Archive of Our Own

“Students! Please refrain from dueling in the hallways. And remember, have a magical summer!”

Michael tugged the straps of his backpack closer to him and gripped his wand a little tighter. He had been going to Vincent Clortho’s Public School For Wizards for a couple years now, and as a sophomore, he was used to the tricks the student body played on each other. He cast no less than five Finite Incantatems , three Protegos , and a single ward breaking spell. It was especially bad today since it was the last few minutes of the last day of school. Everyone figured they could get away with anything. What was the school going to do, suspend them?

He thought he was clear; he could see the large doors leading outside through the flood of students making their way out of school for the year. He, too, was glad to be away. School had always been hard for him, and the overworked and poorly educated teachers at VCPS certainly weren’t helping matters. But he liked learning magic, so he stuck with it. Michael wasn’t going to be able to become a dragon trainer if he didn’t know magic, that was for sure.

But today was especially special for Michael. Because this was his last day at VCPS, forever. Of course, he still had two years left of school, but his family was moving. His mother had sat him down a few weeks ago.

“Honey,” she’d said, “You know my job as a diplomat for MACUSA requires me to travel a lot.”

“Sure,” he’d agreed, because of course it did. Of course, his mother was usually home at a decent hour, what with portkeys and apparition.

“Well, the British really need someone from MACUSA right now. And they’ve chosen me.” Her voice was prideful.

“Wow, that’s great, Mom! Congrats!”

She had frowned. “Michael, this is going to be an extended amount of time. So your dad and I thought it would be best if we all went together. We’ve already got a nice house picked out, and we’re working on getting you signed up for Hogwarts!”

He had felt his hands clench. “ What ? We’re moving ? Mom, you can’t just do this to us!”

“Sweetie, I know it will be hard. But you’ll make lots of new friends, and we can always firecall your old ones through the Floo.”

Michael had jumped up and began to pace. “I can’t believe this. Firecalling them. It’s not the same.”

“This job is really important. Didn’t you hear about the war? The British ministry needs our help, and someone has to go to meet with them and give them the aid they need.”

He had whirled around to face his mother. “You’re joking. You want to move us into an active war zone ?”

“We’ll be fine. We’ll have the best protective wards we can, and we won’t be anywhere near where the fighting is.” His mother gave him a patient smile. “Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the whole country, and it’s an excellent school! You’ll love it.”

Michael had scowled at her. “You just want me to, what, throw away my life here?”

And though his mother had been appropriately apologetic, and he had been sufficiently dramatic for an almost sixteen year old, there had been nothing left to do but throw it all away anyway. Sure, there had been tearful goodbyes and a few promises to write letters, but Michael knew that it wouldn’t be the same.

The door to the exit to VCPS loomed closer. Michael squeezed through the crowd, edging closer to the exit. Suddenly, there was a flash of purple light and everyone who had been next to the door had grown feathers and began squawking uncontrollably. To his horror the person in front of him was hooting like an owl. He had just barely missed the magic spell. He hadn’t even noticed it because the aggressor had used a wand silencer!

One of the security wizards (Michael didn’t know his name), a man with a permanent scowl and a magical fake eye, started shouting for attention.

“If y’all need to be de-birded, come over here. No pushing.” The buildup at the door became worse. A few students decided to cut their losses and get their parents to fix them. Michael almost ran out the door, speed-walking to his bus. It was already full when he got on. Other kids were talking loudly and someone was playing awful rap music. He found an empty seat near the front (no one wanted to sit near the driver, who was rumored to be part banshee, and would thus ruin your hearing when she told the students to sit down and shut up) and quickly did a few spells to check for curses. Finding it clear, he collapsed into the dirty vinyl seat. Normally, he wouldn’t hesitate to be part of the crowd in the back. But today, he just wasn’t feeling like it.

The bus ride felt like it took an eternity. Some of the guys behind him were discussing Quidditch.

“Yo, Mike, catch!” Someone threw a Quaffle at him.

“ Depulso ,” he said boredly.

“Lame,” one of them said. Michael didn’t even turn around.

“Dude, I heard he isn’t going to be a chaser next year! How’re we gonna beat the other schools?”

Someone leaned behind him. “Mike, you can’t leave the team. You’re, like, an important part of the team.”

He sighed. “I didn’t even play in half the games. Why don’t you be the chaser?” The guys behind him laughed and began passing around the Quaffle again.

“SIT DOWN. NO THROWING THINGS ON THE BUS!” the maybe banshee bus driver screeched. Everyone ignored her. Michael felt his hearing go out for a few seconds.

