Disclaimer: For fun not profit.
Okay, totally AU. Harry's parents are the ones who killed Lord Voldemort, they're currently living in New York, but are about to move back to England so Harry can start his fourth year at Hogwarts.
Quodpot and several other small details have been thoroughly researched by yours truly so everything else is as accurate as possible.
Harry Potter was alone in his room, eating saltines and tomato soup, alone and miserable. This was really nothing out of the ordinary however, and that's what bugged him. His parents were out at some party which Harry had not been invited to. That bugged him as well. They were always going out to celebrations that did not include him, though, so he supposed he ought to be used to it.
He hadn't asked to be the child of Lily and James Potter, fucking saviors of the wizarding world, hadn't asked to have those shoes to fill.
"It's not fair," he whispered to his empty room, as if saying it might change the fact. "It's not fair that I've got all these things expected of me." He was his own person, dammit, no matter how much he looked like his father. He wished someone--anyone--realized that.
At least they were moving back to England, he told himself, and that thought consoled him at least a little bit. He hated America, and he really, really hated Cunningham's Middle School for Aspiring Wizards and had no doubt he'd hate high school just as much if not more. But luckily enough for him, he'd be starting as a fourth year at Hogwarts, his parent's old school which, strangely enough, combined both middle and highschool and that was just weird. He knew some old friends who'd already gone their first three years there and he couldn't wait to see them.
His parents had had some difficulty getting his credits transferred, though Dumbledore, the headmaster, had been as helpful as was possible. He'd be taking all the core requirements he would have been had he still been attending Cunningham's, but would most unfortunately have to be taking Divination with third years because of something having to do with Herbology being a required course at Hogwarts. He'd been taking it anyways, to help with some of his Potions work, but, since he no longer needed it as an elective, he'd had to sign up for another one. He was glad, however, that he was still able to take Ancient Runes with his own year.
His parents, of course, had told him all about the teachers and the classes and the moving staircases and such and the only thing he worried about was the fact that some of the teachers might already have some preconceived notions about him. God, that would be a nightmare. They'd also told him about the four houses, which he thought was also weird. At his middle school, the only competition they had was with other schools, during games of Quodpot or occasionally during those annoying intramural games that only happened once in awhile.
His father wanted him to play Quidditch, of course, for Gryffindor, but Harry wasn't all that interested in it. He liked Quodpot, and would miss it. He was damned good at it, if he did say so himself and had only once had the Quod blow up on him during a game. His parents always came to watch, but he could tell that they weren't very enthusiastic about the whole thing. They just didn't get it. He sighed, doubting very much that Hogwarts had a Quodpot team, but thought that maybe he could start one.
He rolled over onto his stomach, thinking. He was worried about this whole "house rivalry" thing. His parents had both been in Gryffindor and were so sure that he, too, would be sorted into their old house that they kept saying "when" as opposed to "if" as though it was a given or maybe that it had already been arranged.
But that couldn't be right. His parents had also told him about the sorting hat, which he thought was a bit silly. He thought for a moment that it might be funny to get sorted into Slytherin, just to cause his parents a bit of agony. He'd been told all about the Slytherin's of course, and his parents' old rivals and the pranks they that his father and his friends, the Marauders--God, what a silly name--had pulled on them.
His father was even going to loan him his invisibility cloak and some sort of map of Hogwarts and had made Harry promise not to tell his mother; she'd never approve. Both gifts were already packed along with the rest of his things, some of which had already been sent to their house in Godric's Hollow, the one Harry had grown up in. They'd be flooing the the following afternoon and then they'd go to Diagon Alley for the first time in ages--he really missed London, New York just couldn't compare--to buy his fourth year supplies, the list of which had already been owled to him.
The first day of school would be starting as he and his parents took care of the last minute things but his first year at Hogwarts wouldn't begin until a full fifteen days later. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be let out until June.
He polished off the rest of the crackers and soup and rolled off his bed to fumble through the pouches of one of his bags, searching for the Marauder's map. He pulled out his wand and murmured "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," and watched in awe as it unfolded, little squiggling lines writhing across the worn paper and small dots appearing with little scrolls above their heads reading "Albus Dumbledore", who seemed to be pacing in his office, "Rubeus Hagrid", who was walking across the entrance hall towards the front doors and "Severus Snape" who was motionless in the dungeons.
His parents had told him all about Professor Snape and how they had been in the same year. "Slimy, greasy git," his father had said with a sneer, "always sticking his abnormally large nose into other people's business." His mother had given James a reproving look but had said nothing. Snape, he had found out, was the head of Slytherin house and therefore he obviously favored them, also having been in Slytherin himself. Harry had been told that if Snape was giving him a hard time that James would personally come to Hogwarts and beat the stuffing out of him. This was said when Lily had left the room, but Harry didn't really plan on it. What an embarassment to have one's parents arrive at school to sort something like i that /i out. He was a big boy and could handle himself, though he hadn't told his father that much.
He watched as another dot appeared through the fireplace, one labeled "Lucius Malfoy". He had heard of the Malfoys, from his godfather, Sirius, whose first cousin, Narcissa, had married Lucius, though they avoided speaking about that part of his godfather's family.
He wished he could see what they were saying, but that seemed to be a bit beyond the map's power, though he figured it would still come in handy once September arrived.
He heard a door slam downstairs and he whispered a hurried "Mishchief managed" before slipping the paper back into his bag where he had gotten it from.
"Harry?" he heard his mother call up the stairs. "Are you still up?"
He went to his door and opened it. "Yeah," he said, reaching the stairs. "What time is it?"
"A little after midnight, son," his father said, hanging his coat on the rack next to the door. "You should be in bed by now."
Harry resisted the urge to tell his father that he was old enough now not to need an early bed time, but he knew the argument would be useless. His parents seemed to think he was going through some sort of phase, but he had never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. "I'm not tired," he announced instead, though he felt a yawn coming on.
His parents exchanged glances which annoyed him further, but they didn't push, letting him sit next to them on the couch as they listened to the Wizarding Wireless Network, but he was asleep withing minutes.
Lily pushed his hair back from his face and kissed his forehead.
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