{A/N} This is a self-insert story. What author doesn't have one when they write fanfiction? Any feedback is quite appreciative, as well as constructive criticism. It has been a long time since I've written, and this story does not have a beta, therefore there may be some grammatical mistakes. I've edited as best I can but an author can't catch every mistake they've made, so if anyone wants to point something out I'd appreciate it. I do curse like a sailor in my internal monologue, so I'm sorry if this annoys or insults someone, but it's how I think as a person, therefore it's how I"ll be writing myself as a character. Obligatory, J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and the Potterverse. I don't own anything except myself, and I'd sell my soul for a chance to meet Jim Butcher, my idol.

Darkness is a radical concept. I've never been able to achieve true darkness when trying to fall asleep. Living in a converted basement would sound conducive to that but even with blackout curtains on the door out to the storage room, there's always just that tiny sliver of light. The lights on my computer might flicker even though I turned it off or the hallway light might be on outside the door to my bedroom. My point is, there's always something keeping me from achieving a true darkness, and now that I'm experiencing one, it's pretty radical.

Of course, being dead and all, I should have expected it. I know it's surprising, such a swell young guy like me just up and dying, right? One minute I'm driving down the road on my way to meet up with some friends for a drink and the next there's a car slamming into the driver's side door of my pickup truck. I lived past the initial impact but there was something wrong with my back and I couldn't feel a damn thing below my chest. I was pretty woozy when the paramedics got there and heard something about internal bleeding but by that time I'd decided to say screw it pass out and let the paramedics do their damn job. The problem was, I don't think I woke up.

Sure I mean, I've got some type of consciousness now but it's like in the Metallica song One, no sight, no sound, no feeling. Nothing. This is pretty much what I figured death would be like, except without the consciousness part. I was only an occasional church-goer after I turned 16 and my parents couldn't make me go anymore, so I figured God and I weren't as cool with each other as we could have been. I'd like to say that I lived a decent life with minimal lying, stealing, cheating, and other various and sundry things, but really, I was only 22 when I died and hadn't had long to make up for the follies of youth.

Whilst pondering whether I was in Hell, Heaven, or some other transitory place, for an immeasurable amount of time I began to notice a beat. It was a bit like laying your head against someone's chest and listening to their heart beat, but in surround sound, and without the steady beat. Not really the best metaphor I've ever made, but you get the picture. This one came faintly at first, and there was so long between beats that I didn't really notice anything at first, but soon it picked up and the frequency became shorter and the all encompassing darkness began to writhe and beat faster. At this point I was shitting my metaphorical pants and trying to exert my will on my environment with absolutely no success. And then I was moving, and let me tell you that in hindsight it should have been obvious, but thinking about my second birth still makes me queasy.

I could finally hear again, and feel, and feel I did. The air was rough like it never had been on my skin and I was sore all over, and it was freezing cold and so, giving into my body's instincts I cried and whimpered until something warm and soft was wrapped around me. My eyelids were thin and I could tell that there was an intensely bright light on so I kept them shut as I was passed around. It was only when the light had dimmed a bit that I cracked my eyes open, and wasn't that an ordeal because my eyelids did not want to obey my commands, and took a good look around.

Indistinct blurs greeted my newly opened eyes, something I was familiar with due to my poor vision before I died, and I couldn't make anything out until someone pulled me very close to to themselves and blue eyes filled my vision. A soft, maternal voice cooed from very near me, "Hello Michael, I'm very happy to meet you."

Let me tell you, being a baby is a pretty boring existence, especially if you have the mind of a 22 year old man. Most days I just lounged around and everything was pretty much a blur. Of course that did give me a lot of time to have an existential crisis. When I finally figured out that I had been reborn, I freaked the fuck out. My parents must have thought I had a terrible disease because I screamed and shouted my head off for three days straight. Once I'd calmed down, and given my poor new parents some rest, I lay there in my tiny baby body with my metaphorical jaw wide open as I considered that damn, Buddha had it spot on. At least, I was fairly sure that Buddha was spot on because he's the only guy I thought of when I considered reincarnation. There was also something about the caste system in India but I'd written that off years ago, in a sense, as ridiculous. I was beginning to rethink that.

