Our American Cousin

IV

Breakfast

The next morning at breakfast, the air filled with the cries of mail owls dropping off the first care packages of the year. Still feeling a trifle unwell from the night before, Sara stared unpleasantly at her sausages, bacon, and gravy. All she really wanted was maybe half of a corn cake and an orange. And, more importantly than that, coffee. With a quick stir Sara turned her pumpkin juice a satisfying black. She knew from experience that the flavour would be atrocious, not to mention cold, but at least it would have an acceptable amount of caffeine in it.

She looked around as the brown-haired girl (Hermione, was it?) unrolled a newspaper across from her. Sara squinted at the back page, which included a little cartoon of an old wizard with a long beard and a young wizard with some sort of lighting shaped mark on his face dragging a short, plump wizard into some sort of battle. The caption read "Dumbledore's Draft".

"Hey, Hermione?" Sara hazarded a guess and was relieved when the other girl looked up. "Could you explain this?" Sara poked the political cartoon. She figured it must have something to do with current psycho terrorist wizard, but the truth was that American wizards and the American wizarding press put about as much thought and energy into England's Death Eater problems as they put into the Irish troubles. Hermione flipped over the paper to see what Sara was pointing at.

"Looks like The Prophet has changed its stripes again. It spent years making out Harry and Dumbledore as lunatics, then another year basically ignoring the problem, and now they're showing Fudge as a coward."

"Good," Ron piped in with his mouth full. "He's a snivelly little weasel."

"He's worse than that, Ron. He's a politician," Harry pointed out.

"I think he's afraid Dumbledore wants his job."

"Dumbledore has more power as the Headmaster of Hogwarts than Fudge does as Minister."

"He certainly has more loyal wizards at his beck and call." Sara rubbed her head.

"Ok guys-if I'm hanging around here for a year I think I'm going to need a slightly more detailed backstory on him," she pointed to Harry, "This," She pointed to the cartoon, "And why Ron here looks like he's about to throw a fit over this." Sara pointed to a beneath-the-fold headline that read "Ministry worker Weasley still denounces Boy Who Lived." Ron took a ragged breath, his face turning nearly the same shade as his hair.

"That's Percy-my brother, that son of a bitch."

"Ron! That's not very nice to say that about your brother."

"Yeah-and it's insulting to all the other sons of bitches out there."

"So who's The Boy Who Lived?" There was suddenly dead silence at the breakfast table as Sara realized she'd just said something terribly uncouth. Hermione, Ron and everyone within hearing radius pointed at Harry. Harry himself had a sudden urge to give Sara a hug.

"Oh. Whatcha live through?"

"Avada Kedavra." Sara was suitably impressed.

"Cool. I don't think you're the first, but it's still impressive."

"I was less than a year old."

"Ok-very impressive."

"It's a little more complicated than that."

"Care to explain?" This time Ron and Harry pointed to Hermione.

"She's good at explaining stuff." Hermione shook her head.

"It's about fifty year's worth of history to cover."

"And you explained bits of it admirably on the train; but if I'm sharing a dorm with wacko boy's favourite target, I'd like a little more than the post match highlights. I mean, I think it would be helpful if I knew exactly when to duck." Hermione squinted a little at Sara. She really hadn't known the girl all that long, and was a little suspicious of anyone new at this stage of the war. For some reason, Mad Eye Moody and his constant ravings of 'constant vigilance' popped up in her mind.

"I'm not sure if I like you." Hermione said honestly.

"Oh don't worry. I give most people that reaction, but if you're not going to like me, wait until I give you a real reason not to like me."

"Such as?"

"I don't know." Sara shrugged. "I could have an affair with your mother." Colin Creevy wished, until the day he died, that he had a camera at the ready for the moment when Ron spewed pumpkin juice out of his nose with truly legendary force, while Sara sipped coffee as if she were discussing the weather. By the time Ron had gotten himself cleaned up, Hermione had promised to fill Sara in on the whole story. However, she insisted that Ron and Harry help her, and she swore that the story was long enough to fill at least six books.