“I SWEAR, I WILL TURN THIS BUS RIGHT AROUND! I’LL DO IT!” Michael winced at the noise. The bus came to a sudden halt. Michael fell against the seat in front of him. The Muggle cars swerved around them. VCPS did not have the budget to have fancy anti-Muggle charms on their vehicles. The bus driver stood up and summoned the Quaffle with a flick of her wand.

“It may be the last day of school, but you are all still students! I will be reporting this behavior. Now, you, you, and you, come sit up front.” One of the guys, still laughing, sat next to Michael, who was quickly squished against the window. The bus driver huffed and started the bus up again.

“And this time, I’m using a spell to watch you all! No funny business here!” A few seconds later, the students in the back were still standing around and playing music. Michael could feel the bass. Luckily, it was his stop. He shoved past the kid next to him and yelled a quick “Thanks!” to the bus driver before he escaped. The bus driver grunted at him and the bus sped off in a puff of purple sparkles and exhaust. There was new graffiti on the back, he noticed.

And now, he was one step closer to summer, but also one step closer to Hogwarts. At least he wouldn’t have to ride the bus anymore.

~~~

Summer passed quickly, as it always does. Michael’s time was mostly spent between Hogwarts’ summer homework (VCPS students were allowed, encouraged even, to use their magic over break, but Hogwarts had much stricter rules, and the fact that he was doing homework before he had even started class was insane) and packing. He found himself, oddly, looking forward to Hogwarts. Sure, he was still nervous and very pissed off. But maybe this could be a good thing, right? At least he wasn’t jet lagged anymore.

He arrived at King’s Cross thirty minutes early, his duffel bag and Swiffer WetJet Mop already in one of the carts. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand about Britain. Pants were not pants, trainers had nothing to do with training, and their Wizarding shopping market looked weirdly similar to when he had visited Colonial Williamsburg. That was nothing compared to the fact that he was going to be riding to the school via a private train. He suspected that it wasn't British, though. Just the wizards being weird.

Michael had no idea how to get to the platform, and his parents had already left (“It’s a kiss and ride , honey, you don’t need us!”). This was exactly why he had arrived early. His ticket simply read Platform Nine and Three-Quarters . What kind of a name was that?

He looked in between the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Nothing was there. Well, there wasn’t anything to do except to wait for another wizard to come and help him. He was sure someone would be heading this way; all he needed to look for was the terrible fashion sense that British wizards tended to have. He leaned against the barrier, and to his shock, fell through it.

He stood and brushed himself off. Then he looked around. It seemed this was Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Michael wondered why they hadn’t just told him to walk through the barriers. Maybe they had just assumed he knew?

There was no one on the platform. The train wasn’t there, either. That was no surprise. He had ridden the Amtrak before when visiting his mother’s Muggle family and it usually came exactly at the time the ticket read. This one said eleven, which meant he had some time to relax. He carefully made sure not to lean next to the barrier that was the hidden exit.

People came filing in about fifteen minutes later, chattering about Hogwarts. There were a lot of parents, too. Michael suddenly felt self conscious.

Many of the people were wearing traditional robes. Most people at VCPS didn’t wear robes, instead opting for the easier, more fashionable, and most importantly, cheaper alternative of jeans and hoodies. He himself had only brought robes because it was on the packing list. He didn’t know anyone who still wore robes except for his grandmother, who was obsessed with “traditional wizarding values” and thought house-elf slavery should be legal again. Michael’s family did not interact with her much.

The train pulled in a shocking ten minutes early. Michael was impressed at the quality of service. He levitated his bags and Swiffer onto the train, which was made easier since everyone seemed to want to chat instead of actually getting seats. Sucks for them , Michael thought, I’m going to get a window seat .

Michael was expecting something like a commuter train with rows of seats. At best, he figured that it would be the fancy kind with the heated seats and enough leg room. This train… was not that. Instead, it was filled with compartments. He shrugged and stowed his luggage in one. Then he sat down. He knew it was going to be a long journey and he’d want to stand, but there was no way he was going to lose his seat.

A blond haired kid and a couple guys that looked like they were preparing for a career in wrestling walked in and sat down. Michael raised an eyebrow.

“Who are you?” the blond guy demanded. Michael thought they looked about the same age, though he was taller.

“Sup, I’m Michael. You?”

“I am Draco Malfoy,” the guy sniffed. “You have an accent.”