It took me a while because I had to wait for my hearing and eyesight to get a bit better and because I freaking had to listen to my parents actually talk, not talk to me in baby talk, but I finally figured out who and where the hell I was. My name is now Michael Cooper, firstborn to Terry and Kathy Cooper. I was born on July 29th, 1980. We live in Austin, Texas where my new father works as an engineer at an oil and gas company, and my new mother works as an elementary school teacher. They'd apparently been high school sweethearts who went to college together and got married straight after, having me barely a year after the wedding.

My father apparently had a very cushy job because from what I could see from being carried around the house it was brand new my parents owned it. It was spacious, but not overly so for a new family just starting out with two stories and three bedrooms. I didn't see father that often in the beginning, probably because he had to work hard to keep up with a new house and a new baby so I spent most of my time with my mother. Kathy Cooper was pretty in the girl-next-door kind of way, like so many others in Texas. Tall, blond haired and blue eyed, curvy in all the right places, she was probably a cheerleader in high school. (I later found out that yes, she was.) Dad was also quite tall, well muscled, but with the beginnings of a gut that suggested he'd spent more time inside than out since high school, probably from getting his engineering degree. He had dark hair, dark eyes, and a deep voice that was pleasantly soothing to my small ears whenever I felt like a nap.

Growing up again kind of sucked because it wouldn't be until high school that I would get started on my do-over. Before I was reincarnated I had never been a great student. Solid B's and C's through high school and college and a fairly useless history degree. This time around I was savoring the chance to improve my grades, because who doesn't want to go back in time and tell themselves as a kid that they need to get their rear in gear and study hard. I'd also come to the conclusion that a higher power had allowed me to keep my memories through my reincarnation, it could have been a crazy random happenstance but better safe than sorry, and I didn't want to piss it off by wasting my second chance. Of course, I'd gone through in the 2000's and the 2010's and now I'd been reincarnated in the 1980's. My mind was awhirl with all of the things I could do and see that I'd been too young for while growing up the first time.

But that was all in the future. I had to make it through elementary school first. That was a bitch. I didn't want to make an early reputation as a genius, because I wasn't. Originally I had been a very bright child, elementary school had been a time of rapid learning and a burgeoning understanding of the world. In middle school I discovered video games and the television and lost all drive. I squandered my potential the first time around and was damned if I would do it again. Even with my reincarnation I would never be a genius, but I was still quite smart, and would work to live up to it this time around. That didn't help the frustration I felt at my little six year old peers. They just weren't on the same level as I was mentally and were content to color cows and pigs with their crayola crayons. I'll be damned if I have to color more than a single page full of barnyard animals!

I developed a reputation as a solitary child, content with his books that were not quite first grade material, but probably wouldn't get me in trouble in the skipping grades department. I was labelled a precocious child, pleasant and polite, but distant from the other children in my classroom. My mother was a real saint. She was truly kind and caring and provided a warm loving home that I could relax in. We played games and read books together, and really I turned into a complete mama's boy. The first time I grew up my parents worked all day, we were upper middle class and my parents had good jobs but they just weren't around a huge amount. Some of the 1950's attitude still pervaded American culture that women were the homemakers and my mom made a good one. It was nice to act like a kid.

When I turned seven I thought it was high time I learned an instrument. Previously I was a singer, but never had any formal training beyond high school choir. I had a pretty damn good voice if I wanted to brag, but always regretted never learning an instrument, or really how to read music at all. So I badgered my parents into getting me violin and piano lessons. Piano because I had always found it soothing, and because it gave me a foundation in musical theory that I hadn't had before, and violin because there was some very sexy violin music out there and I really wanted to be able to play it for myself. Instruments were something new, and I relished the challenge. I wasn't good at it immediately, and felt the familiar thrill of accomplishment whenever I learned something new or played something that didn't sound like a dead chicken. Life was looking up.

Then there was the big move. When I was eight my dad took a big managerial position in a new office his company was opening in England and we moved across the pond. Now Britain was very different from Texas, it was very different from the good 'ole South where I'd lived both of my combined lives. They had Primary School, not Elementary School, and schooling was very different. I hesitate to say better, but to each their own. Going to school as the lone yank was amusing, because I affected a slow, southern drawl and cackled in my head as the kids around me tried to figure out what I was saying. I had to find my amusement somewhere in London, because I really missed hot Texas summers and mild winters. It rained all the time in Britain, and especially London, and the gloomy weather was a constant downer.

