Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a hot, muggy day in Rochester, New York. 

Alfred Jones huffed, blowing a tuft of sweaty hair out of his eyes as he scanned the newspaper before him. The words were practically blurring together at this point, boredom making it even more difficult to piece together the morning news.

He groaned, giving up and setting the newspaper down. These last few days were supposed to be a vacation, something to lighten his mood after his trip to Japan last week, but the melancholy of it had yet to leave his mind, he supposed. Even the scenery wasn’t helping. The small house Alfred owned in the outskirts of Rochester wasn’t enough; usually his spot in the kitchen made him feel better. The sun was streaming in through the windows, the leaves were green and full, and the lady next door was passing by with her dog, but he couldn’t bring himself to summon up the energy to be anything but bored. 

Ugh. Alfred sighed, glancing at the calendar. August 20th, 1995. Nothing was going on; even the international scene was fairly quiet. His boss didn’t have any work for him; Alfred had hardly even talked to his government in the last few years, mostly just check-ins and occasional public appearances to make sure he was still around. 

One of those public appearances being the 50th anniversary of the atomic bombings in Japan. 

Alfred knew he was lucky. He and Kiku, for all their conflict and differences, were on very good terms now; he’d even stayed at the other’s home for the last two weeks. Japan itself was doing very well, too, but whenever Alfred spent too much time thinking about the end of World War II he started to get all mopey, and he didn’t like it. 

Jeez, Rochester was supposed to lighten his mood, not make him all broody. 

There was a near deafening crack in his living room. 

For a few heart-stopping moments, Alfred thought it was a gunshot. He nearly fell off his stool before he was on his feet, newspaper discarded on the counter as he grabbed a pistol from where he kept it in one of the kitchen drawers. 

“Alfred!” He was approximately two seconds from turning to sweep his living room when a familiar voice rang out. Alfred sighed, lowering his pistol as he stepped fully into the room. 

Sure enough, there was his twin brother, Matthew Williams, pulling himself up from where he was half-sprawled over the couch. He snorted, leaning on the doorway as his brother stood up with a grunt, brushing pale blond bangs out of his eyes. 

“I thought I told you to not apparate near me!” Alfred said by way of greeting, putting his pistol back on safe. “Jesus, Mattie, I thought you were a gunman!”

“You’ve moved your couch,” Matthew accused, jabbing a finger at him. “This spot was totally clear last time I came by.”

Alfred recalled reorganizing the entire first floor on a whim two nights ago. Right. The sofa used to be underneath the windowsill, and the spot where Matthew had fallen used to host the rug.

“Impulse cleaning,” he shrugged, stuffing the pistol into his pocket in a way that made Matthew wince. “What? I was bored.”

“No, that’s not—” his brother sighed, shaking his head. “Whatever. Come on, I’ve got an idea.”

And that had alarm bells going off in Alfred’s head. For one, Matthew had apparated into his living room. Which in and of itself wasn’t unusual, except his brother knew what Alfred’s opinions on apparition were and was usually polite enough to phone in and give him a warning. Secondly, he could definitely see a wand holstered up his brother's sleeve, peeking out from underneath his sweater.

So this was magic related. Joy.

“I thought I was the one who came up with the hare-brained schemes,” he said slowly. Matthew just waved a hand. 

"Key word here is hare-brained,” he replied dismissively. “I know you’re not busy, Al, you always sulk for a while after coming back from Japan—”

“I do not sulk!”

“Alfred, you only ever come to Rochester to sulk, don’t try that on me. Anyways, where’s your wand?” Alfred stared at him blankly. Matt snapped his fingers, brushing past him and into the kitchen. “ Wand , Al, I know you have one!”

“I don’t know!” Alfred exclaimed, throwing up his hands. How long had it been since he’d last used magic? World War II was probably the last time he used it seriously, maybe once or twice during the Cold War? He racked his brain for the last time he’d seen the old thing. “New York, maybe?” He paused, thinking. “No, maybe San Francisco? Or Guam. One of those houses, somewhere in an attic.”

“Of course you don’t know where it is,” Matthew sighed, glancing at the counter. “Newspapers, Alfred? You must really have been moping.”

“...Yeah…” 

“Well, you’re not going to be bored anymore. So the wand is a lost cause. I’m assuming you don’t have an owl?”

“What are you getting on about?” Alfred asked, tilting his head. 

“There’s a magic fascist on the rise in the UK and England is doing jack shit about it,” Matthew said, as if he didn’t sound like he’d gone bat crazy. “So I’m gonna make sure we kill the guy and squash his movement, but I don’t want to do it alone and you need to brush up on your magic.”

“Who and a what now?”

“Magic fascist,” Mattie repeated, leaning on the counter. “There’s this guy called Voldemort in England right now who basically is a wizard supremacist. Dude got revived back in June and England’s annoying me with how little his government is doing about it.”

Alfred blinked. Then blinked again. 

“Alright, then,” he shrugged. “We’re killing a fascist now, I guess.”

“Wonderful!” Matthew grinned, clapping his hands. “Now then, I’m going to need you until…” he paused, eyes flickering upwards as he thought. “Till next June at least. Extended operation. I know you’re not doing anything without the Soviet Union to rile you up.”

“ June?!” Alfred blinked, waving a hand incredulously. “I thought we were just killing somebody.”

“Well, that’s the end goal. There’s a few steps in between that. Anyways, we need to buy plane tickets. England’s too far to apparate and we’ve got to be there by the 30th. You can buy the tickets for me, right? I’ve gotta go grab myself some supplies.”

Alfred frowned, folding his arms as he regarded his brother. “How long exactly have you been planning this?”

“Three weeks, but the idea’s been around since England told me in June,” came the reply. Mattie was already turning around, bouncing about in that way of his when he was comfortable and caught up in an idea. Despite everything, Alfred couldn’t help the surge of affection that rose in his chest at the familiar movements. It was rare to see his brother get so expressively passionate about something. “I had to owl the Netherlands a few times and iron some things out before I went to you. Wanted to make sure I had everything in place.”

To be fair, it was pretty easy to get passionate about killing fascists. But Alfred wasn’t about to complain. 

“Wait, what do you mean by the Netherlands; what does he have to do with this?” He asked, the name clicking. Why was Jan involved? 

“Didn’t feel like talking sense into Arthur, he’d get too caught up in the ‘I have to follow orders’ schtick he’s got going on.” Matthew made air quotes with his fingers. “Now, I’ve got some potions to buy. Call you tonight!”

With that, he twisted on a foot and disappeared with another bullet-esque crack, leaving Alfred staring at a blank patch of tile. 

“Love ya,” he said to the empty air, then sighed, shaking his head as he turned to pick his newspaper back up. “Fucking hell, I hate apparition.”

Alfred had never been one to pay much attention to the magical world. No, he’d been pretty adverse to the whole thing since 1692, and the United States had never had a massive magical population on top of that. There hadn't been much reason for wizards to immigrate to the Americas back in the colonial days; they didn’t face the same economic hardships their non-magical counterparts did and had mostly remained in their homelands. Sure, America had a half dozen magical schools scattered across the country, but they were small, the high number more to account for America’s size and diverse culture than any massive population. 

As the embodiment of the United States of America, Alfred F. Jones shared the same sentiments most of his American wizards did when it came to magic: blend in and act normal. 

Canada—his twin brother, Matthew Williams—was a different story. French wizards had been very prominent when it came to the fur and lumber trade back in the day, mostly seeking new wand materials and potion ingredients, and Alfred knew for a fact that he’d been privately tutored as a kid while in France’s care. England had been all too eager to continue that education after dealing with Alfred spurning magic all of his childhood. While Canada did have a Quebec and an English-Canadian school with a very prominent rivalry even he’d heard about, homeschooling or going overseas were also pretty common practices.

Alfred huffed as he checked his notes about the flight he’d booked out of New York, fingers tapping as he worked to remember the right time and terminal. He put the small notepad back in his pocket before continuing on through the JFK International airport. He’d planned to stay in Rochester for another week or two, but Matt had made it very clear in their call last night that they needed to leave as soon as possible, so he was here on the 23rd instead. 

He paused, worrying his lower lip as he thought. He didn’t know much about continental Europe’s magical system, just that it’d hardly changed in the last three hundred years and the people in power were all aristocratic pricks. There’d been a conflict that roughly coincided with World War II that he knew Matthew had been involved in with England and the other Europeans, but Alfred had been too busy in the Pacific theater and the non-magic side of things to pay it much thought outside of the few clashes that had occurred on his own soil. There’d been another one twentyish years ago, he thought; he distinctly remembered England complaining about it, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what it had been about. That one had been pretty well contained to the Isles.

Whatever. Alfred swerved around a young family with a stroller, pausing by the terminal hosting the tell-tale sign of London, United Kingdom. He was around fifteen minutes early to boarding, so he paused, glancing around until he caught sight of a familiar mop of blond hair sitting in the corner.

“Yo! Mattie!” He called, waving an arm. He got a roll of the eyes in response, and Alfred laughed, walking over to meet him. He could see his brother wince at his volume, eyes flickering across the airport terminal before he sighed and stood up. Alfred grinned in triumph, giving him a tight hug.

“Do you have to scream every time you see me?” He complained, shoving him away. “And stop that. Every time you hug me you try to suffocate me.”

“It’s an expression of loveeeee, Mattie, don’t you spurn me.”

“You are the worst brother.”

“I know!” Alfred grinned. It had been way too long since he’d hung out with Matthew. He supposed a whole ten months with magic wouldn’t be so bad if he got to hang out with (re: annoy) his brother the whole time. He paused for a moment. Speaking of family… “Are we meeting Arthur on the other side of the pond or no?”

Matthew shook his head. Alfred paused, studying him, and his brother looked away.

“Oh my god, Arthur doesn’t even know.”

“He does!” A pause. “…will.”

“What did you tell him?”

Mattie fumbled a little bit, then wriggled a hand. “There’s a note on his desk.”

Alfred laughed out loud, a brief bark that had a few heads turning towards them. “You know how many notes Arthur has on his desk, he won’t see it for the next month. That’s gold, Mattie.”

“Ask for forgiveness, not permission,” Matthew muttered, eyes flickering over to the gate where, out the window, they could see the plane they’d be taking across the Atlantic. “Come on, we’ll be boarding in a few minutes. I’ll fill you in on the basics on the plane.”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Alfred wondered if he was rubbing off on Matthew.

He was fairly certain that a century ago Mattie wouldn’t be caught dead sneaking into the UK, much less the magical side of it, without Arthur’s permission. Now, though, he was taking them right through the middle of Central London as if he owned the place. 

They’d taken a taxi down from the London City Airport to Charing Cross Road, a slow, traffic-filled trip that Alfred was fairly sure he could have walked faster if Matthew had been in the mood for lugging his suitcase around. As it was, they’d been let off in front of an old bookshop. 

“So… what does a bookshop have to do with anything?” Alfred asked slowly, leaning on his suitcase. Canada huffed, just shaking his head and tugging him away to the dingy, half run down building to its right. Alfred found himself wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Or… this?”

“Magic, Al,” he responded, as if a long-suffering mother. “How many times do I have to explain this to you? Come on, we need to find rooms. I hope Tom kept my reservation.”

Alfred blinked in confusion, then shrugged, glancing up at the sign in front of the dingy store. The Leaky Cauldron,  it read in peeling, hand-painted ink.

“If the rest of the magical community lives like this, I am not staying here ‘til June.”

This time Matthew just ignored him, and Alfred rolled his eyes, following his brother in as he opened the door, to find…

A warm tavern. Alfred blinked a few times, taking it in. The Leaky Cauldron certainly had invested more into its interior than its exterior; though it wasn’t a five-star hotel, there was a warm bar and several tables. A fireplace crackled in the far end of the room. Around a dozen people, most in wizarding robes, were scattered about in small groups around the room. Alfred shook his head. Did European wizards have some aversion to jeans?

“Ah! Mr. Williams, I assume?” 

Alfred turned to see the bartender, an older man with balding white hair and an old suit vest, come around to meet them. 

“It’s good to meet you, Tom,” Matthew smiled, shaking the man’s hand. “This is my brother, Alfred. You still have a room for us, right?”

“Of course,” Tom said, nodding. “Are you going up now, or would you like me to take your bags?”

“If you could take our luggage, I’d appreciate it. We have some shopping to do in the Alley.”

Tom nodded, and Matthew dug into his pocket, pulling out some silver and gold coins to put in the other’s hand. Once he had the money securely in his own bag, Tom took out his wand and flicked it. Alfred jolted in surprise as his suitcase leapt right out of his hand, floating away with Matthew’s own towards the stair in the corner. 

“You’ve spent too long in the muggle world,” Matthew teased him as they walked away. “I’m really going to have to catch you up if some flying suitcases scare you.”

“They did not,” Alfred protested,  shaking his head as they went out the back door. Matthew just chuckled, taking out a wand as they faced down a brick wall.

“Well, as long as this doesn’t scare you,” he said, tapping on a particular brick. 

Alfred was rather proud of how he only twitched a little when the entire wall seemed to fold in on itself, the bricks peeling away to reveal a new alley where there had been none before. Unlike the half-filled tavern behind them, it was packed with people, many pushing around trolleys or holding bags. 

“Welcome to Diagon Alley. It’s the busiest time of year,” Matthew said, hurrying forwards. Alfred had to nearly jog to keep up with him. “So we need to get started as soon as possible. First off, though, we need to get you a wand. I still can’t believe you lost yours.”

“I wasn’t using it,” Alfred grumbled, but the excuse sounded weak even to him. Maybe he should have kept a better eye on his wand, now that he thought about it. At the time, he’d been too focused on the Apollo missions and the science of it all to give much thought to magic. As it was, Matthew was leading them through the narrow street, dodging families left and right as they went.

In fact, there were a lot of student-aged kids around. Hogwarts must be starting soon, Alfred thought idly. He didn’t know too much about the school besides its prestige, and so he found himself watching the kids as they passed by. They looked perfectly normal to him, just regular teenagers going about their back-to-school shopping. 

