thing, but kind of just gave up and they finally let me come over here for some actual fun.”

Alfred’s rambling was cut off by Professor McGonagall’s ushering of the first-years into the Great Hall. Alfred and Matthew followed behind the younger students, somewhat out of place due to their height.

“I hope this goes by fast. I’m starving,” Alfred whispered to Matthew, and Matthew nodded in agreement.

“When I call your name, please come up to this stool so you can be Sorted,” Professor Flitwick called out. “Wang, Yue.”

“Oh shit. I forgot the Wangs go to this school….” Alfred muttered.

“Who?”

“Guy who’s kinda-sorta-friends-but-it's-hard-to-tell with my cousin Arthur. Leon’s alright, but I think Yao’s still mad at Arthur for ratting him out about some potion or other.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!” The hat roared, to loud applause from the Hufflepuff table.

“Kirkland, Peter.”

The hat had barely touched the boy’s head before it was shouting, “HUFFLEPUFF!” yet again.

“Zwingli, Erika.”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“Edelstein, Leopold.”

The short boy had to be nudged out of his trancelike staring at the overhead candles. Matthew didn’t blame him—the Great Hall was seriously decked out. He’d heard stories and seen the pictures, from Francis, but it was much more beautiful in person. While Beauxbatons had classy elegance, Hogwarts had more of what Matthew would consider a “homey” elegance—warm colors, excited whisperings, and a large fireplace to one side that would definitely be lovely to sit at during cold winters.

Alfred, to Matthew’s right, seemed less taken by the spectacle.

“I swear if this whole class—” Alfred muttered as the Hat was placed on the kid’s head.

“RAVENCLAW!”

“Thank fuck.”

“Alfred, be nice. There are children in front of you.”

The line slowly inched forward, as students’ names were called.

“I’m American.”

“That’s not exactly an excuse…”

“Lupei, David!”

“I refuse to believe that kid’s eleven.”

“Alfred!”

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Applause rang out, over and over, until finally, finally-

“And now for our transfer students. Third year Jones, Alfred.”

Alfred let out a sigh of relief and took his seat. “GRYFFINDOR!” was the hat’s almost immediate decision, and Alfred grinned at Matthew as he joined the rest of his house.

“Third year Williams, Matthew.”

Matthew, now alone, felt every pair of eyes on him as he walked up the steps and sat down. The hat slipped over his eyes, and he contemplated if the scenes of his life up to that point flashing before him was what people saw when they were about to die.

”Quite the contemplate, aren’t you?” the hat sniggered.

Matthew flushed. “Shut up,” he thought at the hat. “Just let me get some dinner already. I haven’t eaten since that piece of toast this morning.”

“Ooooh, feisty. I like it. Hmm…no, not as studious as I thought…a severe lack of drive—”

“HEY!”

“—always hiding behind your Kneazle, psh. Well then, let it be—”

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The Hufflepuff table, which was concerningly more crowded then they’d seemed to anticipate, somehow made room for Matthew. From the Gryffindor table, Alfred gave him a thumbs-up and mouthed, Congratulations!

Matthew mimicked him with a matched grin, before turning his attention to the platform as the Headmistress began her start-of-term speech.

.

The next morning, class schedules were distributed and Alfred almost immediately jumped tables to compare with Matthew–completely ignoring the annoyed looks shot at him from the Hufflepuffs who had to move aside to make room for him.

Matthew offered them an apologetic shrug as Alfred examined their schedules.

“Awesome! Transfig, Charms, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Defense Against the Dark Arts! That’s like half of our classes together!”

“Why are you taking Ancient Runes?” Matthew wondered as he took a bite of his maple syrup-covered pancakes. “ Isn’t that known as a hard subject?” Alfred didn’t seem like the kind of guy to be into books and things, but then again, they had just met…

“Oh, I like that kind of stuff. There was an old guy that lived near my house, always talked to me about the cool adventures he had digging around! He said I’d need to know how to read old languages if I wanted to do the really cool stuff.” Alfred shrugged. “Why are you Divination?”

Matthew grinned. “It makes it more entertaining to sit through Francis’ afternoon teas if you can figure out whether or not you’ll die in the next three days,” he cheerfully informed the American.

“Ah.” Alfred said eloquently through the toast in his mouth.

“Mhm. So, uh, do you know where the Divination tower is by chance…?” Matthew wondered.

“Uhhhh…” Alfred swallowed, before looking at Matthew’s schedule again and looking just as lost. Then he flicked his eyes back towards his table and his face lit up. Without warning, he grabbed Matthew’s arm and tugged him over to where few of his housemates were sitting together and talking.

“Yo, Vlad, Ludwig! And Carlos, I guess,” he called. “D’you have Divination? My bro Mattie’s lost!”

Behind him, Matthew swore he heard someone—probably Leon—snicker. The second year was probably also eating his pancakes, too…

As Matthew quietly mourned the loss of his remaining breakfast, the blond Gryffindor in the middle of the trio pointed to either side of himself. “They both have Divination. I have Muggle Studies.”

“He can come along with us,” the boy on the right agreed. “Right, Carlos?”

The boy on the blond’s left nodded through a mouthful of breakfast bagel. “Sure.”