Life was pretty mundane. Dad worked, mom stayed at home and took care of the house because dad made a lot of money now and she was accredited as a teacher in the United States, not Britain. That's not to say she did nothing. She volunteered at an organization for Americans living in Britain and organized events to give children of American expats a taste of home. I kept on practicing the Violin and Piano and finally got my hands on an honest to god set of J.R.R. Tolkien's finest. High fantasy had been my preferred genre in my last life and I was so happy to get the grandfather of it all that I didn't care if it looked weird for a 10 year old to be plowing through the admittedly dense books. Then I turned eleven.

Now, eleven isn't normally a turning point in anybody's life. But in a small percentage of people's lives it is and apparently I was one of them… this time around. July 29th, 1991 was a very nice day. It was a Monday so that meant my father had to work, but my mother stayed home with me. I treated her to a mini concert with my violin and the small piano they had bought for me when we moved to England, and she treated me to ice cream and a walk about central London. Even after three years we looked at London through the eyes of a tourist and wandering around was a great family pastime. I took some of our precious long distance minutes to call my Grandparents back in Texas, and Grandpa Cooper and I had a serious talk about our beloved Dallas Cowboys chances at a super bowl that season. Grandpa Cooper was a good ole' Southern boy and we didn't have much in common but we could bond over football and that's where we did. I like British football just fine, but I missed the hell out of Sunday afternoons cheering on the Cowboys with my dad and Grandpa Cooper.

When Dad got home Mom made me my favorite dinner, fried chicken with mustard greens and some honest to god American biscuits. Only a southern woman could cook something like that and hot damn am I glad that I was reincarnated back into the good ole' south. We might have a lot of problems, racism, sexism, every sort of ism you can think of really, but nobody can deny that the best food in the world is some down home Southern cooking. Southern cooking is also one of the reasons us southern men die so early, heart attacks are no joke. I knew that I wasn't going to be in danger of that as much as I had in my previous life. Before reincarnating I had the heart attack gene from both sides of my family. I looked exactly like my Grandfather who had died in his forties after his third heart attack. Of course, being a hard drinker and smoker will do that to you. Now, my family was quite healthy with a good medical history, and my body was much more predisposed to be athletic. High School the first time was rough because when I went out for sports I had to really work, getting into shape was damn difficult and I never really could keep up with most of the other guys. This body was genetically predisposed to be athletic. I took after my mother, blonde hair, blue eyes, and at eleven years old I was 5'0'' on the dot. I could feel it in my bones that when I got older I'd have to work at it, but getting in shape and staying there would be easy for me.

After dinner at around 6:30 my family retreated to the living room as was our habit. My father poured himself two fingers of whiskey and sat down to watch the news. Mom settled on the couch next to dad and pulled out a notepad and paper and started planning her next event for the expat organization. And I pulled out The Two Towers and sank into the nice new cushy armchair that my parents had gotten me for my birthday. It might have been a bit expensive, but the sentiment behind it made me smile. They wanted me around, even when I was off in my own world reading a book, so that we could still be a family together. That was when my excellent day was interrupted by a knock on our door.

Both my parents looked confused before mom looked at me and asked, "Michael, did you invite any of your friends over and forget to tell us?"

I shrugged, "No, and I doubt any of them would just come over randomly. I don't think they even know where we live."

A second knock, no more or less firm than the first, rang through the living room and my father hurried to get up and get the door. My chair was out of the sightline of the open door and I could hear my dad talking to a woman on the porch, but couldn't really make out what they were saying. I waited patiently and wracked my mind for the answer to who could be at the door. At home in Texas it could have been anyone from Jehovah's Witness's to Dad's work friends making a surprise visit. Before I could form a funny picture of British Jehovah's Witness, dad led an elderly woman woman dressed in a strict business skirt and jacket, with her hair in a tight bun of grey. I quickly stood up and, seeing that she had business here and would probably be staying for a discussion, offered her my chair. She took it graciously with a smile and a "Thank you, young man."

I went over to the couch and sat with my mother while my father offered the woman a drink, which she declined. He then turned to us with a smile, "Michael, Kathy, this is Professor McGonagall, and she's come to offer Michael a place at her school."

My mind froze, and then in a haze of adrenaline, ran through a great many facts in a very short amount of time. Professor McGonagall worked at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Professor McGonagall was a fictional character in the Harry Potter books that I had read and loved as a teenager. I was not a wizard. This was a mindfuck.

Outwardly, I nodded calmly and said, "My scores aren't spectacular and it's not like I'm a prodigy in anything, why would a school come recruiting me?"