“Sure do. I’m transferring from Vincent Clortho Public School For Wizards. It’s in America,” he added when the other boy looked confused.

Draco nodded. “Oh, a public school? You must be the right sort, then.” The wrestler wanna-bes grunted to each other and pulled out a card game.

Michael shrugged. “I don’t really know what you mean by that.”

“What’s your last name, anyway? Do you have family here in Britain?” Michael was beginning to wonder just what this guy wanted from him.

“It’s Sanchez, and no. My dad’s side of the family is Mexican and my mom is from Eastern Europe.”

“Eastern Europe,” Draco repeated flatly.

“Oh, yeah. We’re from all over. You know, Germany, Poland, Lithuania, a little Irish in there, too.”

“Well, I can trace my family back fifty generations!” Draco said.

“Good for you.” Draco looked put out, like that hadn’t been the reaction he’d wanted. “So what are you, some sort of history buff? I watch the history channel sometimes but I feel like it’s always trying to prove aliens built the pyramids or something.”

“I study the ancient history of the House of Malfoy! We are ancient and noble purebloods! You wish you could be like us!”

Michael couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing.

“What is so funny? I bet you’re just a Mudblood.”

“No, no, it’s just you sound so stupid . I guess I’m not surprised, though, since you’re using that word.” There was the occasional student who thought they were hot stuff because they were related to purebloods at VCPS. They usually stopped that after their lockers got graffitied with magical ink and anything of value got stolen. Michael figured Draco must have been a transfer student too if he hadn’t cut that out by now. Or maybe he was just a blood supremist idiot. Yeah, that was unfortunately more likely.

Michael was about to do something (a magic punch in the face would have worked) when a few girls walked in. They, too, were around his age. One walked right up to Draco and flopped on him, hitting Michael in the face with her hair.

“Do you mind ?” he asked.

“Ignore him, Pansy. He’s an American Mudblood,” Draco said.

Michael stood up. “Okay, that’s it. Diffindo !” He slashed, Draycoh is an idiot into Draco’s deluxe leather trunk.

“Wha- Hey! Bombarda !” Draco cast at Michael’s luggage. He blocked it. Bombarda was one of the first spells you had to learn to block unless you wanted the sewage pipes to explode on you while you went to the bathroom at VCPS.

“My father will hear about this!” Draco hissed.

“I bet he will. And you can tell him this from me.” He made a rude gesture. Draco turned light pink, which was impressive since Michael hadn’t thought he actually had any kind of pigment in his skin.

Draco slammed open the compartment door. His goons quickly got up to flank him. “I am a prefect! And the others are going to hear about this and you’ll be expelled!”

“Snitch!” Michael called after him, but Draco was already out the door.

“Well, look what you did!” Draco’s girlfriend said. “You got him all worked up!”

“I wasn’t the one saying slurs,” he said.

“You’d better watch out, Yankee. Draco has connections . You’re going to disappear one day.”

“I’m not a Yankees fan. And- wait, are you threatening me? Get out of here!” He laughed.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

“What? No, it’s a figure of speech. Though I guess I wouldn’t mind if you left. You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?”

The compartment door slammed open again. Draco and the wrestlers were back, along with a young man and woman who had badges reading Head Girl and Boy respectively.

“Look what he did to my trunk!” Draco sobbed. Michael was pretty sure those were fake tears. Still, he quickly cast Reparo under his breath to fix the trunk. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough that no one would notice until it was too late.

“I didn’t do anything,” Michael said innocently. “Draco was calling me a Mudblood, and I was mad, so I told him if he wasn’t careful someone would slash his trunk. He just thought I actually did it because he’s a delusional baby. Also, I’m not a Muggleborn, if you were wondering.”

The Head Girl shook her head at the Head Boy. “Malfoy, you’re on thin ice. Last year it was Umbridge, this year you’re antagonizing the transfer student? Get yourself together or I’ll get Snape to revoke your badge.” She left and the Head Boy shrugged at them and followed her.

Draco had graduated from a pale blush to bright red. “You… Argh! You’d better get out.”

“Hey, I was here first, idiot. You leave.”

“As the heir to House Malfoy, I command you to leave!”

“Does that even mean anything?”

“Wha- Yes! Of course it does!”

Michael shrugged. “Suit yourself. Oh, hey, your girlfriend, like, threatened me while you were gone. Said I would disappear , like we’re in some bad crime movie.”

The girl looked really happy for some reason. “We aren’t together.” Oh, that was why. Her face fell. “And she’s right, you know. I can make you disappear.”

“Alright, I’ll keep an eye out for you, then. But if you want to make your threat effective, maybe don’t run right for the teachers, okay?”

Draco huffed and his wrestlers huffed with him. “My father will hear about this. And when he does, I’ll get my revenge.”

