Kapitel 1: Chapter 1: Starting of Everything!
Standing against a circular pillar in Denver International Airport with a backpack slung over my shoulder, I flick my thumb across the e-reader screen to turn the last page of my fiftieth novel-length Harry Potter fanfiction.
When I lift my head up to stretch a bit, a massive case of vertigo sweeps over me, and my left hand shoots back to steady myself on the pillar.
Unfortunately, it finds nothing but air. It must be on account of the sudden onset of nausea and dizziness, but it seems like I'm falling through the pillar.
As I shake off some of the symptoms, the sights and sounds coalesce from blurred and slurred to more distinct shapes and noises.
I'm facing a tall, age-worn stone pillar that looks absolutely nothing like one from the airport...or anything I've ever seen, for that matter.
My heart tries to jump through my throat as the shrill whistle of a train blares behind me.
"What theâ€"" I begin, but stop after I spin and catch sight of the old steam engine, and the throng of children with their families bustling about in odd clothing with large carts of luggage and...is that an owl?
In a split second the familiarity of the scene hits me, and my eyes snap to the engine to verify: Hogwarts Express.
"You won't need your wand, here, son," a gruff old man says, off to my right. He's leaning over the counter of what appears to be a newspaper stand.
I look down, and in my right hand, sure enough, is a light, slightly red-tinted wooden wand clutched in my hand where my e-reader used to be.
"Wha...uh, right, sorry," I say, and I realize with some embarrassment that I'm trying to copy his English accent.
Yeah, that's not going to work. I look down at my clothes and find myself still in my travel attire: faded blue jeans and a white tee-shirt, with a zip-up hoodie hanging over my backpack. But something is off about them...
I turn back to the pillar, and it seems completely solid, no matter how much I try to imagine it being a gateway back to Denver International.
At first I try to nonchalantly lean back up against the pillar, and eventually I'm openly inspecting the thing, hoping to find some kind of switch or push plate that might send me back.
I found nothing. Absently I rub my chin in thought. I appear to have been magically transported to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
Did I fall asleep?
No, everything feels real enough...far too vivid for a dream, not to mention I usually wake up once I realize I might be dreaming.
I look again at my supposed wand, then at my backpack. What else has changed? Perhaps there are more clues in there...
Rummaging through the pack I find my nicer black shoes on the bottom, a crumpled heap of nicer clothes that I'd worn for the meeting, and, in another pocket, a faded brown letter with a red wax seal.
Perplexed, I dig it out and see it addressed to Bud A. Lerner, Gate C36 Southwest Pillar, Denver International Airport, USA. "What. The. Fâ€""
"You'd best hurry, son, it'll be off soon," the old man said.
I glance over to see him starting to pack up his newsstand. Then a newspaper headline catches my eye: "NEW LEADS IN HUNT FOR SIRIUS BLACK!" it says in big, bold, block lettering.
The subtitle says "RESPONSIBLE FOR QUIDDITCH WORLD CUP SCARE?" The picture, sure enough, is the same one from the third movie with Sirius apparently screaming like a madman.
Holy shit, it's 1994 in the Potterverse! The Triwizard Tournament! But in 1994... Suddenly the reason my clothes seemed off hit me: I'm younger! I'm still a teenager, so the timing doesn't really work out, but I definitely lost a couple years.
"C'mon, Hurry!" a shrill voice snaps me out of my daze, and I dash off awkwardly toward the train. I have to hold my pant legs up, and my shoes are a bit too big.
I barely made it. As I trudge toward the back of the train, every compartment appears full.
One of those pieces of fanfiction - though I can't remember which - conjectured that the train magically expands to only leave just enough room for everybody.
Makes sense, really, since the last ones on the train tend to be the protagonists, and they pretty much always find only one compartment open.
"Did you get hit by a shrinking charm?" a familiar, melodious voice asks behind me.
I smile and turn to see the serene visage of Luna Lovegood, peering up at me with large gray eyes flecked with only the slightest hint of blue. "Or did my clothes get hit by an engorgement charm?"
She smiles back conspiratorially. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see."
"Say, do you think a wrackspurt might have gotten me? Is that why I can't seem to remember?"
Her already large, slate gray eyes widen. "Oh no! I knew I should have convinced Daddy to let me take a pair of Spectrespecs! Let me get my notes!"
"It's okay, it'll wear offâ€"and she's gone." I laugh and shake my head. Oh man, messing with Luna is going to be fun. I should probably feel bad about that thought.
Continuing down the train I spot the trio in one compartment, where Hermione is gesturing excitedly, no doubt explaining something in great detail while Ron looks bored but Harry actually looks interested.
Suddenly an odd fact strikes me. Sirius looked exactly like he did in the movie, and so did Luna.
And here was Hermione looking just like Emma Watson.
Now, it's been a long time since I had my own pictures of the characters in my head, but Hermione wasn't really supposed to be attractive, was she?
I open the door to their compartment somewhat loudly to get their attention, Hermione stops mid-sentence to look at me, as do Harry and Ron.
Kapitel 2: Chapter 2: Open it!