“Awesome! Thanks, dudes!” Alfred grinned at Matthew. “Problem solved, by yours truly!”

“...Thanks, I think. What are you going to do since you have a free period?” Matthew asked. Alfred only grinned at him as he reached past Carlos to grab a bagel for himself.

“Back to bed, obviously. It’s wayyy too early to be up, but I wasn’t gonna miss breakfast! Seeya, bro, have fun drinking tea!” he grinned, before heading out the doors to the Great Hall and presumably back to the Gryffindor common room.

Matthew stared after him for a moment, before turning to the Gryffindor trio, who were looking at him.

“Well. Uh. Hi. I’m Matthew,” he greeted, suddenly a lot shyer now that Alfred’s loud presence was gone. “I apologize if showing me where the Divination Tower is is an inconvenience, I’m sure I can find it—”

He was interrupted by a snort from the boy on the left.

“I’m Vlad. That’s Ludwig and Carlos,” he introduced. “And last I checked, Hogwarts is bigger than Beauxbatons. You’ll never make it to Divination on time if you’re just stumbling around lost.”

“Then you should go now. Before you actually are late,” the blond, Ludwig, pointed out.

Carlos shrugged. “Nah, we’ll be on time, don’t worry,” he said, but stood up anyways, Vlad following suit. “C’mon. Matthew, was it? We’ll get you up to the Divination Tower, no problem. Hope you like walking, though—it’s on the seventh floor.”

Matthew sighed. “Of course it is.”

Vlad laughed. “Oh don’t fret, half the work’s done by the Grand Staircase! Come on!”

Vlad led Matthew and Carlos out of the Great Hall and to the staircase, whereupon stepping onto one of the flights they were lifted into the air. Though Matthew had spent most of the last couple of years on a broom, he still grabbed the railing with one hand until he regained his center of balance. While there were definitely similarities in having something besides one’s own two feet bringing oneself somewhere, Matthew wasn’t eager to end up in the hospital wing quite so early in the year for a fall from the Grand Staircase of all things.

“So Carlos,” he ventured to ask after a few moments of rebalancing himself, “why exactly does it sound like Alfred and you have beef with each other?” He glanced over his shoulder at the Gryffindor.

“Hmm? Oh, that,” Carlos hummed. “Uh, long story.”

“They spent half the night keeping each other awake for no good reason. Our prefect, Basch, had to come in to tell them to go to sleep. It was wild,” Vlad snickered.

“He turned my hair electric blue!” Carlos protested.

“And you Transfigured his pillow into a brick until Basch came up and made you turn it back,” Vlad replied.

“...Interesting,” was the only thing Matthew could come up with to this new bit of information. Vad laughed, and Matthew didn’t need to turn to know Carlos was probably sulking.

“Don’t worry, at least Alfred didn’t do that to Braginsky. Carlos has standards. Braginsky, now, that guy would totally have dropped your mate out the window,” Vlad told him.

“Braginsky? Who’s that?” Matthew asked curiously. “Is he in our year?”

With a clunk, the staircase fixed itself to a landing with a single door, and the trio stepped off it. Vlad pushed open the door, and Matthew and Carlos followed him into the corridor.

“Nah, Braginsky’s a couple years ahead. I think he got held back at one point. He’s this big, tall guy who’s the head of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team and very scary. I don’t recommend making him mad, because he could definitely make your life miserable,” Vlad advised. “He’s a ridiculous Beater, hits like an absolute truck.”

Matthew filed the information away, but stopped on one thing. “A ridiculous Beater, eh?”

“Matthew—”

“Sounds like a challenge to me,” Matthew grinned. “It’s about time I had some actual competition.”

“Don’t,” Carlos begged. “That’s a terrible idea, man. You don’t even know how he plays yet!”

“As long as he doesn’t play like a Beauxbatons student who’s scared of their broom, it sounds great in my book,” Matthew stated, and climbed up the ladder marked with a “Divination Classroom” sign upon Vlad’s silent prompting, before either of his companions could say anything about the matter.

.

He met Alfred again that afternoon at the Quidditch Pitch, which was open for student use at that time.

Matthew had brought his own Quaffle with him to Hogwarts, and he was practicing throwing it through the hoops. After each throw, he’d either dive after it or simply Accio it back to himself.

He had been about to throw it again when he heard the shout from the stands. Tucking the Quaffle under his arm, he’d flown over to see Alfred waving at him. And sporting a black eye.

“Hello,” Matthew greeted. “What’s happened to your eye, eh?”

Alfred looked pleased with himself. “I punched a dude who was being kinda rude to Tolys. Probably made the dude mad, but whatever. Watcha doing?”

“Practicing. I’m going to try out for the team. Want to join me?”

“I would if I had a broom!” Alfred sighed. “Or knew how to fly properly,” he added after a moment of thought.

“There are school brooms you can borrow,” Matthew offered.

“Still don’t really know how to fly one. Arthur tried, but he sucks at teaching.”

“I could teach you?”

Alfred looked up at Matthew, who was quite comfortably hovering on his Cleansweep Eleven. “Really? That’d be awesome, dude!”

“No problem. I’ll meet you at the bottom of the stands,” Matthew grinned and quickly flew down to where the school broomshed was to grab Alfred a broom.