My father looked at the professor with a questioning gaze and she smiled gently before answering, "We do not look at your scores per se, we only take a certain type of person at our school, and you certainly fit the profile."

Well, that was blatantly false. I don't believe I had ever exhibited any signs of accidental magic, even when I was an infant, and I remembered most of those times, if only because they were incredibly boring. I gazed at her quizzically and she pulled a letter out of her purse and handed it to me saying, "This should answer some of your questions."

The letter had my name, address, and what room I lived in on the front and was sealed in wax, with a crest I couldn't quite make out. I glanced dubiously at her and my parents, who both gave me encouraging nods, before opening the letter. It read exactly like the acceptance letters in the books and when I was through going over the entire thing I said, "I like practical jokes as much as the next person, but this really is too much."

I passed the letter to my mother and watched the Professor as my mother and then my father read it. Both had confused looks on their faces and my father burst out when he was done, "What in god's name is this? Witchcraft and wizardry? That's not real."

Professor McGonagall smiled and asked, "I assure you, magic is quite real. Have there ever been any strange occurrences around Michael that you couldn't explain?"

My parents looked at each other and shrugged before my dad replied, "Not a one."

The Professor nodded, "It could have occurred as a toddler, perhaps in a time of great emotion. Accidental magic is driven by emotions and is most volatile before the age of six."

My mother smiled and replied, "Michael has always had a very good temper. He's very reserved, and the only time he's come close to throwing a tantrum was when he wanted music lessons and we caved to that pretty quickly."

McGonagall was beginning to frown so I put my two cents in, "I'm still stuck on the magic part of all this. Could you give us a demonstration that magic is real, before we try and figure out if I am actually magical."

Professor McGonagall looked at both my parents and after they gave their assent she stood up and fluidly pulled a length of wood, a wand, out of her jacket pocket. With a wave she turned my nice new armchair into a straight backed wooden chair. Another small flick produced a thin cushion that she placed on it before sitting back down, her posture quite the same. My parents were gaping but I crossed my arms thoughtfully, "I hope you'll be able to change that back, because it's new, and I really like it."

She favored me with a smile and said, "Of course. Now perhaps you could tell me if you've ever done any accidental magic young man. I'm sure your parents were not always with you."

I shrugged, "Nope. No levitating objects, no bolts of lightning, no disappearing broccoli. I got gypped."

Dad snorted and mom flicked my arm, "Don't be rude Michael." she admonished.

I couldn't help the whiny note that slithered into my voice, "Well, I haven't done any accidental magic. Maybe she got the wrong house."

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and we all looked at her, "I'm quite certain that this is the house. You are actually the first American that has been accepted to Hogwarts. You are what we call a muggleborn, that is you have two non-magical parents, or muggles as we call them. When accidental magic is detected in a non-magical household their name is automatically entered into the Book of Names at Hogwarts. Normally this occurs between the ages of two and five. You are quite the different case however. Your name was only entered roughly three years ago."

I interrupted to say, "That's when we moved here from America."

She looked slightly put out at the interruption but moved on, "Quite. Now, after doing some research about your family I contacted my colleagues in America and after some discussion decided that if you were to make permanent residence in Britain that Hogwarts would approach you at the appropriate age."

It was my mother who interrupted this time, "Wait, there are wizards in America too?"

McGonagall nodded, "Oh yes. The most prominent school there is the Ilvermorny school for Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was their Deputy Headmaster that I contacted and we came to this decision jointly."

I couldn't help myself, "This still doesn't mean that I'm magical. I haven't done any of this accidental magic you were talking about. All of this is a moot point if I can't do magic."

McGonagall seemed to be getting impatient with my impertinence but asked, "Sometimes it can be quite subtle. Were you ever sick as a child? Did you ever have any broken bones that healed faster than they should have?"

I shrugged and looked at my parents while saying, "Not as far as I can recall. I've never broken any bones or been sick. Any bruises I get go away pretty quickly, but other than that I can't think of anything."

My dad also shrugged, "We thought he had contracted something just after he was born but we never did find out what was wrong with him. He screamed and cried for three days or so but got better all at once."

I inwardly smirked, looking back my existential crisis must have been a tough time for my parents. McGonagall frowned, and hesitated a moment before saying, "The Book of Names is never wrong. You, Michael Cooper, are magical."

I smirked outwardly this time, "It would be embarrassing if it was wrong though. What would happen if it was wrong?"