Michael snorted. “Whatever, dude. I’m gonna nap.” He closed his eyes. He wasn’t actually going to sleep (he wasn’t stupid), but he did cast a few shield charms in case Draco was going to do something annoying. Instead, they started chatting quietly.

He was grateful when the train arrived at Hogwarts. He had been surprised about the lack of a cafe car (they had a cart of food that came once, instead) but ended up eating a chocolate frog. They didn’t have chocolate frogs in America, and they were stupidly expensive here. He supposed he could understand it since the frogs actually jumped and came with trading cards. Sometimes, VCPS would give out rewards to students who didn’t cause extra work for the janitor in the form of chocolate, but they were usually just Hershey’s Wizarding Chocolate, which were slightly more sparkly than regular Hershey’s. Meanwhile, Draco and co had bought armfuls of sweets.

Michael’s family was solidly middle class, and not even upper middle class, and though they lived fairly comfortably, there was no way he was going to waste his money like that. He’d been forced to take a finance class at VCPS that had been incredibly boring (except for when the teacher had given them all leprechaun gold to see who was going to save their money and who would be caught when they tried to spend it. Those who spent theirs lost five points from their letter grade total. Michael was luckily not one of them, though he almost had been.).

When the train stopped, the students began to file out.

“You go on ahead,” Draco said. “I need to check on something.” Yeah, Michael wasn’t going to fall for that. He was certain Draco was about to ruin his luggage. He stood by the door to the compartment, watching inside. To his surprise, Draco kicked some guy who had been watching them, invisible (and wasn’t that creepy) and then cast a spell on him before turning him invisible again. Well, if Draco didn’t like the creepy guy, then he did.

Michael pretended he had been tying his shoe when Draco walked out, totally ignoring him. The second Draco left, he went into the compartment and nudged his toe around before he bumped into something person shaped. Michael didn’t know what spell Draco or the guy had used to turn invisible. It didn’t look like a Disillusionment charm because those could be seen if you focused on them. This seemed like real invisibility. He’d seen a guy with an invisibility cloak (stealing wizard pepper, of course) at VCPS. Maybe it was like that? He tugged on the creepy guy, and lo and behold, the dude was visible again.

“Sup? Oh, wait, Draco used the Full Body Bind, didn’t he? Hmm. Uh, let’s try, Finite Incantatem !” Luckily, the general counterspell worked and the guy got up.

“Thanks,” he said awkwardly.

“No problem, dude. What’s your deal with Draco? Are you in a gang feud with him? Because I’m not getting involved with a gang.”

“What? No!” The guy sounded offended. “Draco doesn’t like me because I - what was it he said? - associate with Muggle lovers.”

“Oh. We’ll get along just fine then,” Michael said, clapping the guy on the back. He stumbled a bit, probably because of the blood loss. They walked off of the train.

“Why were you sitting with Draco if you don’t like him?”

“I was there first. Dude just sat down and started spouting nonsense. Anyway, I wasn’t going to let him have what he wanted by leaving. So I stayed.” The guy looked surprised. “Well, see you around, dude,” Michael said, heading for one of the magic carriages. They didn’t even have anything pulling them. He was reluctantly impressed.

“Uh, yeah, sure?” The guy sounded a little confused. Michael hopped on one of the carriages and the guy went to sit with some people he probably knew.

He arrived in the hall which certainly was great. The student body was a lot smaller than he had expected. It looked like all seven years was the equivalent of about three quarters of VCPS! While he was doing mental math to see if he was right or if the Great Hall was just really big, one of the teachers pulled him aside.

“Sanchez! You’re supposed to be with the first years!”

“What? I’m not a first year, I’m sixteen!”

The teacher shook her head. “You must get Sorted into your house, Mr. Sanchez. Come with me.”

At a loss, he did so. Sorted into his house? What did that mean? Were they going to pick where he was living or something?

The first years stared at him as he walked out of the Great Hall.

“Wait.” Michael turned around to face the teacher. “Am I going to have to do… whatever this is with the eleven year olds ? You can’t be serious.”

“I am indeed. Now students-”

“You can just Sort me separately!”

McGonagall cleared her throat and then continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “You shall soon be Sorted into your houses…”

It seemed that houses were not quite what Michael had been thinking. He hoped he wasn’t in the same house as Draco. He sounded like a Gryffindor, so Michael figured that he’d try not to go there.