It took some time for Matthew to find a broom “that isn’t absolute trash, have some patience Alfred—”, but soon enough Alfred was wobbly mounted on a Shooting Star that didn’t seem to be falling apart quite as badly as the others.

Matthew did laps around him and used the sparks Alfred shot at him as practice for dodging Bludgers.

They definitely didn’t crash through the door to the Transfiguration classroom just as the time for class began, faces red and reeking of sweat from their intense flying session.

.

A few weeks later, Matthew discovered that the dude Alfred had punched was Ivan Braginsky.

He figured this out after walking into the second-floor boy’s bathroom to find Alfred and Ivan pointing their wands at each other. Though neither seemed like they were actually going to cast any spells, Matthew still took the chance to send a number of small birds flying into the older student’s face while he dragged Alfred away, in the name of not having to deal with an Alfred stuck in the hospital wing for stupidity.

.

It was two weeks later when someone noticed the similarities and acknowledged it.

“Oh heavens, there goes our peace and quiet—the twins are here,” sixth-year Roderich Edelstein grumbled as Alfred entered the Study Hall, closely followed by Matthew.

“Twins?” Alfred questioned, glancing over his shoulder at the door behind him, but only finding an equally-confused Matthew.

“Yeah, haven’t you noticed?” Roderich sniffed. “Two blond, blue-eyed third-year transfers, similar glasses, looking like they’ve never figured out how to tie a tie before—”

“Hey, I know how to tie a fucking tie, dude,” Alfred immediately protested. Matthew nodded in agreement, doing his best to ignore how loose his tie was.

Roderich leveled him with a calculated gaze. “Do you, now?”

Alfred looked down at his untied tie with a frown, opening his mouth to probably insist that it was “just too hot for one today”, but Roderich beat him to talking.

“Besides, it’s very rare to see either of you on your own without the other five steps behind. I’ll be quite surprised if Arthur hasn’t noticed by now. Especially considering that every night he goes to his common room and deals with one of you and in the morning he comes to the Great Hall and finds two.”

Arthur Kirkland looked up from his Charms textbook. “Two what?”

Roderich gestured at Alfred and Matthew. “Of them, obviously. Who else, the Vargas brothers? They can barely walk into the dungeons without pissing themselves and one of them’s in bloody Slytherin! Of course I mean them.”

Arthur blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. He eyed the duo for a moment, then made a vague sound of affirmation as he returned to his reading.

Roderich huffed and went back to his Music homework.

“Oh yeah, he definitely didn’t know,” Alfred muttered.
“You think?” Matthew replied. “C’mon, let’s go find somewhere else to study,”

“Do we have to?”

“Yes,” Matthew insisted as he dragged the American off to an empty corner of the room. “See, the other day I was in the library…”

.

“Matthew? What are you doing up in the Owlery? I thought you were headed to the Pitch?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, hey Tino. Didn’t see you there. Just had a delivery come in, I’m heading out after this.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Oh. Um. Just some broom-cleaning supplies, nothing fancy. How about you?”

“The same as you, broom-cleaning supplies.”

“Oh, cool. Anyways, I’m gonna head out–”

“Weasley’s sells some excellent broom polish, don’t they?”

“...Tino, I can explain–”

“I won’t tell if you let me in on the fun…Alfred.”

.

“Avifors!”

“I’M NOT ALFRED FUCKING JONES—ack, ow, ow, ow, shoo, get them away—”

“Huh? But aren’t you—OH NO! I’M SO SORRY MATTHEW! I thought you were Alfred, see!”

“It’s fine, Carlos...It’s really fine…”

“No it’s not! Here, come with me—I’m getting you some ice-cream! And band-aids.”

Roderich was the first to notice, but once he did, others soon followed. Although for the most part, it centered around people mistaking Matthew for Alfred, who had apparently managed to join at least three different clubs and make friends with almost everyone in the castle. Or so it seemed to poor Matthew, who even had the owls meant for Alfred coming to him and stepping in his lovely pudding.

At one memorable point, Matthew got kicked out of the Hufflepuff common room for “being a bloody Gryffindor”. Alfred found it hilarious when he found out the next day—Matthew, much less so, when he had to knock repeatedly on the door to get his housemates to let him back in and even involving Professor Sprout in his endeavors.

Alfred wasn’t just good at making friends, he was also good at making enemies. Matthew also got good at dodging jinxes meant for Alfred very quickly. At least he got to send a three-hour-long Howler to the guy after Matthew landed in the hospital wing thanks to stepping into a glitter bomb trap meant for Alfred. Matthew was convinced he would have glitter in his eyeballs for the rest of his life.

Was that even a thing? It sure felt like it.

Damn Arthur for being a rule-abiding prefect who made him end the Howler after the three-hour mark. He hadn’t even gotten to the part where Alfred needed to stop tracking mud in after himself yet…

.

“Tino, these gumdrops are spectacular! Changing the eater’s hair color long enough to be noticed but not long enough for someone to call the cops–absolute genius! How’d you make them?”

“My dear Alfred, you do realize I come from Durmstrang, yes? Transfiguration magic is our very essence.”

“Soooo you can get us more?”

“Of course, Matthew–and for being my most loyal distributors, I’ll even cut you a good deal for them!”

.

