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.