The first years and single sixteen year old filed into the Great Hall after the teacher who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall. Michael wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it seemed that the students simply had to put on a hat, which would Sort them. That was nothing like at VCPS. They had been put into homerooms via a hundred question Scantron questionnaire with a final short answer question of how you would fight a troll with only your pencil, wand, and Scantron answer sheet. They had then been required to use the short answer question. Michael, who enjoyed magizoology, knew that trolls were susceptible to fire, so he didn’t have much trouble. But his childhood friend, John, had been permanently turned into a rabbit, which was unfortunate. He used to go and feed John lettuce sometimes. Now, he reflected, he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore.

“Sanchez, Michael!” McGonagall called. He took a breath and stepped up, ignoring the whispers. He was certain there were already rumors spreading about how he had been held back five years. The hat fit decently on his head, unlike the little first years. The perks of having a more or less adult body, he supposed.

“Indeed it is! I fit you quite well,” a voice said. Michael tore the hat off his head.

“Ms. McGonagall, your hat is cursed,” he said. He had heard the hat’s song and its yelling out the names of the houses, but it was reading his mind . There was no way that was legal, right?

“ Professor McGonagall,” she corrected quietly. “I assure you that the Hat is perfectly safe. It simply searches your head to find your best fit.”

“I didn’t get a form saying I was okay with this! I don’t want it to read my mind! That’s, like, creepy!”

“The Hat does not judge or tell us about what it has seen. You must let it do its work.”

Michael scowled, but put it on anyway. He didn’t want to cause a scene.

“I understand why you’d be upset,” the Hat said. “I don’t take it personally. Actually, I think it’s good to be suspicious around talking magical objects. Now, let’s see here. Ah, yes, I see why you’d be worried. VCPS isn’t much like Hogwarts. How interesting!”

Can you just get on with it , Michael thought.

“Oh, certainly! Where should we put you? You have a healthy amount of ambition, but you’re still figuring yourself out. And that’s okay! I always worry for these kids that are so sure that they know exactly what they want to do. I don’t think you’ll like Slytherin very much. And beyond that, I think you won’t be happy there. Oh, don’t be so surprised! I Sort you to a house that matches your personality, but I’m not going to force you to live like that.”

Michael sighed. What’s the point, then?

“The point is to find your best fit! It’s easier for the eleven year olds, I think. They can adapt better, but you get much more sophisticated as you age. You begin to show traits of each house equally. That’s why we do it so young, if you were wondering.” That made some sort of sense, he supposed.

“Not Ravenclaw. You don’t care enough about school. Not to say you aren’t smart, so you can stop thinking that , but you don’t go above and beyond like they do. Gryffindor, maybe? You did stand up against Mr. Malfoy. But I don’t think you’d be happy there either. You only did it because you felt you had to. Why did you feel you had to? Ah! Yes, I know exactly where you belong. Loyalty to one’s friends and family, even willing to stand up for them hundreds of miles away, where they can’t even hear you? Must be HUFFLEPUFF!”

The crowd cheered and Michael gingerly took the Hat off his head. What a weird experience. McGonagall pointed him towards a group of students in black and yellow. He found an empty seat that wasn’t surrounded by children. He didn’t understand why they had to go to school with kids.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why were you Sorted today?” one of the students said.

“Ernie!” The girl next to him hit his shoulder.

Michael rolled his eyes. “I’m a transfer student. Believe me, I asked Ms. McGonagall to let me be Sorted another time. She ignored me.” The girl laughed.

“I’m Hannah. It’s nice to meet you. And that’s Ernie, who really should apologize, and Justin.” Michael nodded at each of them. Piles of food appeared on the table. He had never been so glad to see food in his life. He wished he had listened to his father and actually packed a lunch for the train ride…

While Michael shoveled food onto his plate, the other students chatted about some guy called You-Know-Who (Michael didn’t know who), the war (he was never going to forgive his mother for bringing them into a literal war zone), and the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (there was supposedly a curse on the position so there was a new one every year. At VCPS, DADA was combined with PE and mostly consisted of explaining why drugs were the root of all evil. He still remembered the tagline– “Say NO to Drugs! Say YES to Quidditch!”. He also remembered getting second degree burns from his partner’s failed attempt at an Expelliarmus while practicing what you would do if someone offered you wizard pepper.).

The principal spoke a few words. It seemed their questions about the DADA teacher were answered; the position was going to be taken over by a guy named Mr. Snape. Everyone seemed upset about it. Michael didn’t care. DADA was basically unofficial nap time at VCPS anyway.

They went to their dorms, which were in the basement. The common room was nice, but Michael was not looking forward to sharing a room with five other guys. At least he had had a chance to explain that no, he was not, in fact, a first year student, and was rather just a transfer. Really, it was like they’d never had a transfer student, ever!