“Here we are!” Matthew paused in his walk, causing Alfred to almost crash into him. He wheeled back a few steps, craning his neck backwards to see an especially old-looking shop before them. The sign on top read Ollivanders’ Wands, in Business Since 382 B.C.  

“Jeez, this shop is older than us,” he muttered, quiet enough that only Matthew could hear. 

“It’s older than Arthur,” his brother responded with a chuckle. “And one of the best wandmakers in the world. This is where I get all of my upkeep and wand replacements, so it’ll work well for you.” He winked at him. “The Ollivander family is quite… experienced with people like us. They may not be aware of who we are exactly, but they’ve been servicing the Kirklands since around the time they opened.”

Alfred whistled lowly. That was an impressive achievement indeed. Meanwhile, Matthew started forwards again, and he followed after him as they entered the shop.

It was rather cramped inside, several oil lanterns casting a dim, warm light across a small foyer. Behind the desk in the back stood a massive wall full of small boxes that Alfred could only guess held a variety of wands. In front of them was an old man, just finishing up business with an older woman and a kid Alfred could only guess was her daughter, who was clutching a brand new wand tightly in both hands.

“Just a moment!” the man—Ollivander? He was the only employee Alfred could see—called, waving at them as he accepted payment from the older woman. Alfred and his brother had to press themselves close to the wall to allow them to leave. 

“Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” Matthew greeted the old man, who narrowed his eyes at him as they shook hands. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Williams. Ash wood with Phoenix feather core, 10 and three quarters with unyielding flexibility. You were here only five years ago, don’t tell me it’s already losing potency.”

“Oh, no, no,” Matthew shook his head. He slipped his wand out of his pocket, passing it to the old wandmaker. “I would never insult you like that. Your wand is still serving me as good as ever. It’s my brother I’m here for; he needs a replacement.”

“Oho, you have a brother now?” Ollivander craned his neck around Matthew to give Alfred a good, long look. “Interesting, very interesting indeed. Well then, I’ll be happy to work with him.” He passed Matthew’s wand back to him. “But I don’t want to see you here until my grandson’s in my place. That wand you have should easily last you another twenty years.” He beckoned to Alfred. “You now, stand still! I need to measure you.”

Alfred was very aware of Matthew’s laugh as he flinched back at the tape measurer that promptly flew at his face, stopping just shy of his nose to measure his nostrils. Unperturbed, Ollivander just waved his hand, and the tape measurer moved to wrap around his head. 

“Very funny,” he grunted. “You can stop laughing now, my last wandmaker wasn’t too interested in knowing how far apart my ears are.”

Ollivander made a noise of offense. “Well, they should have been! I say, these younger stores are growing worse by the day. Any wandmaker worth their merit knows that your measurements are very important.”

“Each wand has to be unique, Alfred,” Matthew added, clearly still amused by the situation. “That’s what makes Ollivander so good. Stay still now.”

Alfred spent the next few minutes giving his twin his deepest frown, raising his arms every now and again to give the tape more access to his body. Finally, Ollivander held out a hand, and the tape measurer whipped back to him. 

“Very interesting,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Alfred, Matthew said your name was? Hm… there is a lot of conflicting information here. We might need a few tries, now.”

Conflicting? Alfred mouthed at his brother, who just shrugged as Ollivander turned around and tapped a few of the boxes, pulling one out and opening it. 

“Ash wood, unicorn hair core, 13 inches, and of swishy flexibility,” he said, passing it over to Alfred. “Try that.”

Alfred held the wand, and for a moment nothing happened. Then it let out a puff of smoke and Ollivander snatched it away. 

“Hum, it was worth a try,” he muttered, more to himself than his customers. “Sometimes siblings will share enough traits for similar wands, but that is clearly not the case here… Let’s try this one. Cherry wood, dragon heartstring, 10 inches and unyielding.”

This time, as soon as Alfred’s fingers curled around the handle, the thing let out an unyielding scream. He dropped it almost immediately, but Ollivander caught it with ease, tutting to himself. 

“Just as I thought,” he said. “Difficult, yes, but I think I have a general idea of what you need now.”

Contrary to his words, they went through at least a dozen more wands. By the end of it Alfred was wondering if this Ollivander had jinxed all of his wands, or taught them to hate nations, because frankly this was a little ridiculous. Matthew, on the other hand, seemed to be having the time of his life, still with that insufferable smirk on his face.

“Alright, this one.” Ollivander summoned a box up from the top shelf, carefully setting it down on the counter before he took out the wand itself.

“You’re confident,” Alfred remarked, eyeing the wand. It looked no different than the other dozen he’d tried. Ollivander just snorted, thrusting it forwards.

“Because I am. I’m the best wandmaker in Europe for a reason, son! Now, larchwood with unicorn hair, 13 and a quarter, swishy. Give it a whirl.”

Dutifully, Alfred took the wand, flicking it absentmindedly. Instead of an explosion or screaming, an odd warmth overtook his body, complemented with silver sparks shooting out from the tip, and he blinked in surprise. 

“Wonderful!” Ollivander exclaimed, clapping his hands once. “That’s a sophisticated wand, there. Very proud. It will do well in your care, so long as you respect it.”

“Larchwood,” Matthew commented, humming. “Isn’t that the one that prefers purebloods?”

“Of course not!” Ollivander exclaimed, whirling around as Matthew paid him several of the gold coins. “It’s a lie! Dirty rumors spread in Grindlewald’s time to promote blood supremacy, all about how the more noble woods are pureblood-only. I’ll have you know that I have paired several Larch wands with muggle-borns in my day.”

“Ah.” Matthew nodded, smiling. “I stand corrected. I’m glad that's the case. Thank you for your time, Ollivander.”

“Thanks,” Alfred added, not sure what else to say as he studied his new wand. 

“My pleasure,” Ollivander responded, nodding to himself. “Mysterious beings you may be, but my family’s wands will serve you well all the same. Now good day!”

They waved goodbye to Ollivander, and upon leaving the shop, Matthew turned to him. 

“Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?” 

Alfred rolled his eyes into the back of his head. “That was ridiculous , Matt; I’m half convinced you just paid a man to embarrass me.”

That earned him a hit to the shoulder. “That’s just how Ollivander works, Al,” Matthew huffed, leading them through the busy street once again. “I will say though, I only took him four tries. It’s rare to see someone as experienced as Ollivander get challenged.” He shot him a knowing look. “That wand of yours will be interesting, I think. Now come on, we’ve got books to buy.”

“Books? Books for what?”

But Matthew didn’t answer him, pressing between two families to reach a bookstore, whose sign read Flourish and Blotts. Alfred muttered some choice words under his breath, but followed, sticking his new wand in his back pocket as he ducked inside the store. There were even more teenagers in here than there were in the street. 

“Alright, I think I brought most of the books we need from home, but we still need a few more,” Matthew said once they were inside, pulling him aside as he snatched two copies of the same book off of a half-empty shelf. He glanced at the cover and nodded. “ Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard. I don’t know what the professor is thinking, this looks dreadfully boring.”

“Defensive what?” Alfred leaned over, snatching one of the books out of his brother’s hand. He peered closer, then blinked in confusion. “Matt, this is a textbook.”

“Of course it is,” Matthew shrugged, continuing on. Alfred hurried to follow him, pausing to let two twelve-year-olds pass them by. “You kind of need textbooks to go to school, Al. Now where would Drafts and Potions be?”

Alfred looked back down at the textbook in his hands, then at the retreating backs of the kids that had just passed them by. Schoolchildren. 

Going back to Hogwarts.

“You are not enrolling us in school,” he declared, perhaps a little too loud for such a crowded shop. “You’re pulling my leg.”

Matthew had the decency to look a little abashed. 

“It’s where we’ll be most useful,” he said, lowering his voice as he turned back to him. “Besides, you need to brush up on your magic anyways. If we were going straight into the fight itself, I would have had you bring a gun and skipped the wand altogether.”

“I did bring a gun,” Alfred shot back, just as quietly. “You are not bringing me to a school.”

“You promised to stay until June. That’s when term ends.”

“I did not promise.”

Matthew lowered him with a serious look. “Look, Alfred, I’ll explain everything to you later, but trust me when I say that we will be useful at Hogwarts. Out of every place in the United Kingdom, that is the only spot where I can think of where we can start tracking You-Know-Who, and we can only get in as students. I thought you said you wanted to kill fascists?”

Oh, that was low. Alfred glared at his brother, but only got a glare right back at him.

“Oh my god,” he groaned, shaking his head. “This is all an elaborate ruse to get me to learn magic.”

“It’s part of it,” Matthew shrugged, unrepentant. “Plus we need to keep an eye on someone I know You-Know-Who is going to try and murder, as well as some other clues I want to start up on. It’ll be fine. We’ll sort ourselves into Gryffindor, you can learn magic again, and we’ll hopefully kill some fascists by the end of it to seal the deal.”

He was getting goaded into going to high school. Mattie owed him big time for this, because Alfred was never going to let this favor go.

“What year are we going in?” He sighed, handing the textbook back to his brother. Matthew grinned at him, well aware that he had won. 

“Fifth year,” he responded. “Congratulations, we’re sixteen.”

Well, that wasn’t too much of a stretch from their physical age of nineteen, but still. Alfred rolled his eyes, turning around to see a girl staring straight at him. 

Jesus! He jerked back, glancing at his brother, who to his credit had only gone a little pale. 

“Hello,” said the girl. She had long, pale blond hair and silver blue eyes. She looked to be around fourteen years old, in a blue-rimmed sweater marked with the crest of an eagle. It was familiar, and it took Alfred a second to realize that it was the mark of the house of Ravenclaw. They were the smart ones, if he remembered correctly.

How much had she heard? They’d said nothing incriminating about their natures, but…

“Hello,” Matthew said in reply, jerking Alfred out of his thoughts. “Who are you?”

“I’m Luna Lovegood,” said the girl. “Do you really believe it?”

“Believe what?”

“That You-Know-Who is back. Not many people do.”

Alfred glanced at Matthew, trying to figure out what he should say, but his brother looked just as lost as he was. 

“Maybe,” Matthew finally settled on, shuffling his books to one arm. “I’m Matthew Williams; this is my brother, Alfred. We’re transferring to Hogwarts from Canada, so we’re still new to everything going on over here.”

“Mm,” Luna hummed, tilting her head at them. “Well, I hope you get sorted into Ravenclaw. You both seem rather nice.”

With that, she walked away as silently as she had come. Alfred watched as the last wisps of blond hair swung around the corner before he whipped back around to Matthew. 

“Weird girl,” said Matthew.

“We’ll need to be more careful,” Alfred replied, shaking his head. “Hopefully she didn’t hear the fascist part of things. Come on, you said we had books to buy?”

Matthew nodded. “Yep. I think I saw the potions section over here…”

Chapter Text

Sometimes Matthew wondered if Alfred was rubbing off on him. 

That was the main thought running through his head as they hurried through the bustle of King’s Cross Station. Usually Alfred was the one with the hair-brained schemes, running headfirst into battlefields and braving England’s cooking, and Matthew was the one dragged along, making sure he wasn’t getting himself into too much trouble. Now it seemed more the other way around, with Alfred the one providing the voice of caution and skepticism.

It made sense, if he thought about it. Alfred had always been… uncomfortable around magic, to say the least. He’d protested ever being around it, and learning had been slow for him. He hadn’t gotten any formal schooling until the mid-1800s, and even then Matthew was well aware that it had been only to connect with his magical minority rather than out of respect for the craft itself.

Matthew, on the other hand, had always found magic fascinating. This would be his second time coming to Hogwarts, his first time returning since his graduation in 1828, and he had to admit that he was excited to go back. Of course, this time he’d have to be in Gryffindor and not in his home house of Hufflepuff, but the circumstances were as they were. Alfred would certainly get sorted into the house of the brave as well, and together they’d keep an eye on one Harry Potter. 

“So what’s all this about Platform 9 ¾?” Alfred asked, interrupting Matthew’s train of thought. He was growing impatient, fingers tapping against his trolley as he regarded the brick pillar in front of them. “There is no ¾ here, just 9 and 10.”

“That’s kind of the point, Al,” Matthew chuckled, snorting at the low look he got in reply. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re still upset about your name.”

“You registered me as Alfred Williams , how am I not supposed to be upset?”

Okay, he had to admit that he hadn’t done that just for their cover. Matthew had to pause, holding back another laugh to compose himself. 

“We have to appear as normal as possible,” he replied smoothly, knowing full well that his smile was more irritating than reassuring. “Normal twins don’t have different last names. You remember what I taught you, right?”

Alfred just rolled his eyes. The last week had been spent mostly in their room at the Leaky Cauldron, coming up with plans and disguises, but also giving Alfred a crash course in basic spells so he didn’t break their cover by being at the level of a first year. Honestly, he’d gone over forty years without any magic at all? They were lucky they could say he was American, where the magical education system started later in life. 

“Alright, we’re going to run through the pillar,” He said, and before Alfred could respond, he took off, sprinting straight towards the brick wall and passing right through it. I have to hold to tradition here. First years go on their own.

The station was bustling, and Matthew was quick to get out of the way, passing by a group of young teenagers as he waited for his brother to follow him. Sure enough, Alfred appeared perhaps half a minute later, mouth open in a war cry as he rolled to a stop. 

“See? Not so bad,” Matthew chuckled, clapping Alfred on the shoulder. He got another glare in return. “Oh, don’t be grumpy.”

“I’m going to school. I have every right to be grumpy.”

Now it was Matthew’s turn to roll his eyes as he headed towards the train, trusting Alfred to follow him. 

“Nice dog, Harry!” 

Matthew blinked at the familiar name, turning to try and find the source of the voice. A moment later, there was the shock of unruly black hair he’d seen in the pictures. Right at his side were a large black dog and a redheaded middle-aged woman. 

“Thanks, Lee!” Harry Potter responded. His back was to them, but Matthew was glad to see that he was alive and well. Hopefully, he and Alfred could keep it that way. 

“That’s him?” Alfred asked, having followed his gaze. “The Potter kid?”

“Yep,” Matthew nodded, taking his luggage off the trolley. “Now come on, we need to find a seat. We’ve got the whole year to get to know him.”