I already knew the answer but I wanted her to say it. She sighed before saying, "In 1692 the International Statute of Secrecy was signed by the magical nations of the world, and we separated ourselves from muggle society. If it turned out that you were in fact a muggle, Michael, then I would be obliged to call in the Obliviators and have the memory of this visit removed."

My father stood up and said angrily, "That sounds dangerous, and not something I would want performed on my family."

McGonagall weathered his anger admirably, "Mr. Cooper, it is an entirely safe process. It is the basic tenet of wizarding society that we must be kept hidden from muggle society at all costs. Obliviators regularly remove memories of the wizarding world from muggles and there are no harmful effects. It will not come to that though, because I am sure your son is magical."

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, "Prove it, please."

She sighed again, probably because she wasn't used to dealing with such obstreperous muggleborn, and leant forward to gingerly place her wand on the coffee table between us, "The wand is the tool with which almost all magic is made. Each wizard or witch has their own wand that is attuned to them, and through which they will work their best magic. Another wizard could use my wand but they would never achieve the same results as with their own. Please be careful with mine, but I would like you to pick it up and see if you feel anything."

Instinctively knowing the magnitude of such a gesture, I hesitantly reached forward and gently picked it up. It was warm to the touch, whether from being in her pocket or her hand, or from something else. After a moment though that something else began to look more likely because it pulled on something deep within me. A roiling mass of something that I could reach for but never quite get. Seeing the shock on my face Professor McGonagall smiled and gestured, "Go on, give it a wave."

In almost a trance I did, and was rewarded with an exploding book. My copy of the Two Towers, which I had set on the coffee table, exploded in a cloud of paper. I gaped at it and then looked at my parents with wide eyes. They were having a similar reaction, and I was glad that they weren't hyperventilating. I looked back at McGonagall, who had almost a smug look on her face, and asked her, "Erm. Could you fix my book please."

I held her wand back out to her and she took it, fixing my book with a quick wave, and we all sat back down to take stock of the situation. It went pretty quickly after that and after finalizing the details, she would be back to take us to Diagon Alley in a week, she left.

By mutual unspoken agreement we all sat back down in the living room for a family discussion. I sat back in my newly untransfigured armchair and my parents sat back on the couch and we all took a minute to gain our composure back after having our minds blown. I broke the silence first, "I want to go."

My dad winced, "Now Michael, I know that this is new and exciting but I think we should talk about it first."

I shrugged, "What's there to talk about. This is a once in a lifetime thing and I want to do it. Magic, Dad. Think of all the things I could do! I could… I could…. I Could make the piano play along with my while playing my Violin!"

My mom snorted with suppressed laughter but Dad cut in, "I'm sure there were things she wasn't telling us. Those obliviators sounded like bad news."

I couldn't help but laugh, "Yeah, but it does make sense. People would go crazy if they knew that magic was real."

Dad snorted, "Yeah, like we're not all going crazy here."

I leaned forward excitedly to make my point, "Exactly! This, statute of secrecy thing is probably a good thing for both worlds. Magical and non-magical. But my point is, I want to go."

Mom chipped in, surprising me, "Terry I think we should let him."

We both looked at her in surprise, "Really?"

She smiled at our flabbergasted faces, "Of course. He's never been challenged in school. Don't give me that face Michael, I know that you're much more advanced than the curriculum and I've never pushed you because you never seemed to want to be pushed. I think this could be good for him, make him work and come out of his shell. Plus, if he goes away to boarding school he'll have to make friends."

She grinned wickedly at me and I pouted. Yes, I, a 22 year old man in an 11 year old's body, pouted at my mother. With my mother's opinion in the ring I stood up and quickly shouted, "Family vote! I get one vote, and both of you get two. Me and mom make it 3 to 2. You lose dad, I get to go to Hogwarts!"

I childishly stuck my tongue out at him and ran upstairs, making sure to take my book with me, and leaving it to mom to do the rest of the convincing.

A week passed and on the day McGonagall had said she was returning I was bouncing at the door, ready to go. Dad was still slightly disgruntled, I think his dream of me following in his footsteps as an engineer was crashing down around him, but mom looked just as excited as I was. At 9 A.M. on the dot, there was a knock on our door. I was already there but I waited a few moments, to make it seem like I wasn't about to explode with excitement, and then opened the door, stepping out of the way and inviting the good Professor inside, "Good morning Ma'am. Please come in."