~~~

Michael’s classes were still boring, but more hands on than they had been at VCPS. And the teaching quality was significantly better. He was surprised by the lack of non-magical subject areas. Where was the math? The science? They didn’t even have an English class! Sure, Michael had hated school as much as the next person, but he could recognize that it was necessary for the little kids. Not him, though; he could already read and write English!

He was sitting across from the creepy guy from the train in Herbology. He liked the class enough. It was somewhat relaxing. The two of them were examining the leaves on a mandrake to figure out its gender. Because that was a thing mandrakes had, apparently.

“I know you’re staring at me. So just cut the crap and ask what you wanted to,” the weird guy said tiredly.

Michael snorted. “Not gonna fool me that quickly,” he said.

“What are you talking about?”

He sighed. “The second I turn my back, you’re going to pull out that mandrake and ruin my ears. And then I’m gonna discover what your infirm looks like. I hope their beds are better than the nurses’ at VCPS.”

The guy looked relieved. “Oh. I’m not going to do that, you know. I’m not wearing earmuffs either. The hospital wing does have nice beds, though.”

“Good to know.” It was strange, how the guy seemed so resigned to Michael looking at him. “Wait, why did you think I was staring?”

The guy looked at him like he was crazy. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I don’t know everything. What are you, some sort of British celebrity? I bet you don’t know any American celebrities either.”

The guy frowned. “Huh, you actually don’t know? Do you… did I ever introduce myself to you?”

“No, and that’s kind of rude for someone who helped you out like that, you know.”

“You didn’t introduce yourself either. Might as well get it over with. I’m Harry Potter.”

Michael tried remembering who that was. It sounded familiar… he had definitely heard the name, but he couldn’t place where . “Oh, are you that guy who wrote that Quidditch book? Wow, you’re really young for that! How did you get out of jail after robbing all of those Muggle art museums?”

“No, that was Larry Proder. He’s still in prison I believe. I, well, I survived the Killing Curse. And I’m pretty much Voldemort’s number one target.”

Michael snapped his fingers. “Right, right. Oh, Voldemort’s that terrorist guy, yeah? My mother is a diplomat to your ministry.”

“Well, I’m glad we got that sorted out,” Harry said. “Now we can go back to normal and you can pretend you never heard of me.”

“Sure thing, bro. Hey, were you paying attention when the teacher told us how to sex these things? Because I forgot.”

“My friend Hermione - she’s the one over there with the brown curls - would be so disappointed in you.”

“But…?”

“Yeah, I was paying attention. Look at how the leaves are thicker here?”

Michael wondered when the right time to ask for an autograph was.

~~~

Quidditch tryouts for Hufflepuff were happening on the pitch. Michael grabbed his Swiffer WetJet and walked outside. He looked around for the other students, before realizing that Hogwarts had a legitimate setup. VCPS had repurposed a field into a combination football, soccer, and Quidditch pitch. It was BYOC– bring your own chair. The student section was always a great time, though.

“Wow! This is great! I don’t even want to think about how much it cost,” Michael said, finding the aspiring Quidditch players. Justin gave him a weird look.

“I’m surprised you would think about that. Since, you know, you went to a public school?” he said.

“Well, yeah, that’s exactly why. At my old school, we pretty much had to beg alumni for donations for our Quidditch rings. They are made of extra pipes from the bathrooms, but they work well enough,” MIchael replied.

Justin looked disgusted. “But public schools are elite ! They always get plenty of money!”

“You know, I don’t think you two are talking about the same thing,” Hannah interrupted. “Public schools here are where wealthy families go when they want to spend extra money instead of a private school.”

Michael was extremely confused. “That makes no sense. Public schools are government run. It’s in the name! Private school is where all the rich kids go.”

He was spared from Justin’s next tirade by the captain blowing a whistle. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got! Three laps around the pitch, let’s go!”

“Where’s your broom, Michael?” Hannah asked.

“Right here.” He hopped on the Swiffer WetJet and took off. It was a little rusty (literally) but he had just refilled its soap dispenser for an extra burst of speed whenever he pushed the button. The mop pad was fairly new, though it was starting to get a little dirty again. If it got too dirty, the alignment got all out of whack and it barely flew. He sprayed the WetJet a few times to get into the air.

“I can’t believe that thing flies,” Ernie muttered. Michael didn’t like Ernie very much. He always said stuff like that around him.

The WetJet admirably performed its loops, though it wasn’t nearly as fast as the brooms everyone else had. He was surprised that no one else had a Swiffer. His was hardly top of the line, after all. There wasn’t even a single vacuum! Everyone always wanted to fly on the vacuums whenever they could instead of the school’s thirty year old generic Walmart brand mops. They always got your pants wet and then people would laugh and say you peed yourself. Also, the vacuums flew faster, so there was that.

“Sanchez, your flying is good. But what the heck is that?” the captain said, pointing at his mop.

“It’s my Swiffer WetJet! It’s not as new as yours, but it still flies pretty good. Look,” he said, spraying cleaning fluid and flying forward.

The captain sighed. “If you get on the team, you aren’t playing on that.”

Michael thought that was not fair at all.