“Gotcha.” Alfred lifted his own suitcases with ease, following Matthew as they got onto the train. He whistled lowly at the sight, glancing over at the compartments full of students. “Jeez, it's been a while since I’ve been on an old-style train like this.”

“I can imagine,” Matthew chuckled, making his way down the corridor as the train’s whistle rang through the air. It took them a few minutes, but soon he found an empty compartment near the back for them to use. He let Alfred throw up their luggage, collapsing down onto the seat closest to the window. 

“No turning back now, I guess,” Alfred said, sitting down opposite him as they looked outside. Matthew tilted his head, and could just catch sight of the great black dog jumping up on Potter’s shoulders as he moved to board the train. Energetic dog. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, leaning back in his seat and smirking. “Boy, when Arthur finds out I actually got you to go to Hogwarts…”

“Don’t remind me,” Alfred groaned, shaking his head. “I can already hear the howler.”

Matthew laughed, but didn’t have time to respond when the compartment door opened again. He turned to see who was interrupting them, and tilted his head a little when he saw the girl from last week. Luna, she’d said her name was?

“Hello,” Luna greeted them. Her voice was soft, but not weak, and her hair was now pulled back into a ponytail, her wand tucked behind an ear. “It’s very nice to see you again. May I sit?”

Matthew shared a quick glance with Alfred, who just shrugged minutely. Well, it’d be rude to say no…

“Sure,” he replied, getting up. “Here, I can take your trunk.”

“Thank you.” Lovegood passed her trunk to Matthew, who picked it up with a slight grunt and tucked it in the shelf above them. “Williams, right? Matthew and Alfred?”

“You’ve got it. Luna Lovegood?”

Luna hummed in affirmation, sitting down next to Alfred. Without another word, she pulled out a magazine and started reading it. Upside down. 

Weirdo, Alfred mouthed at him, and Matthew had to agree with him, just a little bit. There wasn’t anything they could really talk about now, with a human in the mix, but she didn't seem to be interested in interacting with them, either. 

They sat in awkward silence for a little while, until the compartment door opened again. This time, there was a small group peeking their heads inside. In the front was a girl with bright red hair, not unlike the middle-aged woman he’d seen at the station. Behind her was a boy with a round face and dark hair clutching a toad. And behind him…

Harry Potter. Matthew couldn’t help his start of surprise at the sight of the boy.

Well then. Guess they were meeting Harry a bit earlier than he expected.

“Hi Luna,” said the redhead, expression flickering a little bit when she saw Alfred and Matthew. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t know your names. Is it alright if we sit here?”

“I don’t mind,” Alfred replied as Luna nodded. 

Matthew got up again, helping the redhead stow her trunk as the other boy and Potter did the same with theirs, squeezing them in beside Alfred’s. 

“Thank you,” The redhead said once they were done, smiling at him. She stuck out a hand. “I’m Ginny Weasley, from Gryffindor. I don’t think I’ve met you?”

“Matthew Williams,” Matthew replied, shaking her hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“That’s Neville Longbottom,” Ginny said as they sat down, gesturing at the round-faced boy. “And you probably know who Harry Potter is. They’re both Gryffindor, too.” she turned to the boys. “Harry, Neville, this is Luna Lovegood. She’s in my year, but in Ravenclaw.”

“I’m Alfred,” Alfred spoke up, waving a hand as he leaned on the window. “Matthew’s idiot brother.”

“Which house are you guys in?” Harry asked, speaking up for the first time. He looked a bit tense, green eyes watching them almost suspiciously. With what drivel was being peddled in the papers, Matthew didn’t blame him.  

“We haven’t been sorted yet,” Matthew answered when Alfred gestured to him. “But we’re going to be fifth years. We’re transferring from the Americas to finish our education at Hogwarts.”

“Transfer students?” Neville echoed, blinking a few times. “Hogwarts does that?”

Ginny nodded, looking satisfied with the explanation. “Yeah, Neville, don’t you remember? We didn’t do it last year because of the Triwizard Tournament—” Matthew didn’t miss the subtle flinch from Potter at the mention of it— “But we usually get a few fifth years from abroad every year, usually so they can get OWL and NEWT certification. This is my first time seeing Canadians, though.”

“ Matt's Canadian,” Alfred interjected. “I’m American.”

“Right, right,” Matthew chuckled. That had been the one thing Alfred had refused to relent on. “We were raised by divorced parents, so Al was raised in the American education system and I in the Canadian one. It’s a long story.”

“Matt always wanted to come here,” Alfred shrugged. “And hey, it was a chance for us to go to school together. So here we are.”

“You chose to come to Hogwarts?” Harry put in. The question was much more curious, now, but Matthew could easily see the suspicion lingering in his eyes. “Even with what they’re saying in the paper?”

Alfred shrugged. “Don’t read the paper, man. Matthew’s the one who does all that sort of stuff.”

“And you can’t really trust what they say all the time anyways,” Matthew added, shrugging. “America’s taught me nothing if not that.”

“Hey!”

Despite Alfred’s protest, Matthew was relieved to see Harry’s face relax a little. Ginny laughed a bit at the joke, while Luna smiled softly. Conversation shifted after that to much more mundane things. Matthew was content to let Alfred take the lead in conversation, mostly stuff about how the first few days at Hogwarts would work, the basics about the sorting hat and other various topics. A trolley witch came by as well, and Alfred bought no less than a dozen chocolate frogs once he heard that there was a card collection associated with them, much to Matthew’s consternation.

It was another hour or so until the compartment door opened again, two more teenagers entering. It was a bit of a tighter fit, but the first, a boy with red hair nearly identical to Ginny, managed to squeeze himself in next to Harry.

“I’m starving,” he said, grabbing one of Alfred’s chocolate frogs. 

“Don’t be rude, Ron!” said the other newcomer, a girl with bushy, curly hair. She sat herself next to Ginny, but turned to Alfred and Matthew. “Are you guys transfer students? I haven’t met you before.” As Alfred nodded, she continued. “Well, I’m Hermione Granger, and that’s Ron Weasley. We’re the prefects for Gryffindor this year.”

“I’m Matthew Williams, and that’s my brother Alfred,” Matthew replied. “We’re from the Canadian and American education systems.”

“Really?” Hermione said, eyes widening. “I thought Hogwarts didn’t accept American transfer students.”

“They don’t?” Harry asked, turning to her in confusion. 

“Their education system is different,” Hermione replied, nodding to herself. Matthew raised an eyebrow at the tidbit. Smart girl . “Because their magical population is so small for such a big country. But I’m sure you know more than I do, Alfred.”

Alfred shifted a little as everyone’s attention turned to him. He glanced over at Matthew, looking a little uncomfortable, but being the loving brother that he was, Matthew just twitched his head in the “you deal with this” look he gave whenever his brother needed to figure out things for himself. 

“Well, like Hermione said, we don’t have much of a wizarding society in America,” he began, growing in confidence as he continued on. Not that he looked comfortable, but well. Matthew hadn’t brought Alfred here to be comfortable. So he was satisfied. “We’re a lot more integrated into… what do you guys call the no-maj’s here again?”

“Muggles,” Matthew supplied.

“Muggles, right. Anyways, so most wizards in America live in muggle society, have muggle jobs, etc, etc. There aren’t that many of us, and those of us who are magical are mostly half-bloods and the kids of full muggles. Since the country is so big and wizards so scattered, we keep to homeschooling until college. We have a dozen universities around the country with… magical sides to them. Wizards apply to those colleges, and usually attend both the non-magical and magical classes offered.”

“Boarding school is largely a European thing,” Matthew picked up as his brother trailed off. “That’s why I wanted to come to Hogwarts. Canada has two small schools, but I’ve always wanted to try going to one of the old giants. Our dad went here back in the day, and he never had a bad thing to say about the place.”

“It’s so fascinating, isn’t it?” Hermione smiled, and Matthew couldn’t help but smile back at her enthusiasm.

“Americans don’t go to school until college?” Harry said, eyes going slightly wide. “Isn’t accidental magic a problem? I thought we started learning at eleven because that’s when it started popping up more.”

“No, it’s more of a cultural thing,” Hermione answered before Matthew could even open his mouth, shaking her head in a mass of brown curls. “Japan and China start their children at around five or six, if I remember correctly. But they have pretty big magical populations.”

Sounded like East Asia. Matthew turned his attention to Alfred as he began speaking again.

“But yeah, this’ll be my first time going to a full-time magical school,” he said, and Matthew blinked, mildly surprised at the confession. His brother, however, steadily avoided his gaze, instead watching Harry as he spoke. “So we’ll see how it goes. Might just end up making a right embarrassment of myself.”

“Well, I bet you’ll ace Muggle Studies,” Ginny replied, smiling at him as she brushed her hair out of her face. “So if you sign up for that class, you’ll be set in at least one department.”

“We’d share a class then,” Neville said, a little softly. “I’ve enrolled in Muggle studies this year, too.”

Before the conversation could continue, however, the compartment door opened up once more. Matthew turned around, about to tell whoever had come in that their compartment was already pushing the limit in occupants and couldn’t hold any more, but quickly thought better of it. 

The very atmosphere of the compartment seemed to darken when Matthew caught sight of the three Slytherin boys standing in the doorway. He noted how Harry’s expression in particular looked tiredly resigned, while Ron’s eyebrows furrowed, his hand flickering towards his wand. Yeah, he had a feeling these three weren’t any good news. He glanced at Alfred, who frowned over at him as he turned to watch the conversation unfold. 

“What do you want?” Harry asked, though it sounded more like a demand. The lead boy, with slicked-back blond hair and a sharp, pale complexion, just sneered. 

“Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention,” he snipped, jutting out his chin in a manner Matthew guessed was supposed to be intimidating. “You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”

Merlin’s beard. Matthew barely resisted groaning, briefly closing his eyes and taking a long breath. He’d heard that Slytherin house had fallen in recent times, but this was just sad. 

Alfred did not have the same desire for self-control Matthew did, however, for his mocking snort cut through the room like a hot knife through butter. Matthew opened his eyes to see nearly everyone’s attention on his brother, who was looking at the Slytherin with a completely unimpressed expression.

“Got something to say?” The blond sneered. “I’d advise you not; I can give you detention faster than you could take out your wand.”

“Whatever,” Alfred rolled his eyes, then more quietly added, “this one thinks he has an ego, huh?” with an eyebrow waggle at Matthew, who just rolled his eyes.

Clearly having heard the comment, the blond boy went red in the face. He opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny beat him to the punch. 

“You should watch it, Malfoy,” she snapped. “Already going after the exchange students? Have some decency and at least wait until they’re sorted.”

The boy, Malfoy, just sneered again. Was that all he could do? Matthew’s opinion of Slytherin was dropping lower and lower. 

“You’re the ones who should watch your step,” he said, eyes landing on Harry. “because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.”

Malfoy stalked off after that, the two other Slytherins following him, but Matthew didn’t miss the look Harry shared with Hermione as they left. Huh. Guess they had a history.

“Who was that prick?” He asked as Hermione reached out and tugged the compartment door closed. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Ron replied, grabbing another chocolate frog. “Slytherin’s new prefect. Everyone in that house is an utter hag; it’s not worth hanging out with them. They’re all obsessed with blood purity and being better than anyone else. Bullies, the lot of them.”

“I can tell,” Alfred noted, rather dryly. 

Topics turned to more mundane matters once again, now with Hermione and Ron in the mix. Harry fell pretty quiet, however, keeping his gaze on the on-again, off-again rain splattering against the window.

Matthew kept to himself as well, mostly just commenting when he saw fit, but Alfred seemed to really hit it off with Ginny. The two fell into a deep conversation about sports, which melded into some combination of Quidditch, soccer/football, and American football, half of which was spent explaining the rules of the respective games to each other. As the sun dipped below the horizon, Matthew allowed himself some chocolate frogs to tide himself over to dinner. They were only of a mediocre quality, but he got an Armando Dippet trading card, which caught Ron’s attention, as he was apparently a collector. He passed the card to him without much fanfare, and Alfred spoke a little bit about the boy’s collection before Hermione stood up.

“We’ll be arriving soon. We should get changed,” she announced, motioning for Ginny and Luna. The three girls left for another compartment while the guys tried not to get too many elbows in each other’s faces getting their own robes on.

Fifteen somewhat awkward minutes later, Hermione and the others returned, her and Ron now sporting shining prefect badges pinned to their chests. Alfred was squirming in his seat across from Matthew, tugging at his outer cloak with a disgruntled expression.

“You’re just going to make it worse,” he said, very much amused. Alfred made a face at him, tugging at his shirt collar.

“It’s stupid,” he whined. “I feel like I’m dressing for a board meeting, not school.”

“Well, best to get used to it,” Hermione said. She was adjusting the luggage above them, Harry helping, as the train began to slow. “Because it’s our uniform.”

Matthew decided that he liked Hermione.

Alfred, meanwhile, just grumbled under his breath and stood up, helping Neville as he struggled to secure his trunk. Luna, who had put away her magazine and taken to staring at them for the last bit of the ride, stood up as well, brushing herself off.

“Are you coming with us, or with the first years?” She asked, and Alfred shrugged, turning to Matthew.

“Uh, our letter said a Professor McGonagall is going to meet us at Hogwarts,” Matthew said. “So I think we’re coming with you.”

“Oh, yes, you’ll come with us, then,” Hermione said, adjusting her outer robe. The train had fully stopped now, and was starting to fill with the clatter of students preparing to disembark. “I think I recall seeing the exchange students pulled aside before we went into the Great Hall third year.”

“Here, I’ll take your owl,” Luna offered Harry, who at that point was trying to juggle two owl cages. He thanked her and passed the smaller one to her, hoisting the other, a great snowy owl, in his arms. 

They shuffled out of their compartment and into the main corridor, which was rapidly beginning to chill with the nighttime air. As they stepped onto the platform, Matthew sighed and stretched a little, relieved to have some personal space once again. 

“Where’s Hagrid?” Harry asked suddenly, and Matthew turned his attention to him, watching as Harry scanned the crowd for someone.

“I don’t know,” said Ginny, already wandering off. “But I’m sure there’s a reason he’s not here tonight. I’ll see you guys in the Great Hall, alright?”