She stepped inside and favored me with a smile, "Thank you, Mr. Cooper. Is your family ready to go?"

I nodded politely and a moment later my mom and dad appeared, and we quickly exited the house. Professor McGonagall gave us the address to the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding inn that was the entrance to Diagon Alley, and told us she would meet us there. She seemed reluctant to get into my dad's car and so we drove off, leaving her standing on the sidewalk. Charing Cross road was halfway across London for us so it took half an hour to get there and find parking. We walked down Charing Cross road and my parents couldn't see it, but I could. Tucked away in a corner with a small sign I could see the wooden door that led to the wizarding world. I grabbed my mom's hand, (No, I have not forgotten the fact that I'm actually a 22 year old man, but when you've been acting like a kid it kind of becomes a habit), and dragged her towards it.

Both my parents looked dubious but I dragged them inside and got my first real taste of the wizarding world. From what I remembered of the books, the Leaky Cauldron was always described as dingy and smoke filled, and it was to a point. It was also spacious, and if there was smoke coiling around the room it didn't smell like it, it rather smelled like delicious food. We saw Professor McGonagall sitting at the bar talking to Tom but when we entered she saw us, bid farewell to the barman, and came over to us. My dad was about to ask how she had gotten here before us but I knew what he was going to say so I elbowed him in the side and whispered, "Magic!"

He rolled his eyes but didn't ask, and the Professor led us through the pub, and into the attached courtyard. My parents looked confused but I watched with hungry eyes as Professor McGonagall walked over to the brick wall and started to tap it with her wand. When she finished the sequence of taps and stepped back, the bricks began to writhe and move and soon there was a doorway to another world in front of us. The Professor had a mysterious smile on her face, one that suggested she enjoyed the look of wonder on new Muggleborns faces when shown the alley, and said, "Welcome to Diagon Alley."

It was a whirlwind of new experiences and sights after that. First was Gringotts. Let me tell you, those Goblins have a mean glare. My dad grumbled at the exchange rate but we got the appropriate amount of galleons, (Professor McGonagall informed us of what everything on the list would cost, roughly), and set off on a magical shopping spree. I was like a kid in a candy store, each and every shop we went in was fascinating. I got a uniform, robes, a cauldron, a telescope, scales, it was all so fascinating. The bookstore was filled with people, but all of the books I needed were in the same section so I scooped them up and my father quickly paid for them and off we went.

The last place we went was Ollivander's and I was so close to exploding that I was visibly shaking. It was only my mom's calming hand on my shoulder that stopped me from tearing off down the alley. I could have sworn there was a smirk on McGonagall's face as she led us to Ollivander's, but politely declined to come inside because as she put it, "Choosing one's wand is a personal experience, I shall wait here until you are finished."

I shrugged and gave her a polite smile and then went inside, my parents following after me. There were few lights on, most of the light was natural, coming in through the windows, and there was a very old man sitting at the counter. Each wall was covered in shelves that looked to groan under the weight of hundreds of long, thin boxes. As I took this in the man at the counter stood up and greeted us, "Good morning, I am Garrick Ollivander, and you must be here for a wand."

I nodded excitedly and stepped forward with my hand out and we shook, "I'm Michael Cooper."

His eyes sparkled and his smile grew wider, "Muggleborn?"

"Yes, sir."

He sized me up for a moment before pulling out a tape measure, "What is your wand arm, young sir."

I held up my right arm and he leaned forward to measure my arm, but when he was done he let it go and it just kept right on going. Snaking over my body and measuring various parts of it. While it was doing that, and my parents wide eyes were on it, he started speaking, "It's really the wand that chooses the wizard, Mr. Cooper. Each wand in my shop uses one of three cores, the hair of a Unicorn, the heartstrings of a Dragon, or the tail-feather of a Phoenix. Each wand has a different wood and length too it, and each wand is different. No two are alike."

Almost as he was done speaking the tape measure dropped away from me, Mr. Ollivander didn't even glance at it, and there was suddenly a box in front of me, "Blackthorn with Unicorn Hair, ten and a half inches, brittle."

I picked up the wand and felt a warm rush fill me, but when I waved it a small filing cabinet behind the counter sprang open and papers flew out. I glanced at Ollivander but he had already taken the wand out of my hand and was at another shelf, muttering to himself. He was back only moments later with another box, "Aspen and Phoenix feather, twelve and a quarter inches, with a slight spring in it."