~~~

He had managed to get on the reserve team, which was disappointing but fair. Some of the students had been playing Quidditch their whole lives. Suddenly Hogwarts’ statistics about having students become professional Quidditch players made sense. There was no way he was going to be able to compete with that. He put his Swiffer WetJet carefully with his duffel bag under his bed.

“Don’t feel bad, Michael,” Justin said. “I didn’t get on the main team either.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t been playing your whole life either. This is so unfair.”

“That’s just the way it is.” Justin patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe we can set up our own games, just for us. There’s definitely more people who didn’t get on the team. We could invite the other houses too!”

Michael considered this. “Oh, like an intramural type thing? I’m surprised Hogwarts doesn’t already have that. At my old school, it was like every club had a Quidditch team. Even the computer science guys, and they never did sports.”

Setting it up was harder than Michael had thought. There were too many channels to go through. It was like Hogwarts didn’t want students to participate in clubs. Actually, how many clubs did Hogwarts even have ? Michael wasn’t sure. But they managed to start the first Hogwarts Intramural League. The first match was Michael, Justin, and a few other Hufflepuffs versus some Gryffindors.

“No fair, you’re on the official team ,” Michael said to a red haired guy. He was pretty sure it was this red head and not one of the other ones, anyway.

“He just wants to practice. He’s getting better.” It was Harry Potter, walking down the pitch toward them. He looked more tired than usual, which was saying something.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re playing. Everyone is always going on about how you’re, like, the best seeker here.”

Harry laughed. “I don’t know about that. I caught my first one in my mouth. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m sitting this one out. Did you want my broom, Ron?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Ron said, clearly happy about this. Harry handed him a sleek looking broom. Michael suppressed his jealousy.

Madam Hooch had agreed to officiate their game. “Mount your brooms!” she cried. Michael had made sure that his Swiffer WetJet was legal within the club’s rules before they had even planned the games. “And… go!”

He sprayed the cleaning fluid, propelling him into the air. There were a few looks at that. Ron looked scandalized from his place as Keeper.

The game was a lengthy one. Michael wished he had persuaded everyone to use American Rules Quidditch (which borrowed quite a bit from Muggle football, including tackling, only getting points from the snitch if it crossed into the end zone, and, best of all, a timer). This was so much more boring. Where was the action? The goofy looking tights? The helmets with advertisements for local businesses???

Gryffindor won, to Michael’s displeasure. He was used to losing, though; VCPS was consistently the bottom of their league. Still, it was a nice way to pass the time.

“Americans play this game differently,” he told Ron as they walked toward the locker rooms.

“Really? I thought Quidditch was the same everywhere!” He sounded genuinely interested.