Ron and Harry waved her off as Ginny separated from the group, melting into the crowd in a flash of ginger hair.

“Who’s Hagrid?” Alfred asked, confused.

“Our Gamekeeper,” Harry replied, still scanning the crowd as they walked away. “He’s the one who usually takes the first years across the lake… I can’t see him.”

“Yeah, it’s Professor Grubbly-Plank this time,” Ron added, less worried but equally perplexed. “Wonder what she’s doing here.”

They let the crowd push them forwards, past Hogsmeade and towards the carriages, and Matthew couldn’t help the rush of nostalgia that came with it. A century and a half ago, he’d walked this route seven times, coming to school and acting like a normal child for a few blissful years. He’d been thirteen starting out, a good age to bluff through the first few years, and had hit a growth spurt to fifteen around fifth year that had lasted him the rest of the way. 

Many things had changed, but even this early, there was a stunning familiarity to it all. It was one of the things Matthew loved about the wizarding world; there was something about it that was as timeless as he was. The heart of wizarding society didn’t change, and when Matthew spotted the Thestral-drawn carriages, still the same as in the fall of 1822, he couldn’t help but smile.

A moment later, Hermione emerged from the crowd; she must have wandered off for a bit on their walk over. She looked supremely annoyed, brushing some of her hair out of her eyes as she strutted over to them.

“Malfoy was being absolutely foul to a first year back there, I swear!” She declared, settling herself next to Luna. “I’m going to report him, he’s only had his badge for three minutes and he’s using it to bully people worse than ever.” She paused, looking out over the crowd. “Where’s Crookshanks?”

“Ginny’s got him,” Ron said as they got ready to board. “She’ll drop him off with the other pets, don’t worry.”

Harry, meanwhile, had his eyes trained on the Thestrals. He elbowed Ron to get his attention.

“What are those things, d’you reckon?” He asked, gesturing at them. Ron just gave him a blank look. 

“The what?”

“The horses!”

“Oh, the Thestrals?” Matthew said, and Harry’s attention snapped over to him. He smiled at the boy, trying to soothe his unease. “They’re a bit freakish, aren’t they? Don’t worry, they’re completely harmless.”

“The what?” Ron repeated, taking the owl cage Luna was holding.

“So that’s what they’re called,” Luna said dreamily. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Thestrals are very rare magical creatures,” Matthew explained. “Invisible to everyone, unless you’ve witnessed a death. Ever after, you’re able to see them.” He paused. If Harry was confused, this must be his first year being able to see the Thestrals. He supposed it made sense; he wouldn’t remember his parents’ deaths as a baby. “I’m sorry, by the way. If this is the first time you’ve seen them.”

“Oh.” Was Harry’s only reply, looking very thoughtful as he stepped up into the carriage. Alfred, too, had a mildly contemplative look on his face as he regarded the skeletal horses. 

“Why can you see them, then?” Ron asked as they got in, sitting opposite to each other. Hermione, sitting next to him, raised her hand to her face and groaned.

“That’s quite rude to ask,” Alfred commented, rather blandly, and Ron’s face went beet red a moment after. 

“Oh,” he squeaked. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Matthew shrugged, more amused by his embarrassment than anything. He leaned back in his chair as the carriage lurched forwards, the Thestrals trotting easily underneath their weight.

He wouldn’t have been able to truthfully answer, anyways; he didn’t remember which death had been the first he’d witnessed. He’d always been able to see Thestrals. He wondered what it was like for Harry, after witnessing death for the first time, to be approached by these reminders of it.

He couldn’t imagine it was good.

Chapter Text

The ride to Hogwarts was rather uneventful.

Alfred spent the majority of it deep in thought, watching as the castle grew in the distance. Before, this whole mission had felt more like a wild dream than anything else, but now the reality of it was starting to sink in. And while he was still ready and willing to go through with it, it didn’t stop the unease he felt curling in his stomach.

Dammit, Alfred avoided magic for a reason.

The kids continued to chatter around him, mostly about that Hagrid guy and why they hadn’t seen him at the platform. Alfred wasn’t too sure what he thought of them, either. To be fair, he hadn’t spent much time with teenagers lately, instead opting for the somewhat more mature (and more fun) young adult crowd. So he was rather out of practice. Whatever. He’d freely admit that; Mattie had fooled him into this anyway.

Ginny had been fun to talk to, at least. Alfred had hardly heard of Quidditch before, much less played it, but the general feeling of it seemed like a combination of football and soccer, so talking about that had passed the time. Everyone else, though, he had yet to be too impressed by. Even the legendary Harry Potter, the “Boy Who Lived” (and wasn’t that a stupid title?), seemed more like a lanky teenage boy than anyone who had taken down a magical fascist. 

To be fair, Harry Potter had been, like, one at the time. Maybe he was being too harsh.

Speaking of, the carriage was slowing down. Alfred let the kids get out first, tugging at his robes again (scratchy and stiff, they reminded him of suits). Mattie elbowed him, and Alfred rolled his eyes but lowered his hands, letting them get swept along with the student body. They let Harry and the other kids go ahead of them, staying closer to the back. 

Mattie tugged on his elbow once they were in the front doors, massive things that rose to at least three times Alfred’s height. Why was Hogwarts a castle again? This was just ridiculous.

“There’s Professor McGonagall,” his brother whispered to him pointing, and sure enough, there was a lady watching the procession of students go by. She was tall and thin, with eyes sharp like a hawk. Alfred watched her warily as she approached. 

“You’re the Williams brothers, yes?” She asked once they were close enough. Mattie nodded. “Good. You’re the last of the foreign exchange students. Follow me.”

She turned around and started off, and Alfred noticed that there were two other students hovering nearby. One looked to be a southeast Asian boy, the other a girl from… Romania, maybe? Or Hungary. Somewhere in the area; Alfred had never been very good with southeast Europe. They didn’t speak to each other, but Mattie and the girl exchanged pleasant nods as they followed after Professor McGonagall. 

“I’m sorry if I’m rather brisk with you tonight, but we are running a little behind schedule,” McGonagall was saying, and Alfred turned his attention to her when Mattie elbowed him again. “As explained in your letters, you will be sorted into your houses after the first years, but after that, you’re free to act as any other fifth year student. I know it can be an adjustment, so if you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to go to your house prefects, or to me if the issue is pressing enough.”

They nodded, but Alfred watched McGonagall closer this time, interest piqued. His first instinct was just to write her off as stiff and unsympathetic, but on closer inspection that didn’t really seem to be the case. Her shoulders were tense, pulled almost halfway up her neck, her stride slightly above that of a walk, and she didn’t look at them, eyes trained on the path ahead, thinking.

This McGonagall was stressed. About the start of the school year? Maybe. Alfred didn’t know her well enough to say for sure, but he had a feeling something was going on behind the scenes that was taking up most of her concentration. Something to do with the magical fascists? Considering she was a schoolteacher, he’d wager a good guess on that.

After a few moments, they emerged from the side corridor to meet a large mass of eleven-year-olds. Alfred couldn’t help but wince a little at the sight of them. Teenagers were one thing, but preteens? Ew.

“Oh, stop it, you big baby,” Mattie whispered at him as the doors opened. Alfred rolled his eyes as the chattering of the first years silenced almost immediately. They let the kids go first, then filtered out near the back. 

The Great Hall was majestic; Alfred had to admit that he gawked a little at the sight. Floating candles hovered underneath an enchanted ceiling made to look like the sky, starkly dark against the light. Four great tables stretched the length of the room; from the separate colors on each one, Alfred figured they were for each of the houses. At the front of the Hall sat the faculty, and just in front of them, a stool with a pointed hat on top.

The Sorting Hat, Matthew had called it. Alfred wrinkled his nose a little. Couldn’t they have made it look a little less stereotypical?

“A little over the top, isn’t it?” said the Eastern European girl. Alfred nodded as Mattie snorted. At least someone was sharing the same sentiments as him.

Before he could reply, though, a hush fell over the Hall, and Alfred turned his attention back to the front to see everyone’s attention was on the hat. After a few moments, a rip opened along the brim, and…

It sang.

Ew, Alfred thought, but listened anyway in a sort of morbid fascination.

The song was… interesting. Alfred learned more about the school’s history, at least, as the hat sang about its four founders and how they’d been torn apart by discourse. Yada, yada, unite now as we face outside threats, yada yada, don’t repeat the past, etc etc. By the time it was done, Alfred’s attention was firmly on the logistics of floating candles and where their wax went, and so he jolted a little when he heard McGonagall call out “Abercrombie, Euan!”

Despite himself, when a trembling little boy stepped out of the crowd and sat on the stool, Alfred watched intently as the professor sat the hat on the boy’s head. It almost went down to the kid’s chin, stopped only by his ears, and the crowd sat in silence until the hat shouted “GRYFFINDOR!” 

The table decorated in red and gold burst into applause, and once the hat was taken off, the little boy darted over to the table and sat down, looking very much like he wanted to melt into the wood. 

Daring, brave Gryffindor, huh? Alfred thought, watching him. As he scanned the table, he caught sight of Ginny sitting with some kids he didn’t recognize. She waved at him, and he gave a little wave in response as McGonagall called out “Alabaster, Jayden!”

Alabaster, Jayden was promptly sorted into Ravenclaw, the hat shouting off the house when it was just brushing the kid’s head. This time, it was the table in blue and silver that cheered.

The sorting went on, and the novelty quickly wore off. Alfred found his mind wandering back to the quandary of the floating candles as they waited. Sometimes the hat shouted off the chosen house immediately, other times it took up to half a minute. What was it even doing? Mattie hadn’t been too clear on the details of the Sorting Hat, and Alfred found his mind torn between the Hat and the candles by the time “Zeller, Rose,” was sorted into Hufflepuff, the yellow and black table.

“And now, for our exchange students,” McGonagall announced. She set down the large piece of paper she’d been using for the first years, and switched to a much smaller slip. “From Hungary, Elischer, Lucy!”

The Eastern European girl that had spoken earlier stepped forwards. If she was nervous, she didn’t show it, and sat primly on the stool until the hat shouted “RAVENCLAW!”

Lucy walked off, and the other boy, “From Thailand, Muoy, Kasem!” went next, also going to Ravenclaw. 

“From the United States of America, Williams, Alfred!”

He still couldn’t believe he’d let Mattie get away with making his last name Williams. He stepped forwards, and feeling a little bit foolish, let McGonagall set the hat on his head. It fit better than it did on the first years, sitting snug across his forehead.

Well, I was made to sit on an adult’s head, you know. 

Alfred jerked a little bit, glancing around, but no one had spoken aloud.

In your head, my friend! Now, close your eyes, this is going to be a tricky one. Canada’s brother, I see… I always hoped you and I would be able to speak. Nations are such a pleasant challenge to Sort.

A telepathic hat. Of course the hat was telepathic, why would it stop at speaking?

Now that’s a little rude. I can do many things, you know. Now, I must decide what house to put you in. Smart as a whip, you are, yet not in the manner that thrives in Ravenclaw, not at all. As for Hufflepuff… certainly not! Patience and long-suffering do not suit you in the slightest. No, you mustn’t go to either of those houses.

Mattie says I need to go to Gryffindor, Alfred thought, feeling silly that he was thinking to a hat. I’m here to stop a magic fascist, not for school.

Ah, I understand. Voldemort’s return, yes… you and your brother’s help will be greatly appreciated. Yet I hesitate to put you in Gryffindor. Brave and bold describes you well, yet that doesn’t define you, does it?

What? Alfred thought. If the Hat could laugh, he felt like it would have.

400 years old, and yet you still have much to learn! Hogwarts is more than a school, and there is much for you to do and discover beyond your stated goals. Ambition, pride, persistence… no, your true home is in—

“SLYTHERIN!”

The last word came shouted out loud, and after thinking in relative silence, the volume had Alfred wincing. He blinked open his eyes, having not even noticed closing them, and stood up, passing the hat back to McGonagall. She nodded at him, then flicked her eyes over to the table draped in green and silver, which was clapping for him halfheartedly. 

Oh, boy. Mattie wasn’t going to be happy about this one. Alfred glanced behind him as he walked over to the Slytherin table, and sure enough, his brother had adopted the look of a pinched lemon. 

I tried! Alfred tried to communicate through his expression, giving his brother a little shrug. Mattie just sighed and rolled his eyes, and Alfred turned back in time to approach the Slytherins. Most of the seats were already taken, so he sat down next to some of the younger kids. Preteens. Ew. At least that Malfoy brat from earlier was sitting on the other end of the table, though Alfred caught him sneering in his direction out of the corner of his eye. No doubt he was still all pissy about their train encounter.

Whatever. Alfred glanced over at the other teenagers, none of whom really caught his interest, then turned to watch as Mattie was called to the stand.

“From Canada, Williams, Matthew!” 

Unlike him, Mattie didn’t flinch at the hat at all, even managing to look a little nostalgic as it sat on his head. Alfred frowned, trying to remember if Mattie had come to Hogwarts before. He had to have, to be so familiar, but Alfred had never thought to ask directly. 

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat shouted around ten seconds later, and Mattie stood back up as the indicated table burst into applause. He shot a glance over at Alfred as he went, but Alfred just waved a hand for him to continue on. His brother shook his head fondly, but went over without further complaint. Ginny, who had kept a free seat next to her, called for him, and he moved over in her direction. Alfred, who wished he could have continued his debate with her over the viability of seekers in Quidditch, felt faintly jealous.

He turned back to the high table just in time to see an old man with a long white beard take the announcer’s podium. The Hall immediately quieted as he raised his hands, and after a moment Alfred realized that this had to be Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts. According to Mattie, he was one of the strongest wizards in the world, and the only one this Voldemort guy was afraid of. 

“To our newcomers,” Dumbledore began, and despite his age his voice carried across the Hall easily. “Welcome! To our old hands, welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!”

The students - mostly from the other houses, Alfred noted - laughed as a large swath of food suddenly appeared before them. He joined the other Slytherins in grabbing some food, piling his plate as high as possible. While Arthur was one of the worst cooks Alfred had ever seen, the Hogwarts staff had clearly not taken after their national personification. This food was delicious.