Another thing about constantly being mistaken for Alfred: for some reason, people tended to forget Matthew was there if Alfred wasn’t. Francis attributed this to Matthew being rather quiet, and to the two transfers spending most of their time together. Matthew became inclined to agree after more than one person accidentally sat on him in the Hufflepuff Common Room.

Most of them apologized. Except for Ivan Braginsky, who took no notice. Matthew began having his Kneazle sit on him, because while Ivan could ignore a person, it was very hard to ignore an angry sat-on Kneazle biting one’s rear end for being inconsiderate. Kumajirou was quite good at his job.

Matthew knew that Braginsky knew he was there. After all, Braginsky was the captain of the Hufflepuff team, and Matthew was one of his Chasers. During practice, no matter how “invisible” Matthew thought he’d become, he was certain to hear the older boy calling his name seconds before a bludger went for his head.

Judging by the horrified looks their teammates were giving them, he figured that maybe saying that he enjoyed the extra dodging practice maybe wasn’t the way to go with this one. Particularly after days when his balance was off and he inevitably got hit by one of Ivan’s bludgers.

But at least he didn’t hit as hard as Alfred. While he wasn’t at all ready to play on his house’s team, he and Matthew still met up to fly around the pitch when they had enough time to do so.

Alfred, for whatever reason, had decided that being a Beater sounded fun—“all the better to show off my awesome muscles!”—and Matthew had taken it as a chance to test his skills against a more unpredictable opponent. Unfortunately for Matthew, Alfred did not seem to understand the idea of “saving strength”.

“Alfred, you don’t have to swing the bat quite so—”

BASH!

“Ow, maybe you could—”

BAM!

“You’ll get fouls for—”

THWACK!

They weren’t even in the air yet, and Matthew could already tell he would have some nasty bruises later.

On the bright side, Alfred was hitting the flying hell-balls in the desired direction.

.

“Glacius! Ah, fuck, that’s not nearly enough ice…”

“Maybe we could try an amplifier, eh?”

“Or maybe we need a larger space! It’s a bit cramped in this classroom, even if there aren’t any chairs or desks. Maybe we should try this in a hallway?”

“I mean, this whole area around this classroom is barely used as it is.”

“Mattie, that’s brilliant! Okay, so what if…”

.

“—and Laurinaitis dodges Braginsky’s Bludger but drops the Quaffle! Looks like Wang’s caught it though—dodges a Bludger from Braginsky—attempted pass back to Laurinaitis—and Williams has caught the Quaffle! Hufflepuff is now in control of the field! Again.”

“Sorry, Feli!”

“Ve~? Aargh!”

“—Bludger from Beilschmidt meant for Williams, almost hits Vargas—”

“STOP APOLOGIZING EVERY TIME YOU ALMOST HIT YOUR BOYFRIEND AND JUST HIT THE DAMN BALL!”

“WE’RE NOT DATING, GIL!”

Matthew leaned forward, snickering as he dodged the return of Ludwig’s bludger. The Quaffle was secured under his arm, and the Gryffindor Keeper in front of him—

“Aren’t you sick of scoring?!”

—was nearly crying with exasperation as Matthew, for the sixth time in the last half an hour, threw the Quaffle through the hoops to the excitement of Hufflepuff and the devastation of Gryffindor, who were losing quite badly. Who knew that he just had to make a lot of peoples’ lives miserable and suddenly he wasn’t Alfred 2.0.

“—Williams scores! Hufflepuff is now ahead by a frankly ridiculous amount! Kirkland is no match for our resident Canadian! And for goodness’ sake, Tolys, stop dropping the damn ball—”

“You try when there’s a Bludger headed for your face!” the Gryffindor yelled at the commentary box, where the commentator, Eduard von Bock, was comfortably seated. Eduard took no notice and went right back to commentating as the Gryffindor Keeper threw the ball back onto the field, where it was caught by one of the other Hufflepuff chasers, Raivis.

Ivan smirked at Matthew as he flew alongside. “This is a good game, da?”

“Very,” Matthew agreed. “Though I wish Feli would catch the Snitch a bit faster.”
“Patience is a virtue!” Feli replied as he whizzed by on his Nimbus 2001.

“Not when you’re the Keeper!” Tino yelled. Hufflepuff’s Keeper had found himself growing quite bored, what with Matthew all but hogging the ball for the entire game.

Matthew grimaced. “Oops. Sorry, Tino—!”

“You’re not the one I’m annoyed at,” Tino informed him. Matthew shivered—Tino could be rather petty when he wanted to be. “Now get back out there before Raivis dies of fright!”

Matthew nodded and flew off towards Raivis, who had just lost the Quaffle to Yao.

“It looks like Zwingli of Gryffindor has caught sight of the Snitch! He and Vargas are neck-and-neck, a twin spiral dive, and—oh, it’s a fakeout! Zwingli’s pulled out, and Vargas—OH MERLIN, WHEN DID FELICIANO LEARN TO FLY A BROOM?!”

The chasers had all been fighting for control of the Quaffle, but looked down at Eduard’s ear-piercing yell to see Feliciano screaming, his hands still on the broom but his feet where his knees should have been. Even Basch, Gryffindor’s substitute Seeker, had temporarily paused his search for the Snitch to stare at Feliciano Vargas’ desperate attempt to not hit the ground.

