The American

The American

Harry thought Dumbledore must have misspoken. He had been brief, but maybe Harry hadn't caught everything. He was sitting a bit farther back in the Great Hall than was normal, being that Colin Creevey, his brother, and the rest of Harry's fan club were sitting where he, Ron and Hermione usually sat. In all of his time at Hogwarts there had never had any foreign exchange students.

"We've never had an exchange student before," he said, but had to repeat himself when a loud splatter of ketchup from Seamus's direction drowned his voice out.

"Nuh uh," Ron spoke through a mouthful of eggs. "We 'ad Beauxba'dons an' Durms'drang."

"First, Ron," Hermione said with her lips curled at one side, "do not talk with your mouth full." At this remark, Ginny sniggered. Hermione glanced at her curiously, but immediately returned her gaze to Ron, "Second, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons weren't exchange students, they were Hogwarts's opposing teams."

"Wha'dever," Ron said, juggling his words, his tongue, and another forkful of breakfast in his mouth, completely disregarding Hermione's advice. Ginny snickered a little more, trying to avoid anybody noticing. She suddenly leaned over and whispered something to Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown. They giggled like chattering songbirds.

"What is so funny," Harry asked.

"I'll tell you later," she whispered.

"Oh, isn't it obvious? We're getting a new boy here," Hermione said. "They're all excited."

"No, Hermione. But I don't think that would matter much to you if he was." Lavender and Parvati exploded in laughter that was beyond regular giggling.

"Well just what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing!"

Harry was thoroughly confused.

"So are we sending a student over there?"

"Didn't you listen to Dumbledore? He's moving here from wherever in the States and he'll be attending Hogwarts. His mother is going to work for the Ministry. It's not technically an exchange..."

"Oh."

Harry was about to ask another question when Fred and George Weasley came up behind him and Ron, grabbed them by the scruffs of their robes and dragged them from their seats at the bench.

"What's the big idea!?"
"Quidditch practice, you lazy dolts. Come on."

"Already?"

"Ron quit complaining, alright? If you're going to be our Keeper, you're going to practice harder than the rest of the team," Fred said.

"COMBINED!" George added.

Harry couldn't help but notice that both of them had Firebolts under their arms.

"I thought that money was supposed to go to your joke shop," he hissed under his breath.

"It is. We got these discounted," he said. "They got them sixty-percent off because some Ashwinders ate through a couple of twigs. Apparently that sets the streamline off and professional teams refuse to buy them."

"But Quality Quidditch Supplies doesn't have a fireplace for them to come from."

"No," Fred said with a mischievous grin, "But we have one at the Burrow..."

"You didn't!"

"We did!"

Harry couldn't help but smile at the prospect of seeing Malfoy looking completely flummoxed when there were three Firebolts on the Gryffindor team, and two of them owned by the Weasleys, the family he constantly mocked for their poverty. It was even better than the prospect of winning the Quidditch Cup.

"Come on, Harry! You're on a Firebolt! Speed it up! Speed it up! You're letting the Snitch get away!"

"Okay, OLIVER!"

"Watch your rotten mouth!"

If Harry was getting it bad, it was nothing compared to the flogging that Ron was receiving. For good measure, the obsessed Fred and George had actually pelted him with all of the spare bludgers from Madam Hooch's office at once. Harry rushed him to Madam Pomfrey immediately, meanwhile the Chaser girls bashed Fred and George with their broomtails.

"Hello there, Mr. Potter. I figured I'd be seeing you any day now."

"It's Ron!" Harry shouted, levitating Ron's limp body inside. "He's been hit in the head by about fifteen bludgers!"

"Oh, dear!"

Suddenly Hermione burst onto the ward, knocking trays of medical supplies all over the place, one glass tube hit the floor and turned into ice. She slipped and fell on top of Ron.

"RON!" she screamed. Near the door to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey also went flying when a boy Harry had never seen crashed into her.

"REPARO!" Hermione yelled with her wand out, and everything went back to normal. The stranger was on the floor however, knocked unconscious with a trickle of blood slowly slipping across his brow. Madam Pomfrey didn't know who to help first.

"Mr. Potter! Get that boy onto a bed! Miss Granger! Get out of my ward! Mr. Weasley! Oh-- I forgot he was unconscious."