He was on his way to get more chicken when one of the younger girls spoke up, eyebrows raised.

“Aren’t you eating a little too much?” She asked him, something almost akin to a judgemental sneer in her tone. Alfred just echoed her expression back at her. How old was this kid? Thirteen? Fourteen? Like he cared what she thought.

“I’ll eat as much as I want, thank you,” he said, returning to his meal. The girl sniffed.

“You’re eating like a pig,” she said, flatly, and now heads were turning their way. Alfred rolled his eyes.

“I exercise enough to maintain this marvelous figure—” he gestured down at himself. “So I don’t care what you think. Maybe you should work out more.”

Distantly he heard one of the Slytherin kids snicker, and a fierce, angry blush spread across the girl’s face. Alfred ignored her after that, making an extra point to eat even more than usual just to spite her. 

The rest of the meal passed in silence on his end, the rest of the students choosing to ignore him. Alfred much preferred that. Eventually, the Hall fell silent once more, and he looked up to see that Dumbledore had taken the stand again and was preparing to speak. 

Now was apparently the time for the speech he had referenced at the beginning of the night. Dumbledore gave the appropriate warnings about dangerous forests, as well as complaints from a Mr. Filch about refraining from performing magic in the hallways. He introduced two new staff members, Professors Grubbly-Plank (Alfred resisted laughing at that one) and Umbridge. Then, abruptly, he seemed to be interrupted by a sound Alfred couldn’t hear in his position near the back of the Hall.

He found out soon enough when a middle-aged woman, dressed all in pink, replaced the headmaster and started speaking. Judging by the looks the Slytherins were giving each other, this was unusual.

And her speech wasn’t even good. Alfred realized quite quickly that this woman had some kind of background in government and politics, because she certainly knew how to filibuster. Alfred tuned her out less than a minute in and returned to snagging a few more cookies for dessert. When he glanced over at the other students, hardly any of them seemed to be paying any attention either, though that Hermione girl and Mattie were still hanging on. 

Maybe I should listen, Alfred thought. Politicians hide nuggets of important news in filibusters like this all the time.

But he couldn’t find the energy to. Mattie would tell him if there was anything he needed to know, and Alfred was still a little too peeved at being placed with the snakes to care. Mattie had tricked him into coming here, and they hadn’t even ended up in the same House!

Eventually the droning came to an end, and Dumbledore rescued them all by releasing them to their dormitories for the night. Alfred stood up with the rest, but as the Slytherins brushed past him, he moved in the opposite direction, where Mattie’s mop of blond hair stood slightly taller than the rest of the students around them. 

“You can’t blame me for this one,” he said before his twin could get a word out, wagging a finger at him. Mattie just rolled his eyes, pressing close against him as they left the Hall. “I told the darn hat to put me in Gryffindor!”

“I know, I know,” Mattie shook his head, keeping his voice to a hushed whisper that was quickly lost in the chatter of the exiting students. “It’s my fault; I forgot how the Hat can get for your first sorting. If it thought you were a Slytherin, it was going to put you there.”

“I can’t believe I got put in the evil house,” Alfred groaned, and this time his brother elbowed him.

“You’re being overdramatic. Slytherin… well, it wasn’t always this bad. When I went to Hogwarts the first time, they were perfectly fine fellows. I had several good friends from that house.”

“When did you go to Hogwarts? I never asked.”

“1821, I was a Hufflepuff,” Mattie brushed past his question, eyes flickering. “I suppose we can make good use of this, though. The reason Slytherin is so bad right now is because a bunch of them are the kids of former Death Eaters, You-Know-Who’s followers. You can keep a good eye on them if you’re in Slytherin. Maybe see if you can figure out what their parents are up to.”

“And you’ll get to hang out with the good guys.”

Mattie gave him a look. “They’re teenagers, Al. Cut them some slack and try not to blow our cover.”

“If they call me a slur I will hit them.”

They stopped near the end of the main entranceway, and Mattie let out a breath that was close enough to a chuckle that Alfred counted it as a victory. 

“Just don’t break their necks, keep your ears open, and pay attention in class. I know you. If you don’t pass your tests, Dumbledore won’t let you stay here, and I’d like to have you at my side.”

“Aw, love you too.”

Mattie smiled at him. “We’ve got this. Now get going, we have a big day tomorrow.”

Alfred nodded, turned around, paused, then promptly repeated the motion so that he was facing his brother again. “So I have no idea where the dorm is.”

“And that Malfoy boy certainly won’t show you,” Mattie agreed. He pointed to a small, nondescript door that a few Slytherins were slipping into near the end of the hall. “Go down the staircase behind that door and follow the hallway until you hit the dungeon door. The common room is password protected, but if you wait long enough you can slip in behind the other students.”

“If you don’t see me at breakfast I’ve been brutally murdered in my sleep,” Alfred declared as he strode off in the given direction, and this time he did draw a laugh out of his brother.

It took him a few minutes to figure out where to go, since there were no dungeon-looking doors at the bottom of the staircase. Eventually another pack of Slytherins made their way down, and though they gave him several dirty looks, they also didn’t chase him away when one of the younger girls gave the password Solus Ambulo to reveal the entrance from a patch of bare wall. 

On the other side was a large lounge, chilly with cold lights strung up along the walls. Most of the Slytherins seemed to have already arrived, and none of them paid him any attention as he walked along the outskirts, trying to get a feel for the area. 

Teenagers. Alfred’s patience was already being tried, but he pushed it aside as he tried to figure out what he was working with. The kids were mostly bunched into small groups no larger than half a dozen—cliques, that checked out—that didn’t interact with each other. Alfred wondered which ones were the kids of the Death Eaters Matt had told him about. He needed his brother to write him a list to cross-check, he could never remember so many names at once.  I wouldn’t be surprised if Malfoy is, but it’s bad form to automatically assume a parent’s personality based on their teenage son’s. Still…

“Your room is down there, fifth on the right.”

Alfred jerked out of his thoughts just in time to see the girl who had given the password to the dorm brush past him, faintly gesturing towards the rightmost of two grand doors near the back of the lounge. She didn’t wait for him to reply, already rejoining her group of whispering girls.

“At least there’s some decency here,” Alfred muttered to himself, and decided that he might as well get there early, before Malfoy or any of his cronies thought to go through his luggage. Alfred had figured out how to set some booby traps on his portable gun safe and potion supplies during his week-long review, but he still didn’t want to risk anyone getting near them before he had a chance to return.

The passageway behind the rightmost door was dim, and somehow damp-feeling despite not having any leaks Alfred could see. It was a longer walk than he expected to get to the fifth door on the right, but thankfully the room was nearly empty when he entered, save for a stringy-looking boy who was busy unpacking in the far corner. 

Besides that, only two other beds had been picked, which gave Alfred the chance to claim one of the best ones left over, a four poster bed with black and emerald green bedding that sat next to the dorm’s singular window. His luggage had been deposited near the entrance, and Alfred took his trunk and slid it under the bed with the resolve to unpack later. After a moment’s thought, he took out his wand and tried one of the protective spells Mattie had taught him back at Diagon Alley. Two tries later and the latch was shimmering a faint purple. Anyone who tried to open it except Alfred would get some nasty welts on their fingers.

His work done, Alfred checked the wardrobe supplied. The singular robe he had brought was a plain black, but Mattie had said that Hogwarts would provide all their House-specific uniforms since they were only sorted after arriving at the castle. That, at least, still held up, though Alfred wrinkled his nose at the assorted greens and silvers that adorned the various robes, scarves, and ties. 

The door opened behind him just as finished dressing for bed, and Alfred turned to see Malfoy and those two other boys from the train enter the room, laughing among each other. Malfoy sneered haughtily when he saw Alfred, and this time Alfred forced himself to look away. I’m living with this kid for a whole school year, I’m better off ignoring him than killing him.

“So the Yankee thinks he’s one of us, does he?” Malfoy was saying as Alfred flopped down onto the bed, wishing that he had thought to bring his set of The Chronicles of Narnia here; he could do with some real magic to entertain himself with. When he didn’t reply, the boy snorted. “Doesn’t even have anything good to say. I say it’s for the best with that accent of his.”

“I thought the Slytherins were supposed to be clever,” Alfred droned. “At least try to insult me with something I haven’t heard a hundred times before.” 

Malfoy made an affronted sound, though Alfred didn’t bother to look at him to make sure. He laid down on his bed instead. If he can’t get a rise out of me, he’ll ignore me eventually. It was a tactic he knew well—mostly from other nations using it to get him to stop annoying them, which he conceded the irony of. Arthur was going to have a field day once he found out Alfred was letting this kid try to bully him.

“I’ll remind you that I’m your House prefect,” Malfoy retorted. “If you want to survive here, you’ll want to be on my good side.”

Fat chance. Alfred sat up, closed the curtains around his bed, and pretended that he was going to sleep. The boy who had been in the room first said something he couldn’t quite catch, and after that the rest of the kids left him alone.

But sleep didn’t come quickly. Alfred spent a long while staring up at the ceiling, his mind whirring with thought. He and Mattie were ostensibly here to kill fascists led by the Dark Wizard Voldemort, but since Voldemort was in hiding they were needing to take an awfully roundabout way to get to him. Mattie had a point, Alfred supposed; getting in good with the Death Eater’s kids would probably be a good idea to do that, but if so Alfred was not the man for that job. Now that the Cold War was over, he’d hoped to put all this plotting and betrayal behind him. 

Slytherin, really? Alfred decided that this Sorting Hat had no idea what it was talking about. It was just in league with Matt to make his life as difficult as possible, that’s what it was doing. Well, the joke was on them. He was the United States of America, the most powerful nation in the world, on a mission to kill fascists and he wasn’t about to let a group of teenagers get under his skin.

Yeah.

Totally.

Chapter Text

Matthew woke up with a start the next day, having almost slept through breakfast. Cursing himself for not setting the proper alarms the night before, he dressed as quickly as he could and made his way downstairs with his hair still askew, very nearly barreling over Hermione Granger at the base of the dormitory stairs in his rush. 

“There you are!” The girl said, stepping aside just in time. “Neville mentioned that you were still asleep when he came down, I can’t believe the others didn’t wake you up! Have you got everything you need?”

Matthew checked his bag, ensuring he still had his textbooks and quills, and nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m a heavy sleeper, so it’s my fault I didn’t set an alarm I’d wake up to. You didn’t have to wait for me.”

“Of course I did!” Hermione exclaimed as they left the common room and headed towards the Great Hall. “I’m your prefect, so it’s my responsibility to make sure you know where you’re going. You know to tell Professor McGonagall what electives you want to sign up for, right?”

Matthew nodded. “I thought Care of Magical Creatures and the Study of Ancient Runes sounded interesting.”

“That’s good,” Hermione smiled at him. “I’m taking those as well, along with Arithmancy. If you want, you can shadow me for the first few days while you catch your bearings. Hogwarts can be a labyrinth if you don’t know all the ins and outs.”

Matthew remembered that very well. Back in his first year in 1828, he’d gotten lost seemingly every other week, and a century and a half was more than enough time to lose most of the progress he’d made by the time he’d graduated. Plus, any reason to get to know Potter and his friends was one he needed to take with Voldemort on the loose. 

“That would be great, thank you,” he said aloud. 

In the Great Hall, Hermione marched him right up to the teacher’s table, where Matthew dutifully relayed his intentions to his Head of House. Once he was done, though, he caught Hermione glancing over at one of the new teachers Dumbledore had introduced last night, Professor Grubbly-Plank. 

“You mentioned that Professor’s replaced one of the old staff?” He asked as they made their way over to the Gryffindor table. “Hagrid, you said his name was?”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said distractedly. “He was an old friend of ours. We don’t know where he’s gone. I’m sure he’s alright, wherever he is.”

Odd. Matthew made a mental note of the information but let the subject pass as the day’s owls swooped in with a flutter of feathers. Hermione went to sit down next to Ron Weasley, scolding him not-so-subtly over letting Matthew sleep in (he blushed faintly in embarrassment at that, he really should have known better than to forget his alarm) as he took her other side. 

“Why are you bothering with that?” Harry Potter was saying as Matthew grabbed some porridge. He glanced to the side to see that Hermione had received a copy of the Daily Prophet,  and was already unrolling it to read. “A load of rubbish, I say.”

“It’s best to know what’s being said,” Hermione said vaguely, her eyes flickering in Matthew’s direction. Before he could question her on it, Alfred sat down with an obnoxious sigh on his free side, reaching for the sausages before his bottom was even on the bench. 

“The beds at Hogwarts suck, Mattie,” he said loudly, pointedly ignoring how half the Gryffindor table was staring at him. “Woke up with a crick in my neck halfway through the night and one of the kids snoring like a jackhammer.”

“I’ve seen the way you sleep, Al, it’s astonishing you haven’t broken your own neck already,” Matthew shot back, running a hand through his hair in an effort to tame it. “And you also snore so stop complaining. Did you remember to turn in your elective choices?”

Alfred stared at him. “Huh?”

Matthew gave him a look. He had remembered to tell his brother that part, right? He couldn’t remember. The crash course he’d given Alfred at Diagon Alley had included a lot of things and this little fact might have slipped his mind. “Didn’t your head of house tell you?”

“Who?”

Matthew sighed, turning back to Hermione. “I’m sorry, but who is the Slytherin Head of House?”

“What? Oh, it’s Professor Snape, over there,” Hermione answered him, her eyes flickering over to Alfred uncertainly. It was a more positive appraisal than Ron and Harry, who were watching Alfred like he had sprouted a second head. That might be a problem. Before Alfred had been sorted they had been happy to talk to him; this house divide must be worse than he thought.

“You see who Hermione is pointing to?” He said to Alfred, who nodded as he took a massive bite out of the half-stack of pancakes he’d slipped onto his plate. For the rest of the Gryffindor house’s sake, he added: “You do know that you’re supposed to sit with your house during breakfast and lunch?”

“Don’t care,” Alfred shrugged, eating half a pancake in one bite with a ferocity that made Matthew wince. 

“You’re stress-eating, really?” He leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear, but Alfred just elbowed him away. 

“I am not.”