“...He’s going to be fine, right?” Raivis squeaked.

“Even if he goes down, Gryffindor’s score isn’t going up,” was Matthew’s reply. Raivis and Yao jerked midair, having not quite realized Matthew was right beside them until then.

Nevermind, it seemed he was only visible when he was about to score a goal.

He looked down at the ball secured in the crook of his arm, before glancing around. Slowly, he began to back away, quietly dropping away from view while everyone was distracted.

Yao muttered something that Matthew was pretty sure could be loosely translated to something about throwing poop with monkeys. If the two-minute impromptu language lessons he sometimes had with Leon were to be believed, anyways.

“Vargas is somehow still in the air! His feet did not touch the ground at any point, and he’s back on the hunt! Hey, where’s the Quaffle? Uh—”

Matthew glanced back. Eduard, along with a good portion of both the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor teams, were looking around in confusion. The only person to see him fly off towards the hoops was Ivan, who was smiling as he whacked a Bludger toward the congregated players.

“—wait, one of the Hufflepuff chasers has the Quaffle! Williams—yeah that’s Williams—Williams has the Quaffle! When did that happen?!”

Matthew let out a laugh. The others were far behind, the goalpost right ahead. He just had to—

The woosh of a Bludger coming for him was familiar to the Canadian, after being pelted by them from both Ivan and Alfred.

The goalposts were right ahead. Behind him, he could hear the yells of the Gryfffindors. Flanking him on either side were the Beilschmidt brothers, and below him was Yao, waiting to catch the expected-to-fall Quaffle.

The Gryffindor keeper in front of him was ready to block his shot and redeem himself.

He was surrounded.

Except…

He made a split second decision, and let go of his broom's handle.

And then he jumped, and took his shot.

And the world turned to slow motion.

He felt the Bludger soar right where his butt had been just a moment before, instead flying right under his feet.

The Quaffle flew into the air, arcing gracefully toward the hoops. The Gryffindor keeper—what did Eduard say his name was, Kirkland? That sounded right, one of Arthur’s siblings—was stretching out in a starfish-and-stick, doing his best to block the ball from entering the hoop.

But he was just a hair too slow, and the ball flew past his outstretched hand.

And then, suddenly, the world flew back into focus. Matthew was falling, and just barely caught the handle of his broom as he went down. He held onto the now-still broom and stared in delight as cheers from the Hufflepuffs rose into the air, over the boos of Gryffindor.

“Williams scores yet again! The score is now ninety to twenty, and—OH MY GOODNESS, THE SEEKERS HAVE SPOTTED THE SNITCH. THIS IS NOT A DRILL! Zwingli and Vargas are neck and neck, but only one can win, and—BASCH ZWINGLI HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! I REPEAT! SUBSTITUTE SEEKER BASCH ZWINGLI HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH—aaaand Vargas is down, could someone please check on him, I think he fainted from shock. Oh thank you, Ludwig. Anyways, GRYFFINDOR HAS WON THE GAME! I REPEAT, GRYFFINDOR HAS WON THE GAME! Mr. Braginsky, please don’t send any Bludgers my way, I’m just doing my job—”

Someone tapped the still-hanging Matthew, and he looked over to see Tino next to him. “Need a hand?”

“Yes, please,” Matthew agreed. Tino brought his broom closer, and Matthew used the handle as a stepping stool to get back onto his own broom, before the two boys flew back down to join the rest of their team.

Ivan and Yao were shaking hands under Madam Hooch’s supervision. The rest of the teams were mingling and congratulating each other on a good game, save for Ludwig who was checking on the collapsed Feliciano. Above them, Matthew could hear the commotion of the students as they began to leave the stands.

“Mattie!”

Matthew was nearly knocked over as Alfred barreled right into him.
“Eh?! Oh. Hey, Alfie—”

“THAT WAS SICK, DUDE! You gotta show me how to do that jump, that was so fucking cool! You literally scored so many times, it was nuts!” Alfred was screaming in excitement, completely forgetting that he was supposed to be celebrating his own team’s victory.

“Yeah, that move was awesome. Not as awesome as me, of course, but still pretty awesome!” Gilbert Beilschmidt agreed loudly. Make that two people who did not quite understand that it was Gryffindor that won.

“I still can’t believe Feli managed to do that…” Tolys commented, watching as Professor McGongall checked the boy over. “So cool.” Make that three people.

“Is it me or does it feel like Hufflepuff won instead of Gryffindor?” Matthew muttered to Tino as Ivan’s own sisters ran onto the pitch to congratulate him.

Tino shrugged. “Eh, who knows? We did pull some good moves. And anyways, their Seeker’s already left the field.”

True enough, Basch Zwingli had long since disappeared. Matthew had heard he wasn’t very sociable, and it was understandable he’d want to disappear before everyone came for him. Matthew could understand that—no doubt those in Hufflepuff who remembered his existence would be clammering for his attention once he got back to the common room as well.

“And anyways,” Tino continued with a beaming smile. “Does it really matter as long as we all had fun?”

“I guess…?”

Tino laughed, the Finnish boy seeming to find Matthew’s words to be a great joke.