I took the wand and waved it in, what I thought, magnanimous fashion. Black smoke poured out of it but before it could cloud up the shop the wand was out of my hand and back on the shelf. Ollivander hurried into the back and I looked back at my parents who were watching me with bemused smiles. I shrugged and my mom let out a small giggle that might have had a tinge of hysteria to it. Ollivander quickly hurried back and presented me with another box saying, "This one is Yew, with a core of Dragon heartstring. Thirteen Inches and rigid."

I took hold of it and the roiling mass of something that I'd felt upon grabbing McGonagall's wand was there all over again. This time though I could reach out and grab it, and it roared through me, suffusing my body with warmth. I could feel it go down my arm and through the wand and the wand, my wand, emitted green and gold sparks. They cascaded down around me and I stood there stock still with a stupid smile on my face as Ollivander clapped his hands saying, "Bravo. It seems we have found you quite a match, Mr. Cooper."

I grinned as I carefully set my wand back down in the box and took it from his hands. He began to talk about my wand, "Yew is a curious wood, a symbol of life, death, and rebirth."

I nodded sagely, "The circle of life."

Ollivander looked pleased with my comments and his smile widened, "Yes. Exactly. The combination of Yew and Dragon Heartstring is a powerful one. Yes, and thirteen is quite a powerful number, magically speaking. I believe we shall see great things from you and your wand Mr. Cooper."

I grinned and shook his hand again as he said, "That will be 7 galleons, Mr. Cooper."

My father came forward to pay and also shook Mr. Ollivanders hand and then we left. Mom and Dad carried most of my packages while I cradled the box that held my new wand in my hands. Professor McGonagall smiled when she saw me and said, "I believe that is the last of it."

I nodded vigorously and I could hear my dad heave a sigh of relief. We followed McGonagall back to the Leaky Cauldron and it was there that we parted. She gave me my ticket to the Hogwarts Express, along with instructions about how to get onto the platform, and a pamphlet that is given to all muggleborns detailing important aspects of the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts.

August passed quickly and when September 1st rolled around I practically had to drag my parents out of bed and into the car. Dad grumbled, "It's like Christmas morning, except it's us that have to drag you out of bed."

I shrugged and flew around the house in a whirlwind, grabbing my trunk and running out to the car as fast as my short legs would carry me. I'd had everything packed for a week and my impatience knew no bounds. It was only 10 o'clock when we pulled into King's Cross station. Dad grabbed a trolley and put my trunk onto it and I held mom's hand as we walked into the train station. My parents were dubious about walking into the pillar between platforms 9 and 10 but it only took a little persuading on my part and we were soon staring in awe at the Hogwart's Express. The platform wasn't full yet, it still being an hour before the train left, but there were still a good amount of people getting on and off the train and milling around the platform. Robes and pointy hats mixed with more normal clothes and swirled around each other.

I turned and hugged my mom saying, "I'm going to miss y'all."

Boarding school had not been an experience I'd had in either life. College the first time had been a bit like that, but I'd been able to go home anytime I felt homesick. At Hogwarts I'd be stuck there until Christmas. My dad chuckled, "Better watch the accent son."

I flushed. I only affected a southern drawl to screw with the kids at school, most of the time I spoke normally, albeit without the British accent. It did however, come out sometimes when I didn't mean it to. This time though I grinned at him and drawled out, "Don't worry Pa, I'll show these Brits how a southern man does it."

He ruffled my hair and said, "That's my boy."

I turned back to mom and she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of my head, "We'll miss you too Michael. Write us lots of letters. I won't believe that owls carry wizarding letters until I see one with yours."

I grinned and hugged her again, "Definitely."

In short order I had packed my trunk onto the train and into a compartment and my parents had left. As I sat in the compartment by myself I bounced up and down excitedly. As a kid the first time around I'd always wanted a Hogwarts letter, and now I'd gotten one.

Then it hit me.

Harry Potter went to Hogwarts in 1991.

I was going to Hogwarts in 1991.

Tons of crazy things including a wizarding civil war had happened while Harry was at school, and now I would be there with him.

I felt so stupid at not thinking about it before. I must have been caught up in it all, the magic, the possibilities, a whole new world.

I was suddenly reminded of the fanfiction that I had read in my past life. Didn't this happen in a lot of those stories?

I sat in the compartment and had an internal panic attack for five minutes, followed by another ten of furious thinking. It all culminated in a sigh before I muttered to myself, "I am so fucked."