The landing of another owl cut off their argument before it could really take root. Matthew turned to see that it was his own owl, Goose, with a letter tied to his leg. As Matthew untied it and flicked open the envelope to read it, Alfred lunged into his book bag, scribbled something onto a scrap of paper with a pen, and tied it to Goose’s leg. The Great Horned Owl regarded the new attachment with annoyance, but Al tossed him a bit of sausage, which appeased him.

“What’s that for?” Matthew asked, tilting his head at the note.

“I need a few things from home,” Alfred answered vaguely, then leaned over to see Matthew’s letter. “Who’s that from?”

“Uncle Jan.” Matthew opened the letter so Alfred could see the Netherlands’ looping scrawl. Once he read the first few sentences and saw that it was just admin notes, he promptly lost interest and returned to his food.  Matthew took a moment to glance over the letter as Goose took off again. 

The Netherlands, bless his soul, had been kind enough to pose as his and Al’s uncle in order to sponsor their exchange to Hogwarts. He was old enough to pass as their guardian if he claimed to be a few years older than he was and Matthew claimed to be a few years younger, and since a good portion of his students came to Hogwarts each year his old friend had been the best option when it came to circumventing England’s authority. He was a much better choice than Scotland or Wales anyway, both of whom Matthew didn’t trust to go blabbering at the first whiff of alcohol. 

The letter was just a few notes on paperwork and emergency contacts, none of which required his immediate attention, so Matthew tucked the letter into a pocket as Alfred practically inhaled his breakfast next to him. 

“You’re not going to starve, Al,” Matthew sighed, taking a significantly smaller portion for himself. Alfred said something entirely unintelligible behind a mouthful of pancake, then paused, swallowed, and washed it down with juice. 

“You’re right, this place desperately needs coffee, I’ll send for that next,” he replied. Then he stood up, craning his neck to get a good look at the teacher’s table. “That’s Snape?” He pointed at the same man Hermione had, a man dressed in all black, and Matthew nodded. “Neat, I’ll let him know what classes I want to take.”

“Don’t get in trouble!” Matthew called to his brother’s retreating back, shaking his head as he returned to his breakfast. Leave it to Al to make himself as obnoxious as possible. He’d get over himself within the week. 

When he glanced over at Hermione, he saw that she’d buried her face into The Daily Prophet, and Ron and Harry were whispering to each other, so he let them be and continued on with his meal. He kept one eye on Al, who after speaking with Snape sped right out of the Great Hall.

I hope he knows where he’s going, Matthew mused, with little desire to save him if he didn’t.

Right as he finished eating, McGonagall started passing out their timetables. Matthew took her proffered schedule with a nod and a smile, glancing over it to see what he’d gotten. History of Magic, Ancient Runes, lunch, then two periods of Potions and finally Defense Against the Dark Arts. No Charms until tomorrow though, which was a shame since it was his favorite class. 

The rest of breakfast passed quietly on Matthew’s end—not quite so for the rest of the table. Two boys that looked so identical that Matthew figured they had to be twins, and probably Ron’s family if the red hair was anything to go by, lingered near their seats and promptly got into an argument with Hermione over something about illegal testing? Matthew didn’t follow most of what was going on. 

He dutifully followed Hermione as she led him to History of Magic (and indeed he had forgotten how to get there; there were several points when he would have turned the wrong way), and to his horror discovered that Professor Binns was still here.

In 1825, Professor Binns had been hired to the Hogwarts faculty to replace dear old Professor Yarrow, who had been perfectly serviceable in the role. Matthew could remember nothing from Binns’ lessons except for a very impressive origami polar bear he’d crafted over the course of a month instead of paying attention sometime in fourth year, complete with enough charms to make it rear on its back legs and roar. The only reason he passed that class was that anything he hadn’t been alive for he could just ask Arthur about, who would have almost certainly been involved in one way or another. 

At some point it seemed that Professor Binns had died and been replaced with his own ghost. Shit.  Now that he thought about it, maybe he should have just gone by a different name besides Matthew Williams, because if any of the ghosts remembered him…

But no, Matthew was fairly sure they wouldn’t. He’d done well to keep out of their way the first time ‘round, and there had been over 150 years and thousands of students in the interim. Worst came to worst, he’d have an odd resemblance to a wizard who he could just pass off as an ancestor. Still, he took the seat closest to the back corner and did his best to look as inconspicuous as possible over the course of the lesson. 

Study of Ancient Runes went much better, and looked to be especially interesting since Matthew actually hadn’t ever studied the subject before. Hermione was kind enough to offer her notes from the previous two years of the course, which he graciously accepted, and Professor Babbling made a point to tell him to come to her if he found himself struggling.

When he rejoined Ron and Harry for lunch, both boys looked bored out of their minds—so Divination didn’t seem to be a fun class. Matthew was inclined to believe on principle alone. He’d never liked the subject.

Alfred wandered into the Great Hall halfway through lunch looking quite pissed off, and sat next to Matthew with an irritated grumble. 

“That bad?” Matthew asked, trying to sound sympathetic.

“I hate you.” Alfred was now violently stabbing his roast beef. 

“I told you that you’re supposed to sit with the Slytherins at meals.”

”I was fifteen minutes late to Charms this morning because no one would tell me where to go, I completely embarrassed myself trying to perform the summoning charm, and Malfoy conveniently spilled ink all over my good paper,” Alfred snapped, gesturing at his bag, which now had an ink stain the size of a quarter leaking out the side. “I am not sitting with them.”

”We practiced the summoning charm last Tuesday, Alfred, don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten it.”

Alfred just gave Matthew a low look. Sensing that he was pushing his luck, Matthew let it go.

”You can have some of my parchment if you’d like,” said Neville Longbottom, who was sitting across from them. Like the rest of the Gryffindors they’d sat with on the train, he’d grown wary of Alfred since he’d been sorted, but he offered a thin roll of paper anyways, and after a moment Alfred took it with a grumble of thanks. 

“Let me see your schedule,” Matthew said near the end of the meal, and compared the two. “Luckily for you, it seems that we have the entire afternoon together. Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts are usually fun subjects, but I’m not sure about this Professor Umbridge. You chose Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies for your electives?”

“They sounded easiest,” Alfred shrugged, and Matthew couldn’t fault him for that. If there was one subject he figured Alfred would pick up the quickest, it was Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies was an easy OWL.

“Well, I’ll see you for Magical Creatures, I'm doing that as well, so we’ll have class last period tomorrow, too.”

“I’m vibrating out of my seat with excitement,” Alfred grunted, and then said little more as he returned to his lunch. Matthew shrugged.

“I’m astonished that he wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor,” he said to Neville, who chuckled awkwardly. 

They made their way down to the dungeons for Potions together without further incident, but when they rounded the corner and came into sight of the other Slytherins, the Malfoy boy and Alfred had a sneering contest so obnoxious that Matthew had to bodily pull his brother to the other side of the room in the interest of separating them.

“Remember what we’re here for,” he whispered, but Alfred’s lips were pulled tight and he wasn’t listening.

“I’m just waiting for him to call me a slur,” he said instead, thankfully quiet enough that even Matthew could barely hear him. “I’ll hit him so hard he won’t even remember his name—”

“Alfred,” Matthew hissed. “He’s fifteen.”

“Why do you think I’ve not hit him yet?!”

The loud clang of the dungeon door shutting cut off their argument. The rest of the students followed suit in a hush, and Matthew looked up to see Professor Snape enter the room with a flourish of his cloak. While he’d looked dignified from afar, up close he looked more greasy than put-together, with a hooked nose and dark, penetrating eyes. Judging by the way the students reacted to him, he was either respected or feared, and Matthew was ready to hedge his bets on the latter. 

“Before we begin today’s lesson,” Snape began, casting his gaze over the class. “I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical  potions. Moronic as some of this class undoubtedly are—” Oh boy, he’s one of those teachers. Fear it is. “I expect you to scrape an ‘Acceptable’ in your OWL or suffer my… displeasure.”

His gaze lingered on Neville, who looked pitifully terrified, before turning his attention to Matthew. 

“Mr. Williams,” he said slowly, drawling out the name. “I have already spoken to your brother on this matter, but I will say this once more and never again: I expect you to hold your own in this class. You will not use your status as an exchange student to try and weasel your way out of any work.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Professor,” Matthew replied, keeping his expression carefully blank. That seemed to pacify Snape well enough, though his gaze lingered on his Gryffindor badge distastefully before he returned his attention to the class as a whole. Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew spotted Malfoy and his friends sniggering with each other.

He forced his attention away from the teenagers as Snape assigned them to make the Draught of Peace. The sight of the recipe in Matthew’s textbook had him sighing; he hadn’t practiced potion-making since the 1800s, so this was going to go swimmingly. 

He put in his best effort, but Matthew had a feeling that Snape had deliberately assigned them a difficult brew. By the end of the period, his potion was a muted gray congealing at the edges, and he frowned in dissatisfaction at the sight of it. I really am out of practice. This is embarrassing. When the professor came around to judge his cauldron, it was with a sneer and a loud “Did you think I wasn’t serious when I said I expected you to keep up, Williams?” that he could only nod to.

To Alfred, Snape only gave some commentary on the way he had mixed in his powdered moonstone before he moved on. Alfred mouthed something sassy-looking once he turned his back, but when Matthew took a peek at his brother’s work, he was surprised to see that the surface of his Draught of Peace only lacked the fine silver mist indicative of a perfected final product. 

He was quieter than usual over the course of the period, Matthew mused. Al’s got an eye for potions, who knew? Shame we don’t have a good teacher.

Snape spent the last few minutes of class berating Harry in a manner that was, quite frankly, ridiculous and embarrassing to watch. Afterwards he scourged the poor boy’s potion from his cauldron entirely and had the rest of them submit a sample of their potion for grading. Their homework was a foot of parchment on the properties of moonstone, which had Alfred grumbling further as they tumbled out and made their way up to Defense Against the Dark Arts. 

“Flitwick’s already assigned me extra practice with Accio and half the basic spells for Charms,” Alfred complained as they made their way up a swinging staircase with a few other Gryffindors. “And now this? Matt, why did you ever think this was a good idea?”

“Learning magic is always a good idea, and I meant it when I said our best place was here,” Matthew replied steadily, cautious of the ears around them. “Stop acting like a child, Al, you’ll learn a lot that you can use in the real world. Standardized tests like the OWLs and NEWTs hold a lot of weight in America, you know that.”

Alfred continued to grumble under his breath for the rest of their walk, probably something about the “greatest nation in history” being brought so low as to go to school. Matthew turned him out and let him get it out of his system. As much as Alfred complained, he was here, and Matthew did need his help to protect Harry Potter and figure out what was going on with Voldemort. Even if Francis or Jan would have been better candidates for a partner. Then he tried to imagine Francis trying to pass as a teacher here and shuddered. No, Alfred might suck at magic and complain to the moon and back, but at least he wouldn’t try to bed half the faculty by Christmas.

But it didn’t change the fact that Alfred was pitifully behind, so like the good brother he was, Matthew was dragging him along on this hair-brained adventure with half the goal of fixing that. If Alfred scraped more than one OWL by the end of the year he’d count this as a success, Voldemort’s death notwithstanding.

Professor Umbridge was already seated at her desk when they entered the classroom, wearing the same woolen pink cardigan she’d sported at the Sorting Feast last night. A small smile was plastered on her face, which made Matthew’s stomach twist uncomfortably. It’d taken no small amount of effort, but he had paid attention to her speech and had a bad feeling about her. An agent of the Ministry as a teacher in Hogwarts? Matthew would have been inclined to feel relief at seeing the government invested in the youth in such a troubling time, except the whole reason he was here was because Arthur had complained about the outright refusal of the British Ministry to handle the Voldemort issue one too many times. 

“Good afternoon!” Professor Umbridge said once everyone was seated, getting a few mumbles in response. “Tut, tut. That just won’t do! I should like you to reply ‘Good Afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” the class chanted back.

“And I thought we couldn’t get worse than Snape,” Alfred said, so quietly that Matthew barely heard him. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but agree with his brother, though his discomfort was steadily edging more towards suspicion as Umbridge tapped the board and conjured the title of their course in chalk. She spoke for time, thankfully a much shorter speech than last night, then set them to reading the first chapter of Defensive Magical Theory.

I knew something was wrong when I saw this book, Matthew thought, thumbing open the cover. His OWL year in Defense the first time ‘round had been almost entirely practical; in fact, he remembered his first day of fifth year quite clearly because his professor had booby-trapped the whole room and had the class work together to clear the way to their desks. A textbook as dry as this one had stood out to him at Flourish and Blotts, but only now did it put a sinking feeling in his stomach.

He scanned over the first few lines, then gave the next few pages a cursory look over. All of this was theory he already knew just from his casual spellwork back home. It might have been useful for Alfred, but when Matthew glanced over he caught his brother doodling bald eagles in the margins, which set that hope to bed. And in the end Matthew wasn’t even upset with him; the reading was that incredibly dull.

He glanced the other way, trying to find some entertainment for himself, and saw Hermione’s arm sticking straight up into the air. Her book sat unopened on her desk, and even though Umbridge was giving no indication that she intended to indulge any questions, she was undeterred.

More than half the class was staring at Hermione by the time Umbridge finally gave in. Matthew was impressed that she hadn’t lost all blood flow to her hand after keeping it up for so long. 

“Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?” she asked sweetly.

“Not about the chapter, no,” Hermione answered.

“Well, we’re reading right now. If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class.”

“I’ve got a question about your course aims.” 

As do I, Matthew thought, leaning in to watch the confrontation. Alfred was still doodling in his textbook.

“And your name is—”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Well, Hermione Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully.” 

“Well, I don’t,” Hermione said, her patience clearly thinning. “There’s nothing written up there about using defensive spells.”

“We could be learning to fight in this class?” Alfred whispered, his head shooting up. Matthew kicked him under the table; he hadn’t been as quiet this time. Several of their neighbors turned a little as he spoke, and Umbridge clearly hadn’t missed it either by the way her eyes flickered in their direction, though he doubted she was close enough to have made out any words. 