“You sound like my good friend's little brother. Always looking for the logic. Lighten up—we’re all here for a good time. Well, maybe not Raivis,” he cast a look at the slightly-shaking second year, who was leaning heavily against Tolys, “but good sportsmanship can come even if we didn’t actually win! It’s perfectly fine to have a bit of confidence and bask in the great stuff that happened during a good game. Everyone here is just having some competitive fun with friends, aren’t they?”

Matthew looked around, mulling over Tino’s words. At some point, Alfred had swung an arm across Matthew’s shoulders and was still talking at a rapid-fire pace. He’d started analyzing all of the shots made, and had decided Matthew’s was the best by a long shot—whether Yao’s score against Hufflepuff in the first minute of the game was in second place or not, now that was his current debate with himself. Some ways away, the Gryffindor keeper was talking about broomsticks with the third Hufflepuff chaser. Ivan and Yao were exchanging banter. By the wall, Feli was starting to come around, to the evident relief of Ludwig and both Madam Hooch and Professor McGongall.

Huh, Matthew thought with a small smile, maybe Tino does have a point.

.

“Today, we will be studying the Boggart!” Professor Brindlemore announced the next day during the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. “Now, does anyone know what this creature is? Yes, Eduard?”

“A dark creature in the same category as dementors that feeds off the fear of the beholder. We have an infestation at home…” Eduard’s voice shook towards the end, and Matthew made a note to himself to slip the guy some toffees later.

“You should have that taken care of as soon as possible. But you are correct. Boggarts feed off one’s greatest fears—or in theory, anyways. To counter a boggart, one needs to imagine their greatest fear in a humorous light, cast the spell I am about to teach you, and let out a good laugh. Boggarts eventually return, since they’re not sentient beings, but they’re easy to counter if you have a fear strong enough that you can plan ahead for,” Professor Brindlemore explained. “They don’t have a predetermined form, but it’s quite easy to tell if one is about—they’re usually lurking in dark and confined spaces, making a bit of a ruckus.”

The professor continued talking about the creature and the spell needed to dispel it. Matthew, taking careful notes, glanced up every so often to see Alfred paying attention for once.

“Whatcha thinking ‘bout, eh?” Matthew whispered when Professor Brindlemore turned to grab her wand.

“How do I make ‘getting expelled’ into something humorous?” Alfred whispered back. Matthew stifled a laugh as the professor turned back to the class.

“Right, everyone—come with me. There’s a boggart a few classrooms down where we’ll be testing our skills. Remember the spell I just told you about, and start thinking about one of your greatest fears. If you can picture it well enough, the boggart should in theory take the form of that fear. It will be much easier to deal with if you know what you’re going to face, but remember—no loud laughing until everyone has had a go,” the professor called out, over the sounds of students moving about the room.

Matthew thought about his own fears as the class left the classroom. The Forbidden Forest at night, getting detentions and losing House Points, losing his kneazle, Kumikaro, pissing off Moaning Myrtle…

Although Alfred’s fear of getting expelled did seem pretty reasonable. Matthew really didn’t want to go back to Beauxbatons, even if technically he (and come to think of it, Francis) were supposed to be there. The food wasn’t quite as good, and there weren’t many croissants, but Hogwarts was way more fun.

And the uniforms weren’t such bright shades of blue. That had been a pain to keep clean.

Maybe that was his greatest fear—having to leave Hogwarts. Huh, he and Alfred really shared a lot of personality traits, didn’t they…perhaps Roderich had a point there.

He was broken out of his thoughts when Alfred nudged him in the side, the class having reached their destination. Craning his neck to see past a couple of Gryffindors—why were Vlad and Carlos so damn tall?—Matthew was just able to see the cabinet holding the supposed Boggart rattling around, the lock on the door making a surprising amount of noise.

“Clear a space in the middle, everyone, and get into some sort of line. You’ll be going one by one. Wands out before your turn, I don’t want any surprises now. Who’s first?”

One of the Wangs—Matthew didn’t know which one, since that family was ridiculously large—stepped forward to try her luck. He thought her name might have been Mei or Ling or something along those lines.

The professor opened the cabinet, and out tumbled…a maid dress, or the remains of what was probably supposed to be one, anyways.

“No!” The girl gasped, tears already forming. “Not that! Anything but that!”

“Oh for the love of Merlin, here we go again…” someone grumbled. Matthew thought it might have been David Villanueva, a boy in his year whose sole goal in life seemed to be taking photos of everyone at Hogwarts.

“Miss Wang, please attempt to cast the spell,” Professor Brindlemore reminded.

“My last name isn’t Wang. It’s Lin. I’m not related to that overbearing Gryffindor,” she huffed as she wiped her tears away, but cast the spell anyways. The tattered maid dress turned into a bouquet of flowers, and she stepped aside for Carlos to take her place.

“Ah, right. My apologies, Miss Lin,” the professor said, as Carlos’ boggart, an older witch claiming to be his grand-aunt, suddenly was holding a very large ice cream cone. “Well done, Mr. Rojas. Now, Mr. von Bock.”

The Ravenclaw stumbled forward, and the boggart, to no one’s surprise, turned into fifth-year Ivan Braginsky. Eduard, without wasting a second, turned his boggart into Ivan Braginsky in a bright pink ballerina tutu before scampering to the back of the group.