"Mind if I sit here?" I ask, giving them my best smile. "Everywhere else seems to be full."
"Are you a Yank?" Ron asks, brows furrowed.
"Ronald Weasley, have you no manners? That's a pejorative!" Hermione says quickly with a furious frown.
"A what?" he asks dumbly.
I laugh. "No worries, no worries. You might use it as a pejorative, but it doesn't particularly bother me. Yes, I'm from the United States. Don't hold it against me."
That doesn't get much of a reaction, though Hermione generously turns the corners of her lips up at my joke.
"I'm Hermione Granger, and you already know this gentleman with his foot in his mouth is Ron Weasley, and that's Harry." she trails off.
"Harry Potter," the Daniel Radcliffe doppelganger says with a sigh.
He obviously doesn't like being introduced to strangers, so I smile and decide to throw them for a loop.
"Hermione Granger, are you really?" I ask in my best star-struck voice.
"I've heard so much about you!" I gush.
It has the intended effect of silencing the entirety of the cabin with open-mouthed stares.
"What?" Hermione asked, being the first one to recover. "You...you have?"
"Uh, not really," I lied. "Sorry, I was just giving Harry a break."
They all look surprised, then Harry laughs and Hermione joins in with a chuckle. Ron gives a nervous laugh like he didn't get the joke, which he probably didn't.
"So you are...?" Hermione prods.
"Oh yeah, I'm...uh...oh!" I remember the letter in my bag.
"Call me Bud. Bud A. Lerner," I say, trying to avoid thinking about how stupid my name is, I shake her hand gently and then offer mine to the others. "Nice to meet you."
"Yep, definitely a Yank name," Ron observes briefly before a solid smack to his shoulder causes him to cry out in indignation.
"Is there no filter between your brain and your mouth?" she asks angrily, then turns an apologetic look to me.
"No, it's okay, I fully agree," I assure them. It does sound like a redneck name...maybe I should come up with a better one.
"Can't help our names, can we?"
I pull out the letter and hand it to Hermione.
"But this isn't even open!" she says incredulously.
"Oh yeah...oops."
"But how did you get here? How did you know what stuff to get?"
"Uh...oops again? I uh, kinda forgot and then I kinda accidentally ended up here this morning."
"How did you 'accidentally' end up on Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" she asks dubiously.
I scratch my head and squint my eyes as if I'm trying to remember. That's not too far off, really, since I don't know how this happened.
"Well, I was just standing in an airport leaning against a pillar, and next thing I know I'm just sitting on the Platform."
She doesn't look like she believes me. "But what about your stuff?"
"Well, I've got my wand, but...uh...I don't have any money for the rest," I say sheepishly.
I dig out my wallet and there's a ten dollar bill and a few ones. I'm not sure what the exchange rate is between dollars and pounds and galleons, but I figure it can't be much more than a galleon.
"This is all I've got," I say, showing them.
"What are those?" Ron asks.
"American dollars, of course," Hermione says, then looks up at me sadly. "Well you're a bit taller than Ron...Ron, do you have any spare robes?"
"Not really, my other two are too small even for me...oh wait," he says with a grimace. He digs out his hideous dress robes that would only not look out of place on a vampire in the 18th century. "Mum packed these awful things..."
Just then the door slides open to reveal a platinum blonde-haired boy with a pointy face twisted into a sneer. "What ridiculous robes, Weasley! Were those your great-grandfather's?"
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry snaps.
I decided to jump in. "Did you say Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy? Are you really? Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I've heard so much about you! Can I have your autograph? I know I must have something around here..."
He looks surprised for a moment, then takes in my state of dress and smiles imperiously. "Well, at least some peasants around here seem to know their place." Then he notices Hermione snickering, and a scowl forms. "What's so funny, mudblood?"
"He's not a peasant, you ponce," Harry says angrily.
"Look at him," Draco says, gesturing toward me. "He dresses worse than Weasley!"
"I'll have you know my grandfather is Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, the most feared Dark Lord in United States history! You might want to take that back." I fix a glare in his direction, trying to avoid breaking out into a grin.
Hermione chokes out a laugh and I have to bite my lip to fight to keep the smile off my face.
Draco looks uncertain for a moment, then turns and angrily hisses at Hermione, "what's so funny?"
"Oh, I think you've got something in your hair," I say, waving my hand in his direction.
I feel an odd rush flowing from my stomach, up my chest, and through my arm.
Much to my surprise, a pink blob appears entangled in his hair.
"Whaâ€"" he begins, hand darting to his hair. "What is it?" he screeches in a high-pitched voice. "Get it out! Get it out!"
"Sorry, I don't know how to get bubble gum out of someone's hair. Maybe Ms. Granger knows?"
Draco squeals like a girl, pushes one of the big lugs behind him out of the way and runs up the train.
"That was brilliant, mate!" Ron says enthusiastically.
"Did you conjure that gum silently?" Hermione says, astonished. "That's really advanced magic! What year are you in?"
"Uh..." I shrug and point at the letter.
"Open it."
She looks torn between asking me about my accidental conjuration and opening my letter. Hermione probably lives for Hogwarts letters.
"Are you sure?"
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