Thankfully, Umbridge’s attention was thoroughly taken by Hermione. “Using defensive spells? I can’t imagine any situation arising in my classroom requiring you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren’t expecting to be attacked in my class, are you?”

“We’re not going to use magic?” Ron exclaimed loudly. Umbridge tutted at him. 

“Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr.—”

“Weasley,” said Ron, raising his hand so quickly it was more akin to stabbing the air. 

Matthew considered the scene for a moment—this could only go so well, truly—then fidgeted with the scarlet trim on his robe and sighed. I am supposed to be a Gryffindor now, aren’t I? he thought, and raised his hand much more politely. 

As he expected, Umbridge turned away from both Hermione and Ron and addressed him. 

“Your name?”

“Matthew Williams,” he supplied.

“Your question, Mr. Williams?” 

“What if I expect to be attacked outside of school? What if I am walking alone at night some time in the future and someone tries to rob me? Shouldn’t I know defensive spells then?”

Umbridge sighed, smoothing her skirt unnecessarily. “I had hoped to avoid this topic, but it seems I have little choice now. To be frank, Mr. Williams, over the last few years you and your classmates have been exposed to some very irresponsible teachers, not to mention extremely dangerous half-breeds.”

“If you mean Professor Lupin,” one of the other Gryffindor boys, who had briefly introduced himself as Dean Thomas to Matthew last night, began angrily. “He was one of the best—”

“Hands and names!” Umbridge interrupted him shrilly, forcing herself onwards. “You all have been frightened into thinking Dark Wizards hide around every corner. The Ministry has devised a safe, controlled environment for you to understand the theory of defensive magic, which is all you will need for this course!”

Matthew shot up his hand again, and with Hermione, Ron, and now Dean assaulting her with waving hands, Umbridge indicated him once more. 

“I’m one of the exchange students, Professor Umbridge,” he said, keeping his voice curt this time. Clearly she hadn’t thought to pay any attention to the Sorting last night. “To be frank I’ve no idea who the previous professors were or what they taught. However, at Royalmount we were expected to start practical magic as second years, and I see no reason for Canada’s education system to be any different from England’s.”

“Ooh, busted,” Alfred chuckled, dipping his head to hide the motion of his mouth. Umbridge’s face had steadily been turning pink through his little speech, but when she opened her mouth she was cut off by Ron saying “We did!” very loudly.

“Hand, Mr. Weasley!” Umbridge snapped, whirling on him, even though Ron’s hand had never gone down. “And Mr. Williams, whatever is being taught in Royalmount is their own business, and Hogwarts’ is the Ministries’. If the Quebecers wish to expose their children to such barbarous methods it is their own choice, but I will not see the same mistake be done here.”

“Excuse me?!” Matthew exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table, but Umbridge was already turning away. This time it was Alfred kicking him under the table, and Matthew forced himself to breathe and set his hands on his knees instead. You can’t get detention on the first day, no matter how bigoted this woman is. 

“It is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge of the material will be more than sufficient for your exams, which is, after all, what school is all about,” Umbridge was saying, clearly ignoring how ridiculous her claims were. She turned to a Gryffindor girl Matthew didn’t know who had just raised her hand. “And your name is?”

“Parvati Patil, and isn’t there a practical bit in our Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren’t we supposed to show that we can actually do the countercurses and things?”

“Debating with her is not going to work,” Matthew muttered, half to himself and half to his brother, who nodded sagely as Umbridge continued rattling off her Ministry-approved jargon. He leaned closer and whispered: “I think we’ve found our first lead.”

Alfred’s eyes flickered over to him in interest, but he didn’t say anything more as Harry finally spoke up, getting into a heated exchange with Umbridge that swiftly recaptured both of their attention. 

“Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?” Umbridge was saying, still that faux sweetened voice of hers.

“Hmm, let’s think,” Harry drawled, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. “Maybe Lord Voldemort?”

Matthew winced as the class as a whole recoiled. Way to be subtle about it, kid. Beside him Alfred made a confused sound, glancing about as if to see what cue he’d missed. 

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter,” Umbridge said, some sort of grim satisfaction in her face. She turned back around and reiterated her goals, but Harry was clearly having none of it. He stood up this time, chair clattering, and Matthew resisted the urge to put his head in his hands. 

“So according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord?” He demanded, voice shaking. 

Silence. Alfred was staring at Matthew as if he could explain what was going on now, but he couldn’t. Matthew racked his brain, trying to recall if he’d ever heard of Cedric Diggory before, but the name drew a blank. But the death of a student at Hogwarts was a big deal,  surely he would have heard something during his preparations—

Oh, wait. The Triwizard Tournament had been last year, hadn’t it? Arthur had been the one who told him about Voldemort’s return during the last trial, that the Dark Lord had nearly killed Harry there and had killed someone else in the attempt. Had that other person been this Cedric Diggory? Matthew could only assume; the details of that night were foggy even for Arthur. Harry was probably the only person in this room who knew what happened in full, and how many people would he have told if he saw a friend get murdered right in front of him?

“Cedric Diggory’s death was a tragic accident,” Umbridge replied after a cool moment. 

“It was murder. Voldemort killed him, and you know it.”

More silence. For a moment Matthew thought Umbridge was finally going to break character, but then she just said, somehow even more sweetly than before: “Come here, Mr. Potter, dear.”

Umbridge wrote a note on a slip of parchment as the class watched with bated breath. Umbridge said something quiet to Harry that Matthew didn’t quite catch, and with a huff and stomp he left the classroom.

“Now, then,” Umbridge said cheerfully, her smile plastered back on her face. “Unless there are any more interruptions?”

Alfred twitched in his chair but thankfully said nothing. Matthew returned his attention to his textbook, forgotten in the chaos of the confrontation, and thought. 

He had been right after all; Hogwarts was at the center of all of this, specifically Harry Potter. But the Ministry was being less passive than he thought—in an extremely worrying manner. Matthew glanced up at Umbridge, who still had that insufferable smile on. 

Now, he thought, scribbling her name into the corner of his book. Who are you, Professor Umbridge?

Chapter Text

Alfred frowned, idly folding and unfolding the corners of his book as he watched the distant figures above him whizz about. From this distance it was hard to make out what they were doing, but thankfully the binoculars he’d snatched from the Slytherin common room made up the difference nicely. Pansy Parkinson was certain to be tearing the whole dungeon apart looking for them by now, and the thought made him smile. 

It was a pleasant Friday evening. The wind was hardly more than a breeze, and this far north the sun was still well above the horizon despite the late hour. It was a beautiful day, hardly one to waste doing homework in the library, and so for the last few hours Alfred had been hanging out at the Quidditch pitch, alternating between observing the Gryffindor team’s tryouts and re-reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which had finally arrived in the mail the previous day. Alfred only had the first two books at present; Matthew’s owl Goose could only carry so much weight across the Atlantic, and Matthew had already commandeered his pet for other correspondence, apparently much more important than Alfred’s entertainment. For the foreseeable future, he would have to make do with the first two adventures of the Pevensie children. 

Alfred raised the binoculars as he heard the Quidditch captain, a seventh year named Angelina, shout something indiscernible at her potential recruits. From what Alfred had managed to figure out, they were auditioning for the role as goalie, and she was not very impressed with any of them. 

“What are you doing tucked away up here, Williams?” A female voice floated up to him, and it took Alfred a moment to remember to respond to the name. I will get Matt back for this some day, I swear it.

“Watching the game,” he shrugged, lowering the binoculars and replacing them with his glasses to see Ginny Weasley standing a half dozen benches below him. “Trying to figure out if Seekers really are useless. You were the one who told me to watch a game before making a hasty judgement.”

“Well, you aren’t going to get an answer tonight, we’re just hosting our Keeper tryouts.” Ginny hiked up her robes and started climbing up the stairs to reach him. “You’ve got Angelina in a tizzy over there, she’s convinced you’re spying for Montague.”

“For who?”

Ginny laughed, sitting down at his free side. “And there’s my point. He’s the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team; I told Angelina you wouldn’t even know who he was. She still sent me up to keep an eye on you.”

“Ah, so that’s why the Hufflepuffs kept on looking at me oddly,” Alfred mused. He’d been up here since the end of class, and the Hufflepuff team had held their tryouts before Gryffindor, for the Seeker position. Ginny laughed again.

“I’m astonished that you’re a Slytherin, Alfred. You’re much too pleasant to be in with those snakes.”

“You said it,” Alfred grunted, returning his gaze to the game. “Matt had me convinced that I was going to be in Gryffindor right up to the Sorting Ceremony. Now I’m stuck with the evil house. You try being roommates with Draco Malfoy. I’ve hardly met anyone who loves to hear themselves talk like that.”

“‘The evil house,’ I’ve never heard someone put it so bluntly,” Ginny replied, still amused. “But the Sorting Hat has its reasons. If Neville Longbottom can be sorted into Gryffindor, I’m sure you’ll find a place in Slytherin.” She winked at him. “Even if it’s just stealing Parkinson’s omniculars. Don’t worry, I won’t tell.”

“I like you,” Alfred chuckled, which was a first. So far he had found the students of Hogwarts to be either boring or utterly detestable, with few outliers. Even Harry Potter and his two friends, who had been relatively friendly to him on the Hogwarts Express, hadn’t spoken to him since the start of term. 

“You’ve got guts, that's for sure. Hasn’t anyone got on your case about you sitting at the Gryffindor table for meals yet?”

“Malfoy’s tried. I ignored him. Then he gave me a detention, which I didn’t show up to. Snape hasn’t said anything yet, so I don’t think he cares.”

“I wish I could have seen the look on his face,” Ginny snickered. She squinted up at the pitch and held out a hand, silently asking for the binoculars—omniculars?—and Alfred tossed them over.

“So what are omniculars?” He asked as Ginny tracked the newest recruit’s attempts at the goal. “I thought these were just normal binoculars.”

Ginny pulled the instrument away from her face and indicated a set of knobs on the top that he hadn’t messed with, having assumed they were for focusing the lens. “Omniculars act as a sort of instant-replay. Using these, you can keep track of what Quidditch players are doing when the game gets really fast by playing it back in slow motion.”

“Nice. Those would be great for watching baseball or hockey with. I think I’ll keep these.”

“Sometime you’ll have to teach me about your muggle sports. This is the second time you’ve mentioned baseball.”

“Oh, don’t get me started. Seriously, don’t. Matt will hate you forever if I start a baseball team here.”

“And we wouldn’t want that,” Ginny said sagely. After a moment’s pause, she handed the binoculars back to Alfred. “Ron’s up now, if you want to watch.”

“Your brother’s applying for Keeper?” Alfred raised the omniculars, and sure enough there was Weasley. Even from this far Alfred could see him wobbling anxiously in front of his posts.

“Yeah, half of our family’s been on the Quidditch team at one point or another. Fred and George are the team’s Beaters, and my second oldest brother Charlie was the team captain, but he graduated before I came to school.”

“How many brothers do you have?”

“Six,” said Ginny, a little flatly. Alfred whistled.

“And you’re the youngest?”

“Yeah, and the only girl. It’s not so bad though. I got to avoid most of the hand-me-downs Ron had to deal with.”

Angelina meanwhile, tossed her first pitch at Ron, who narrowly caught it and returned it to her. Ginny cheered for him.

“Why aren’t you trying out?” He asked a few minutes later, once it was clear Ron was performing quite average compared to the other applicants. “You seem like quite the fan yourself, and the sport’s co-ed.”

Ginny shrugged. “Keeper isn’t really my thing. I thought I’d try out for Chaser next year, after Angelina and Alicia graduate. I’ve not got a chance while they’re on; they’ve got years of experience over me.”

“Next year, then.” 

“I’d tell you to try out too, but I don’t think Malfoy would let you get near a broom. He’s a Seeker, like Harry, but he’s only on the team because his father buys all their equipment.”

“‘Just wait until my father hears about this!’” Alfred sneered in his best impression of the boy. “Yeah kid, I’m sure your dad cares a whole lot about the random American you have to share a room with.”

Ginny shook her head, still smiling, but her eyes were serious when she responded. “You’re right, but I’d be careful anyway. Lucius Malfoy’s got powerful friends in the Ministry. You might be American, but I still wouldn’t want to risk getting his attention unless you never want to have any connections to the government here.”

“I’m not planning on it,” Alfred said dryly, passing the omniculars back to her so she could keep on watching her brother play. “You said Lucius is in good with the Ministry?”

Ginny nodded. She seemed to consider him for a moment, her bright brown eyes piercing, but spoke anyway. “You were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Harry and that Umbridge woman had their row in, weren’t you?”

Alfred nodded. That story had made the rounds through Hogwarts like wildfire. Malfoy in particular had spent the last few nights occasionally bursting into fits of laughter over it, because of course he would laugh about an argument over a student’s death.

“I didn’t want to ask Harry about it,” he said. “Because it’s obviously a sore topic for him. But I also don’t trust anything the Slytherins have said.”

Ginny sighed. “It all comes down to Harry’s claims about You-Know-Who. Whether you believe him or not, though, what is known for a fact is that he and Cedric Diggory both made it to the final trial of the Triwizard Tournament at the end of last term, but only Harry came out. He’s been… upset about it.” She shook her head, wincing as Ron missed a perfectly clear shot at the middle hoop. “But all this is to say that Lucius Malfoy is very anti-Potter. He and a bunch of his friends are the reason there’s so much bad word about him in the Daily Prophet. Of course, what he won’t mention is that back in the day, he was a Death Eater himself.”

“And he still has power in the Ministry?” Alfred asked, surprised, and Ginny shrugged. 

“He claimed he was under the Imperius Curse, and had a good enough lawyer that he ended up pardoned.”

“Tale as old as time,” Alfred sighed, resting a chin on his hand. I should have figured. The roaches always squeeze themselves right back to where they don’t belong. “That explains why his son struts around like he owns the place.”

“The Malfoys are an old pureblood family, one of the richest and most powerful in Britain. There’s a common sentiment here that the ‘purity of your blood,’” —she made air quotes with her hands here— “or how much of your ancestry comes from witches and wizards instead of muggles, makes you better than someone who’s muggle-born. The Malfoys are some of the worst of the lot.” She paused, then added: “Do you have that problem over in America?”