“Oh, that’s still horrifying,” Alfred grimaced. “I don’t know which is worse: Braginsky or Braginsky doing ballet…”

“I mean, he’s pretty agile,” Matthew pointed out.

“Yeah, but I doubt he’s wearing that—”

“Mr. Jones, it’s your turn. Please come forward.”

Alfred smirked at Matthew. “Check this one out,” he grinned, before stepping forward to face the creature.

Matthew watched in anticipation as “Ivan Braginksy” turned towards Alfred, and its form shifted. Instead of the intimidating Hufflepuff, it was now Professor McGonagall, with a thick folder in her arms.

“Mr. Alfred Jones, I am very disappointed in your actions. I regret to inform you that under order of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, due to your lack of regard for authority and your terrible grades, you will be henceforth expelled from Hogwarts and are to return to your previous study arrangements, effective immediately,” the faux-Professor announced.

And then she gave Alfred The Look, as it had been nicknamed by her students—the face of pure disappointment, a look seen only when someone McGonagall had real faith in had fallen short of her clearest expectations.

Several students, including Matthew, winced.

Alfred whistled. “I—woah, okay, that’s harsher than I expected. Ridiku—”

But before he could finish uttering the spell, the boggart changed forms yet again. Suddenly, it was the looming form of a shadowy figure, whose face Matthew couldn’t make out but sent chills down his spine nonetheless.

He towered over everyone in the room, including Professor Brindlemore. Fire, or what looked like it, danced across his uniformed body, and a large torch rested in the figure’s left hand.

He had no discernable face, but Matthew knew who he was.

“No—” the Hufflepuff murmured, his blood running cold and his fingers turning clammy. “No—”

But it was no doubt the man that haunted his nightmares. His right hand was in his pocket. His wand is in there, a small voice in Matthew’s mind whispered. He’s not afraid to use it against anyone in his way.

The figure let out an incomprehensible yell. Alfred stumbled back, bumping into the students behind him.

Matthew stood frozen, staring at the sight.

“Pro—professor, wha—” Alfred stammered out as the figure approached.

The professor was frantically trying to grab the boggart’s attention, but the creature seemed fixed on its prey—no doubt the fear of the students was keeping it more than entertained, Matthew figured. It was probably feasting right now off the terror it was inducing.

He thought he heard someone—probably Chris Kirkland, judging by where the sound came from—choke back a scream.

Matthew could almost see sparks flying off the man’s form. He swore he could smell the scent of smoke in the air, though logically he knew that couldn’t be the case—boggarts could mimic, but they couldn’t create. Not like the real thing would. Still—

“Incendio!”

“Protego!”

“Riddikulus!”

—it sure did induce the same amount of fear that the real thing did.

Matthew gasped as his mind caught up with the present. Alfred was sprawled in front of him, a shield from his Shield Charm in front of the both of them. The boggart had been transformed into a cardboard box by the professor’s Boggart-Banishing Charm. The professor herself was currently moving the boggart back into its cupboard, lips pursed as she unceremoniously shoved the creature back into its place.

Matthew looked down to find Alfred still staring at the boggart-box, wand still out.

He nudged the Gryffindor with his foot. “I think you can stop casting that shield, eh?”

“Huh? Oh. Right.” Alfred quickly waved the shield away and stood up, brushing the grime from the floor off of his pants. “Well. Uh…that was something.”

“It was indeed,” Professor Brindlemore agreed as she flicked her wand and locked the cupboard doors. “I think we shall continue this class another day. All of you, go take a breath of fresh air and if needed, see Madame Pomfrey. Jones, a word.”

The other students began making their way out of the room, with only Alfred and Matthew left behind.

Alfred inclined his head towards the door. “Dude, why are you still here? It’s my boggart.”

“Yeah, and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know that that smokey guy was called Sam Canuck.”

Alfred sucked in his breath.

“How did you—”

Matthew shrugged. “Hard to forget a guy that set your house on fire.”

“Well, I don’t know who this “Sam Canuck” is, but am I correct in guessing that both of you have history with him?” Professor Brindlemore questioned. Matthew and Alfred both jumped, having forgotten that she was even there in the first place.

“Oh—oh yeah, I think so,” Alfred agreed, as he rubbed the back of his head. “He…well, oddly enough, he also set my house on fire. Twice. It was a long time ago, but…”

He swallowed, staring down at the ground. “The first time, I remember my parents fended him off. The second time, he knew to go for them first and then set the place ablaze. I thought I was the only one that made it out alive…I thought my brother and parents died, not that I stopped to check.”

“Well, I’m not a ghost, am I now, eh?” Matthew pointed out.

“Clearly not,” Professor Brindlemroe agreed. “Sam Canuck was only ever sent to Azkaban for attacking one family. Matthew, what do you remember?”

Matthew frowned, thinking back.

This was a part of his memory he didn’t delve into very often, save for the occasional night terror. Over the years, his memory of the time before moving in with Francis’ family at age eight had become rather dulled and blurred. The grief of losing everything mixed with being bounced from relative to relative for a good three years had made for a time in the wizard’s life that was very much undesirable.

Still, he knew enough. Whether from what he’d witnessed or from the whispers he’d heard, he was certain of the details.