“Not at all. Let me tell you about American Rules Quidditch. First of all, players are allowed to knock each other off of brooms with spells or their bodies…”

~~~

Michael had been studying in the common room when the Death Eaters attacked. He wasn’t even sure what was happening until Justin had run in the room, crying hysterically.

“They’re here! We have to hide!”

“No, I don’t think so,” Michael said, retrieving what he needed from his duffel bag. “My old school had protocols for this. You stay here. I’ll be back.”

Hogwarts was in chaos. He got the drop on two Death Eaters, using Stunners on them both. Then he cast a Disillusionment spell on himself so he could snipe them. He found himself ascending the Astronomy tower. Michael had no idea what he walked into. Draco was pointing his wand at the principal (no, wait, headmaster). The DADA teacher, Snape (who was as bad as everyone said, but not as bad as some of his old teachers) was talking to him. Also, Harry Potter was there too.

“Do not worry, Draco. I shall do it.” Snape leveled his wand at Dumbledore. Michael knew what he had to do. He snapped the gun attachment to his wand, loaded it, flicked off the safety, and pointed it at Snape.

“Drop your wand!” he called. In the distance, a bald eagle cried. A thousand American flags waved in unison four thousand miles away.

“What?” Snape said, turning around.

Dumbledore looked a little disappointed, probably because Michael had ruined his epic sacrifice for Harry Potter. “Mr. Sanchez, we do not allow guns or gun attachments for wands on school property.”

“This is obviously an emergency. And you let eleven year olds curse each other, so I don’t really see the difference?”

“Just get on with it, Severus,” Dumbledore whispered. Draco and Michael locked eyes. Just what was going on here?

“Watch and learn, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said. “ Avada -”

“ Murica F Yeah !” Michael yelled. This was the activation password for the gun wand to turn into a gun. He shot a bullet directly into Snape’s right shoulder. VCPS had a test on marksmanship during PE. He had gotten an A.

Snape screamed and dropped his wand. Before Michael could get it, Draco picked it up.

“Looking for something, Yankee?”

“Oh, shut up Malfoy. Unless you want me to shoot you too?”

“Gentlemen, please,” Dumbledore interrupted. “I would like no one here to get hurt. Please give Severus back his wand, Draco.”

“Are you stupid?” Michael asked him.

“That is no way to speak to the Headmaster,” Snape grunted, holding a hand to his bloody shoulder. “Twenty points from Hufflepuff.” Michael was surprised it wasn’t more.

“Guess what? I don’t care. Drop the wands, Draco, or I shoot.”

Draco huffed. “Like you’d shoot such a silly Muggle weapon at a pureblood like me-” Michael interrupted that with a bullet to the arm. He hoped Draco lost the ability to use it.

“MY ARM!” Draco screeched loud enough that Michael somewhat regretted his actions. Then he remembered how much he hated people like Draco.

“Want to make it both arms? No? Then drop the wands.” Draco tossed them at his feet. Michael summoned them to him. Then he pointed the gun at Snape and Draco.

“What do you want me to do with them?” Michael asked the headmaster. Dumbledore just shook his head and took his own wand out from his turquoise robe pocket. He flicked it at Harry, who jumped to his feet.

“Professor, if you had your wand, why -” Harry started.

“Oh my god, they weren’t kidding when they said you were insane,” Michael said somewhat hysterically.

Dumbledore clasped his hands together. “Remember what I told you, Harry. And Michael, sometimes a strategist has to make sacrifices. It is like in American Rules Quidditch when the quarterback-chaser must allow themself to be tackled to get the snitch to the end zone.”

“Oh my god,” Michael said.

Dumbledore grabbed Snape’s arm. “Oh dear, it seems Severus has pushed me!” He did a graceful swan dive off of the tower.

“What the actual–” Michael muttered. Harry kept looking between Snape and the spot on the ground that had once been a wizard. Draco just looked confused.

“Well, that’s that,” Snape said. “I am a Death Eater who has killed Dumbledore. Mwa ha ha.” There was no feeling in his voice.

“You’re a terrible actor, Professor,” Draco grumbled.

“Dumbledore is dead ,” Harry whispered, in shock.

“This is even weirder than that one time I got turned into a cat for a week and watched the magical blob that cleans the hallways eat a student,” Michael said.

Snape walked away. “Potter, you’ll have to be the good actor for both of us. I’ve just killed Dumbledore while you were helpless. And, action .”

“You killed Dumbledore!” Harry screamed, shockingly realistically.

“Come along Draco, we must escape the Light side,” Snape said, casually strolling down the stairs.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” he said.

“And you won’t. Now let’s go or I’ll tell your father that you cheated on the defense test last week.”

“I did not!”

“You did and I saw it. Let’s go .”

They left. Harry just looked at Michael, and then ran after them. Michael followed, gun ready. The few Death Eaters they ran into were not a problem once they were shot. They bursted outside, a chilly breeze against their faces.

“That was… not how I had expected tonight to go,” Harry said, looking up at the green skull and snake floating over the castle.

Michael just shrugged, at a loss for words. “Yeah… I guess Vincent Clortho Public School For Wizards did teach me one thing right, though.”

“What’s that?”

“You can never trust your teachers. And everything can be solved with a gun.” There was the screech of another bald eagle, another flap of the flag. It almost sounded as if the sounds together created the word MURICA . And then, the night was silent. The Death Eaters had fled from the school, which was being secured by Aurors. Everything was at peace. Even Dumbledore’s pancaked corpse.