Disclaimer: You know the drill. I do not own Harry Potter, it is the invention of JKR. Happy?

England is not my favorite place in the world. Cold and drafty, like their castles. And their manner of speech, confusing and twisted like their history. Like the muggle history. Too many husbands killing their wives for me, thank you. But they called for the best, and I am the best.

The front hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is drafty but bright, confining yet spacious. Not surprisingly, my CD player dies from shock. My comforting music is gone, the roar of the children ringing in my eyes.

The heavy wooden doors of the Great Hall are closed. Typical, don't want any outsiders here. It takes my whole weight to open them, pushing with all my might. Then the room goes silent. All heads turn on me. They're wearing robes. Why? At my old school, robes weren't worn at school, we used muggle clothes.

"Hey, which one of you punks knows how to fix a CD player?" I yell out through the hall. It echoes off the lofty ceiling. It's covered in the night sky. "Tricked out ceiling, make it yourself?" Harmless question. Still no answer. "Ok, let's start simpler. Where is this Dumbledore?"

An old man stands up across the hall. "I am this Dumbledore. And you must be Jen, the American." That gets the crowd going. Whispers move through the crowd like ripples. "And we have a dress code, Ms. Dobbins. Robes are required."

I cock my head and roll my eyes, letting my hip jet out to one side. "Well, I was not informed. Do excuse my improperness of interrupting your feast," I bow low, then turn around and walk out. But I have to come back in, I'm already lost. "That's not funny, you know. People here can get lost." The boys and girls laugh.

A woman next to Dumbledore stands up. She is stern featured with a tight bun. "Please, Ms. Dobbins, come up here at once to be sorted."

"Sorted? I need a label? What's with all this conformity and why isn't my damn CD player working in your castle?" I scream. I'm pissed off, I don't want to be a number.

A brown haired girl rolls her eyes. She is about my age. "Honestly, hasn't anyone read Hogwarts, A History?" I narrow my eyes at her. She does the same back. A red head and a messy boy laugh next to her. The messy one has got to be Harry Potter. I tut. Typical, famous, snobby people. The girl and red head are probably millionaires.

"Fine, keep your secrets. I'm coming up," I start to take out my headphones as I walk up to the stage. They put this moldy old hat on my head. It's hot inside, kind of sticky, like the person who wore it before me was sweating hard.

"You've got some fight in you. But you never fight without a cause. Very good, and interesting," the hat talks into my head. I think, Hello, my name is Jen Dobbins, it's nice to meet you, Sorting Hat. "And a polite one too. Well, Jen Dobbins, you will be in...Gryffindor!" it screams. I scream back. I startle easily.

It was already arranged, the Sorting Hat thing. I was here for one thing and one thing only, to protect and serve the good people of the United States of America. And if it means that I have to go to England and babysit Potter, than so be it. Voldemort will not come and steal our freedom.

And this was an act. I do this to be left alone. I prefer to work that way, without interruption. So far, it's working. I sit at the table, a little ways down from the target, and no one talks to me. In fact they seem scared. So, back to work.

I pull out a notebook and my tape recorder. The headphones are slipped back onto my ears by habit. It seems they have put some anti-Muggle charm on the building. Damn thing took out my CD player. I'll fix that later.

"Subject: Harry Potter. Hogwarts, castle like building, gothic style. Subjects friends: a red head boy and brown haired girl," I speak into my recorder. The kids around me like at me strange. I use them to my advantage. "Hey, who's down there sitting with Potter?"

They stare back. "Ron Weasley and Hermoine Granger," a little one says. Most still don't know how to act. I'm different, and strange. They keep staring at me. I lunge with my fork raised, as if to stab them, but pull the blow. They leave me alone, after that.

"Potential weaknesses: Ron Weasley, red head, and Hermoine Granger, brown." Work as usual.