“I remember relatives talking about how that—that man was out for revenge, or mistaken identity—I’m not sure which. But I remember two fires. The first, I remember hearing a lot of yelling and seeing fire from an upstairs landing. The second, I just remember a lot of smoke and more fire and someone shoving me. I found out from my aunt that I fell into a deep ditch near the house and by some weird luck survived that way.”

Alfred shot up and pointed at Matthew, his glasses slipping down his nose in his haste. “That’s it! That’s literally it, dude! That is legit what happened, except that I remember running out with my brother, and then I tripped! And then I was walking around on my own for like a week until a wizarding family up in Maine found me!”

“Maine?” Matthew questioned. “Alfred, we lived in Quebec. How on earth did you end up in America?”

“...I walked?”

“Across the border?! Mon Merlin, no wonder everyone thought you were dead!” Matthew exclaimed, his arms flailing as he talked.

“Well I’m sorry, but tell that to five-year-old me who apparently decided to become like that one girl in the story Tino told us in the Study Room the other day about the girl that set her house on fire and ran into the woods with her magical teddy bear!” Alfred protested.

“Well,” Professor Brindlemore interrupted the duo, “it seems that our little boggart friend has unearthed quite the discovery. But just to be sure…”

She walked over to her bag, lying on a desk at the far end of the room, and rummaged inside before returning with two small boxes in hand.

“These are Muggle DNA tests, meant for people wanting to know more about their heritage. You may have heard of them, they’re quite popular among Muggles nowadays. I bought a few for some students who were curious about them, but these are extras. You’ll have to pass them back to me to get your results but this can help us confirm for certain if you two really are related,” She explained as each boy took a box.

Matthew turned the item in his hands over. “Muggles can really do that? Trace ancestry, I mean?”

“Fascinating…” Alfred murmured.

“Isn’t it? I learned about them from a Muggle Studies professor who was quite enthusiastic about it all. Now, don’t go causing too much trouble and do follow the instructions on the label if you decide to use these. I’m not quite sure what would happen if you didn’t, Muggle tech has really advanced in recent years.” the professor said.

Alfred beamed. “Thanks, Professor! C’mon, Matt, let’s go try ‘em out!”

“Wait, now?! Wha—Alfred!” Matthew yelped as Alfred took off, the Hufflepuff hurriedly grabbing his bookbag as he hurried after his brother. A rushed “thank you” was thrown over his shoulder as the classroom door shut behind him.

The professor chuckled, before turning back to the boggart-infested cabinet.

“Now, what to do with you…” she mused.

.

“Wait a moment, Matt.”

“Eh?”

“We’re almost-definitely related.”

“Yeah? And?”

“So?”

“What the actual fuck, so some Boggart just revealed our shared family history through trauma?! The heck?!”

“What, were you expecting that painting of that newspaper headline dude to do it or something?”

“Matthew. Do you know what this means?”

“Yeah, it means we have a valid reason to pull more pranks obviously. Here, hold the hammer, I wanna see if the sled stays together now.”

“Matthew. This means I’m Francis/ cousin. Does that mean I have to learn bloody French?!”

“It’s a perfectly good language. And I'm not related to Francis.Expelliarmus!...Dammit, why is it always the front end, eh?”

“French is not a sensible language dude, you literally do math to count from one to a hundred–”

“And you Americans eat hotdogs wrapped in burgers, so shut up and help me so we can test it out on the real thing.”

“Whatever, dude. Merlin’s pants….what. The. Fuck-”

.

Two weeks and one set of DNA results later

.

“Arthur Kirkland. Francis Bonnefoy. We need to talk.”

The prefects looked up from the Divination notes spread on the stone brick between them as third-year Gryffindor Ludwig Beilschmidt, followed closely by fifth-year exchange student Kiku Honda and fourth-year Hufflepuff Feliciano Vargas stopped in front of them.

“Can we help you?” Arthur asked. “If it’s another dungbomb I swear to Merlin—”

“Not that,” Ludwig scowled. “That would be much easier to deal with. Even Gilbert could clean that up, and he’s a bumbling idiot on a good day.”

“Unless he’s dueling,” Francis muttered under his breath. Ludwig pretended not to hear him, or see Francis rub his wrist at the memory.

“So? What is it then?” Arthur asked. “If it’s not dungbombs in the hall…?”

“It’s Alfred Jones and Matthew Williams!” Feliciano burst out. “It’s horrible! They’ve got some secret they won’t share, and they keep disguising themselves as each other and reading weird history books and they definitely ordered something from Weasley’s Wonderful Wheezes, and—” He paused to catch his breath.

“They’ve currently turned that one abandoned third-floor corridor into an iceboat track and they have pulled Ivan Braginsky and Tino Väinämöinen into it.” Kiku said. ”I am thinking that someone is going to get hurt.”

“You said they were ‘completely normal and won’t cause much trouble’,” Ludwig finished. “They are not.”

Kiku grimaced at the thought. “Peeves is headed their way right at this moment.”

Arthur and Francis exchanged looks, before gathering their things and hurrying off to go stop the chaos.

And maybe have a word with those two about why on earth they were acting like a certain pair of historical twins—

Oh.

Oh no.

.

Arthur and Francis paused for a split second before running even faster, the sounds of firecrackers going off in the distance.