She fixed the stranger's concussion and checked Ron's head.

"He's got some swelling."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"IS HE GOING TO BE ALRIGHT?" Hermione yelled.

"Miss Granger, get OUT!"

"Hermione, what's wrong with you?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked a bit thunderstruck. Her face seemed to be curious as to the answer to that question, too.

"I'm not sure how he's going to be, yet. We'll have to see how he is."

"Come on Hermione," Harry said, "Let's go to the Owlery and send a letter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"WHAT WERE--"she stopped screaming, "What were Fred and George thinking?"

"I dunno. They've become really obsessive over the team now that they're the co-captains. Personally I though Angelina was going to get captain. That would have been nice."

"That was really stupid of them though."

"I know. I hope he's alright."

That night, only four of the beds in Harry's dorm were full. He got up when he couldn't sleep and wandered down to the common room. Hermione was lying on the leather sofa in front of the fireplace. She was asleep.

What was it with her? Why did she keep freaking out?

He covered her up with a patchwork yellow and scarlet quilt from the back of the sofa. She turned over and groggily said, "Ron?" She didn't wake up.

Harry stood up, realization dawning on his face.

"No... no... no... no..." he couldn't believe that one of his best friends liked his other best friend. He didn't want to believe it.

Suddenly he felt very much alone. Ever since Cho came back with that Asian guy she was all over. He couldn't help but think that her mourning hadn't lasted very long over her lost boyfriend.

"Oh God," he said aloud, "Don't start thinking about it. Don't think about the Triwizard cup. Don't think about it."

Of course, he had thought of nothing else for the last few months. He had no choice. He laid down on the other sofa and drifted uneasily to sleep.

The next morning, through the usual storm of post owls in the Great Hall a patch of red was visible. All over the hall, people were screaming "HOWLER!"

Fred and George jumped from their seats and ran full throttle down the aisle and out of the Hall. Errol swooped down and flew after them. The Hall broke out with laughter.

Professor Dumbledore stood up and silenced the Hall with several large silver firecrackers from his wand.

"Students! While custom is to have one sorting per year, we have a new student transferred from the Salem School of Witchcraft and Sorcery in the United States who needs sorting. While the Mr. Jake Traub, our new student, would have been sorted at dinner last night, he suffered a concussion while going up to the Hospital Wing to get a bit of medication for his train sickness."

The young man from the Hospital Wing stepped up to Professor Dumbledore's side. He had a strange looking set of robes on with a red white and blue coat of arms and what looked like an American flag lining the inside.

"Hello," he said to the Hall.

"Ooh," Parvati said, "I love his accent."

"He's so handsome," Lavender said.

"Give me a break," Hermione muttered.

"Hermione," Harry said, "Do you--"

"Shush. I want to see where he gets sorted. He would have looked extremely stupid sitting on the small three-legged stool, unlike the first years. He must have been fifteen. He stood in front of the Hall, removed his drooping purplish-red hat and placed the tattered old Sorting Hat atop it. It took a while.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindors cheered. Hermione didn't.

"Hermione, what's up?"

"Nothing."

"You don't like him?"

"It's not that. He's fine. I'm just worried about something else."

Harry was about to say something to her when a leg came between them and then a body. The American student had sat down between them. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," spoke Professor Dumbledore. "Could you and Miss Granger please show Mr. Traub around?"
"Um... Professor, right now isn't the very best time--"

He glanced at the American boy. The look on his face looked as if he was wondering if he had done something wrong.

"I mean... Sure Professor."

"Thank you, Harry."

"Hello, then, my name's Harry. Harry Potter."

"That name--"

"Yeah. Voldemort. I know. Not that it matters now, but hey, what can you do?"

"That's right. I knew you sounded familiar."

"I'm Hermione Granger."

"Oh, hi. Nice to meet you."

"How old are you?"

"I'm fifteen."

"That's us, too."

"We better get around to the grand tour."

They showed him everything. The lake, the giant squid, the common room, the dungeons, the Quidditch pitch, the library, the Astronomy towers, Hagrid's hut, Moaning Myrtle's bathroom (including the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets), the Owlery, the Whomping Willow (and how to freeze it) then took him down to Hogsmeade.