Alfred shook his head. “Not to the same extent; there’s so few of us that we can’t really afford to not accept the kids of no-majs—muggleborns. Not to say that we don’t have our own prejudices though. They’re just centered around other things, mostly the color of your skin.” He flashed his hand at her, tanned but clearly white. “Everything came to a head back in the sixties from what I heard, and things have gotten better recently—but there’s always the rotten eggs you need to fight against, both in and out of the system.”

“That’s reassuring,” Ginny said sarcastically, leaning back in her seat. “Sometimes fighting against people like that seems impossible.”

“But we will,” Alfred shrugged. “Something’s always going to be wrong with society, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for a better future. If anything I think it means we have to.”

“Even if it means sharing a dorm room with Malfoy?”

“Especially if it means sharing a dorm room with Malfoy.”

Ron finished up the last bit of his tryouts, and he seemed to be the last candidate, as the rest of the Gryffindor team swooped down to the grassy pitch below to convene with each other. Alfred stood up, tucking his book and new omniculars into his bag, and started making his way down the stands with Ginny, who had taken on a thoughtful look.

“You’re a very bad Slytherin, Alfred,” she said as they entered the castle. “And a good person, I think. The two seem to be mutually exclusive these days.”

“You’ve only known me for a week, so I’ll take it,” he snipped back, elbowing her lightly. “Maybe I will show you baseball sometime.”

“Depends if you can protect me from your brother’s fabled wrath. He seems very firm, I’d hate to see him angry.”

“Oh trust me, he can be terrifying if he wants to be. And speak of the devil!”

As if he had been summoned, Matthew turned the corner on the opposite end of the hallway. His arms were filled with two large parcels, he perked up visibly when he saw Alfred and Ginny, hurrying over to promptly dump both of the packages on him. Alfred took them with nary a grunt; with his super strength he couldn’t begrudge Mattie the opportunity to relieve himself of the excess weight. 

“I have been looking all over the castle for you!” Matt exclaimed, wiping his hands on his robes. “I even asked a Slytherin if you were in your common room! Where have you been?”

“We were watching the Quidditch tryouts,” Ginny answered for him, an eyebrow raised.

“Of course you were,” Mattie sighed, softening as he gave Alfred a knowing look. “And how much homework are you procrastinating right now?”

“It’ll be fine, I was taking a break,” Alfred shrugged, balancing the parcels in his grip. “What are these?”

“Mail from Uncle Jan, I was hoping you’d help me go through it?”

Ah, mission stuff then. Alfred nodded, putting on his best smile. “Where we headed?”

“The transfiguration classroom is open and near here. Sorry to steal Alfred, Ginny, but we need to do some sorting.”

“What is your uncle sending you?” Ginny asked incredulously. 

“Research and extra notes for Alfred,” Matthew replied conspiratorially, patting him on the shoulder. “Turns out homeschooling isn’t really enough to help you keep up with OWL classes.”

Alfred scoffed. “You accidentally set a needle on fire one time—”

“Come on, I already told you I’d help you out,” Matt replied, shoving him back.

“You’re the one who wanted me to come here, stop acting like I’m a chore!” Alfred gave Ginny a wave as best he could. “Good luck to your brother, Ginny. I hope he gets the position!”

“Thanks, I’ll let him know!” Ginny waved back, and went down the way Mattie came as they went the opposite way.

“Umbridge?” Alfred asked quietly one she was out of earshot. Mattie nodded. 

“So Ginny Weasley is the one you finally start talking to?” 

“Yeah, she came up and we talked during the Gryffindor tryouts. I’m trying to figure out how the game works. I still don’t get the point of a Seeker, this whole snitch business feels like it makes everything on the field pointless.”

“How about you debate the viability of the wizarding world’s most popular sport once you’re sure that you aren’t going to fail your first tests. I’ve told you already Al, if you’re failing a majority of your classes the headmaster won’t let you stay here.”

“‘Let’s go kill fascists, Alfred, it’ll be fun.’ And conveniently you don’t mention throwing us back to high school. I am above homework, thank you very much.”

Matthew didn’t reply to that, but he retained a haughtiness to him that had Alfred feeling like he’d lost their spat anyways. Whatever. Snape’s essay on moonstones could wait until tomorrow, it was fine.

The Transfiguration classroom was empty, thankfully, and Mattie sat them down on a desk out of sight of the door. Alfred dropped the parcels with a clatter, then pushed the nearby desk to combine them into a workable space.

“So where did Jan get all this stuff?” He asked as Matt opened the first parcel. Inside were several smaller rolls of parchment, bound together with string. 

“Public inquest,” Mattie answered him, taking one bundle and passing Alfred the other. “Same as with the muggle government. Most records can be copied and requested if you know what to ask for.”

“And he got all of this?”

“He owes me a few favors.”

“Must be some favors…” Alfred muttered, unrolling the first scroll with a frown. “How do you guys read these things? Use printers like civilized men, honestly…”

“ Collevo,” Mattie muttered, flicking his wand, and the parchment suddenly straightened like a board in his hands. “That’s a first year spell, you’re supposed to know it.”

Cheeks burning, Alfred muttered a few choice words and got to reading. 

Most of it was legislation, with a few court documents and memos sprinkled in. Alfred gave the first parchment a scarce glance before deeming it worthless and going for the next one. It took him two tries, but Matt’s flattening spell worked wonders when it came to reading the tightly-wound parchment. 

If there was one thing a nation learned while on the job, it was how to read government paperwork. Alfred and Matthew, with several hundred years of experience between them, blazed through both parcels in slightly less than an hour, and by the end of it had whittled them down to a much more manageable stack to discuss.

“Anti-vampire, anti-veela, anti-giant,” Matthew muttered, going through three separate drafts of proposed bills. “Is there anything this woman isn’t racist against?”

Alfred shrugged, setting down another bill—law, actually, this one had been unfortunate enough to pass—for him to take a look at. “Dunno, but you can add werewolves to the list. She headed a law that made it illegal to hire them in any job where they might be in contact with children. It’s not even restricted to childcare, but anyone a child could feasibly interact with! Teachers, shopkeepers, and janitors all fall under its jurisdiction. She’s essentially shut them out of the market.”

“Christ.” Matt ran a hand over his eyes. “And the Minister sent that thing here?”

Alfred was reminded of Ginny’s comments about Lucius Malfoy. “The Weasley girl says that several of the former Death Eaters have strong connections in the government. Does Lucius Malfoy ring a bell?”

“Yes,” Matt groaned. “He was a big actor in the previous war; some said that he was second only to You-Know-Who himself. Arthur was up in arms when he heard about his pardon. Of course Lucius is still running around with the Ministry; I’ve already seen his signature on some of these notices and bills.”

“Draco Malfoy’s his son,” Alfred said, frowning. “Suddenly he makes a lot more sense, if that’s the stock he comes from. I still need a list of all the kids of the Death Eaters in Slytherin, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’ll get on that when I have the chance,” Matthew sighed, flipping through his stack of papers. “There’s probably quite a few men in the Ministry in the same circumstances as Mr. Malfoy.”

“It would also explain how Umbridge got here.”

Mattie paused. “You think Malfoy sent her?”

“He definitely had a hand in it. Who’s the Minister of Magic? What kind of man are we working with?”

“Cornelius Fudge. An arse-sitter more worried about the sugar in his tea than the lead in his cup, to use Arthur’s words. He’s been heading this smear campaign against Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore, though for the life of me I don’t know why. He’s the main reason Arthur can’t do anything; Fudge has forbidden him from interfering with magical affairs.”

“Oh, that must have stung.” Alfred clicked his tongue. “Arthur’s the most wizard nation to ever wizard.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll just be picking up the slack.” Mattie shifted some more papers around. “So the Ministry is about as rotten as it gets, that’s lovely. If Lucius Malfoy has the ear of Fudge, who is campaigning against Dumbledore and Potter, that would explain how this Umbridge woman got the position. She’s an appointee of the government, specifically chosen because she’s a bad teacher.”

“She did get that rise out of Harry,” Alfred muttered. “How’s he doing, by the way?”

“Not too good. I’m trying to get closer to him—mission aside he seems like a fine kid—but he keeps his cards close to his chest and his friends even closer. If we want to get in his good graces it’ll take time and effort.”

“Because Voldemort wants to kill him.”

“Exactly. Whatever the Dark Lord’s move is, it’s going to involve Harry, so we’ve gotta be close enough to get conveniently caught in the crossfire. And don’t use his name, Alfred, you’re going to get unwarranted attention talking like that.”

“I still don’t get why we’re calling him ‘You-Know-Who’, it’s stupid. Isn’t the wizarding world supposed to be deluding themselves into thinking he’s dead anyways? How’s a dead man going to care what I call him?”

Matthew just shook his head, returning to his reading. Alfred rolled his eyes at his turned back and did the same.

The sun slowly sunk below the horizon as they finished their reading. While more details came to light, mostly about Umbridge’s racism, prejudice, and willingness to throw others under the bus to get what she wanted, nothing stood out. Still, by the time Matt started lighting candles to see by, they had a good idea of what they were working with.

“I say we just sit back and observe for a little while, see what strategy she decides to prosecute Hogwarts with,” Matt said once they were done, rolling the scrolls up into little piles. 

“Ew, waiting, really?”

“We’ve got nine months to figure her out, you can spare a few weeks.” Mattie stood up, stretching briefly before walking to the center of the room, where an aisle separated the two halves from each other. “A few weeks will also help to catch you up on your spellwork. We don't want her hexing you six ways to Monday when you get around to pissing her off.”

“Hexing doesn’t seem quite her style,” Alfred shrugged, but got up anyways and moved to stand opposite from his brother, hefting up his larchwood wand in preparation. This route he knew well from his reviews with his brother before coming here. As much as being tutored like this chafed him, after the incident with the Transfiguration needle, the embarrassment of being shown up by his twin brother was quite easily dwarfed by the embarrassment of being shown up by a classroom full of fifteen-year-olds. 

“Let’s start simple. Flipendo!”

“Protego.” Alfred flicked his wand, and the amethyst burst of light that came from Matt’s wand deflected against his invisible shield and scattered up into the ceiling. The Shielding Charm was one of the few spells he had remembered from his last stint with magic back in World War II, and for good reason. His dislike of magic aside, Alfred liked to think he was capable enough to defend himself long enough to reach for a gun in the case of battle. “Easy.” 

Matthew raised an eyebrow at him, a smirk playing on his lips. “I know. Now deflect this one, no shields. Wingardium Leviosa.”

One of the scrolls they had been reading whizzed towards his face. Alfred cursed, whipping around and trying Diminuendo. The scroll shrunk down to the size of a pencil and whacked him in the shoulder when he moved to avoid it.

“That’s one way to do it,” Matt chuckled. “Arresto Momentum or Immobulus, both variants of the Freezing Charm, would have worked better though. Try again.”

And on it went. It took Alfred three tries to get Arresto Momentum right, which was about as embarrassing as Collevo, considering that apparently this was a second-year spell. After that they moved on to the dreaded Transfiguration—and this time they did sit there until Alfred could turn one of his pens into a pencil and back. 

“Good enough,” Matthew sighed, checking his watch. “It’s nearly curfew, so we better get to bed before Mr. Filch makes his tours. According to Seamus Finnigan, the man’s a terror.”

“I’m sensing a wide disparity in the quality of the Hogwarts staff,” Alfred remarked as they gathered up their items and left. 

Halfway back to the Great Hall, they ran into another student, their head hunched and bookbag clutched close to their side. With the shadows dancing with the torchlight, Alfred couldn’t recognize who it was until Mattie called “Harry!” and the boy’s head whipped up, putting his distinctive glasses on full display.

“Oh, Matthew,” Harry said distractedly. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Did Umbridge keep you this late? It’s almost curfew.”

Harry was still serving detention for his stunt on the first day of school? Jeez. Alfred winced in sympathy.

“Yeah, this was my last one,” Harry mumbled, eyes flickering down the hallway like he wanted to be anywhere else. His whole demeanor had Alfred suspicious, and he glanced at his brother, who seemed to have come to the same conclusions. 

“Well, I’ll leave you guys to it,” Alfred said, stepping away. “Matt’s right, we shouldn’t dawdle. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Remember to do your homework, Al!” Matt called halfheartedly, and didn’t mention the fact that there was no need for Alfred to separate so far from his common room. Harry mumbled a farewell as Alfred swiftly booked it down the hall and took the long way around.

The Slytherin common room was nearly deserted by the time he finally got back, which Alfred appreciated. He tried to spend as little time in his living quarters as possible, mostly thanks to Malfoy, but the whole house had a toxic air to it that set his gut prickling every time he got near. 

He put off going to bed for a little bit in favor of reading a little more of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, since Ginny had interrupted him in the middle of a chapter. He’d just finished up the part where Santa Claus gave his gifts to the Pevensie children when another boy sat in the chair next to him, also with a book in hand. 

“Crabbe and Goyle turned your duvet into slime, just so you know,” he said blythely, and Alfred turned to give him a good look. It was one of the Slytherins in his year, the quiet one whose last name was Nott.

“Go figure,” Alfred muttered, closing his book with a clap as Nott opened his. “Do they ever have a thought in their head that isn’t put in there by Malfoy?”

Nott didn’t answer for a long moment, and Alfred was halfway standing when he spoke again. 

“Getting on Malfoy’s bad side isn’t worth it,” he warned, eyes trained on the page of his book, unmoving. “You aren’t going to change him and he’s just going to make your life miserable.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Look, I appreciate the advice and all, but I’m not rolling over just because a spoiled brat wants to be a bigot.”

Nott rolled his eyes this time, but didn’t contest the fact. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Thanks.” Alfred made the word as dry as he could, and left. 

Sure enough, the top cover of his bed had been turned into green goo. Malfoy and his goons, who had gotten into bed but had left the curtains open to watch, laughed at him. 

Alfred closed his eyes and counted to ten. I am the strongest nation in the world, this doesn’t bother me. I fought on the beaches of Normandy, this is nothing. 

Then he scraped up the largest glob of goo that he could and launched it at Malfoy’s face.