"Are you okay? I know you hurt your head yesterday," Harry asked, as Hermione came to the table in the back of the pub with three steaming mugs of butterbeer.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine."

"Good."

"Hmmmmm..."

"Good, huh?"

"How much was the bill?"

"Uh, like four sickles."

"Let me get that for you."

"No, it's our treat."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

"That's really a fantastic drink."

"Yeah."

"So, are there any openings on the Quodpot team?"

"The what," Hermione asked.

"We don't have Quodpot here, just Quidditch. You should try for a reserve position."

"I was the best Quodpot player at Salem."

"That game doesn't seem very fun from what I read about it in Quidditch Through the Ages."

"It really is."

"You should try for a reserve Chaser position then. Basically everybody in a game of Quodpot is a Chaser."

"Yeah. I've never actually seen a game of Quidditch."

"WHAT!"

"I went to one when I was very little, but I don't remember it."

"We went to the Quidditch World Cup last year. It was brilliant. Well, the game was."

"Yeah," Hermione agreed, shuddering.

"I heard about that."

"Bad stuff."

"By the way," Jake said, "What broomstick do you use?"

"A Firebolt."

"GET OUT!"

"Yeah. My godfather gave it to me for Christmas last year. It's top of the line."

"Can I take it for a spin?"

"Yeah, sure. Can't see why not."

"You never drink and fly, do you?"

"Is that a joke?"

"Yeah."

"Good one."

Jake stared.

"Well, I suppose we should hit the regular Hogsmeade haunts. Shrieking Shack, the Post Office, Honeydukes, the joke shop."

"Oh Harry, you know where we didn't go?"

"Where?"

"We didn't take Jake to the Hogwarts kitchens."

"You're right! I still haven't gone to see Dobby yet, either."

"I'm surprised he hasn't joined Colin Creevey's fan club yet."

"I'm surprised he hasn't knitted them club sweaters."

"I'm surprised you guys still haven't told me what the hell you're talking about," Jake said.

"Oh. Dobby is a House Elf that once tried to save Harry's life, and in the process almost got him killed. Harry tricked his master, an evil wizard, into freeing him."

"That's not very nice."

"What?"

"You got a House Elf fired."

"No, he wanted freedom. He's not like other elves, he was beaten and tortured. He was seriously mistreated."

"Ahh. How did you trick his master into letting him go?"

"I covered a book with my bloody, grimy sock and he took it off and threw it aside and Dobby caught it."

"That's pretty crafty."

"Yeah."

"So what's the strangest thing you guys have ever come across at Hogwarts?"

"Besides Professor Trelawney," Hermione muttered. Harry couldn't help but double up with laughter.

"The strangest thing we've ever done?"

"Yeah."

"I'd have to say the time we went back in time with a time turner and helped a hippogriff and my godfather escape."

"Escape what?"

"The hippogriff escaped execution, my godfather kept his soul. He was about to get the Dementor's Kiss."

"Ugh!"

"Yeah."

"Why was he going to get the Kiss?"

"Because he was convicted of a mass murder that he was framed for."

"Ah."

"So, are you muggle born, or pure blood?"

"Are you asking that sarcastically or not," Hermione asked, completely serious.

"I'm joking. I'm only half-blood."

"Well, my mum was muggle-born but my dad wasn't," Harry said.

"I'm muggle born," Hermione said, "My parents are dentists."

"What does your Mum do, Jake?"

"To be honest, I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"She's an Unspeakable."

"Oh, you have Unspeakables in America, too?"

"Oh yeah."

At some point they got back to the castle and Hermione skulked off to see Ron. A new bed was in Harry's dorm. It was a tight fit, but they managed.

"Come on, Jake. Quidditch practice."

"Already?"

"Oh yeah."

They got down to the pitch. Jake was an incredible flyer, Harry soon realized.

To his horror, he found that Jake was extremely good at playing Keeper, which was Ron's position. Knowing how obsessive the twins had gotten, he didn't wan to risk tham replacing their own brother.

"You won't, will you?"

"We might."

"I'll take the gold back if you do."

"What!"

"Yeah. As many of the Galleons that you still have. I'll take them all back."

"Alright. Ron stays."

"By the way, what happened with the Howler?"

"Errol cornered us and made us open it."

"You guys deserve it. Ron could die."

"You live, you learn."