A/N I don't own any YFM songs or characters, nor Harry Potter (when it starts happening). All I did was fuse some Ideas. As I mentioned previously, this entire thing will all be merely one adventure YFM has before becoming a successful band. I plan on publishing them all.

Puff, Age 8

I couldn't believe this. My dad went psycho and killed my mom. Too drunk to realize what the hell he was doing, most likely.

And people wonder why I'm more mature and, so they say, more of a jerk than 8 year olds should be. God, they don't know the half. Hell, they don't know the eighth.

And now I'm living with my obese grandmother in fucking MISSOURI. Heh, maybe there's a reason the state's name sounds like misery.

She was on my dad's side. I remember having met her before; she was actually a very sweet lady. Nice to everybody, not a bad bone in her body, etc. But I knew she had raised the monstrosity known as my father, the all-important sperm donor.

And now, I was standing out Riverpoint Elementary, which is next to Riverpoint Middle, which is next to Riverpoint high, whose graduates usually wind up going to the McDonalds two blocks away for the rest of their miserable lives. Say what you want, Missouri is Miserable. I will never be happy here, I thought.

I was so busy with my internal tirade I didn't notice the kid until I bumped into him. If it weren't for his blue hoodie and overly large headphones, his tiny disc player (seriously, I thought? A disc player?) would have smashed into a useless pile of disc player scraps on the bus floor. He was a tall (for a kid) black kid, with curly hair and a slightly oblong body shape. He barely spoke over the incident.

A kid behind us, a real wit, shouted "Hey deej why don't you sock him? He almost ruined your precious music player." I don't know what possessed me. I whirled around, and glared at the kid.

He looked to be a fifth grader. Top of the top guy (so he would have thought) I'm sure, and he had a boy that could only metaphorically be called a brick beside him; tough, thick, and not too bright.

I had dealt with one of these poseurs all my life, though granted this one probably didn't reek of alcohol and bruised ego. I don't know h=who this black kid was, but I could tell this wasn't the only abuse he suffered; hell, it probably wasn't the only abuse he suffered from this particular jackass.

"Hey Mr Douchebag, I can see that you are a dumbass. I bumped into him. Why don't you crawl back to the hellhole you crawled out of and make the bus a happier place?" I could tell I shocked them all; this runt of a third grader stood up to the mighty fifth grade king and dared to call him two swear words. Now, the intelligent thing to do would have been to report me. As it was, he simply sneered.

"Check it out guys! Deej has a boyfriend!" I jumped over my seat and ran toward him, jumping at him in the process. I grabbed his shirt and, while lacking the strength to sufficiently move him any, I had 100% gotten the attention of everybody on the bus. That is, except for the Bus Driver. I knew his type too; the kind that sees a kid and a wife suffering obvious abuse and a Douchebag looking pleased with himself, and not drawing lines or paying his attention; it has nothing to do with their safe, quiet life, and it was easier to let the rugrat and bimbo fend for themselves.

"Listen. Listen, all of you. I don't care who any of you are. I care that you keep your noses in your business. Capiche?" I glared at all of them, taking their silence as consent.

I walked back to the black kid. He was staring at me with one part awe, one part confusion, and two parts gratitude. I stuck out my hand.

"Puff."

"My name is Dexter…but honestly, I kind of like being called DeeJay. It's a nickname I got tagged with on account of me always carrying discs…" I smiled at the black boy, DeeJay. I had the feeling this would be the start of an awesome friendship.

Fast Forward Two Years

"Alright class, this is our foreign exchange student from Britain. As I'm sure you all know, Brock left for Britain himself. Benjamin, please take your new seat next to Puff." The kid was actually pretty tall. He had impressive blond hair-impressive because of how he pulled it off. It covered one of his eyes, the other being a piercing blue. He automatically struck me as a mellow kid who doesn't know what the hell is going on, but can fake it well enough to pass for intelligent. It took brains to do that, ironically, and most those kinds of kids are smarter then they fake themselves out to be.

I might have been wrong. I was getting good at reading people; Grandma said it meant I might take over the world.

At any rate, I noticed that some of the girls were pointing at him…and what he was carrying.

The kid had a freaking guitar. The teacher didn't acknowledge it, probably because she didn't like him having it, but there were no rules against it. I noticed the casual way he held it; he probably took it everywhere. It was a wooden security blanket with strings. The teacher started doing her blah blah routine, and I didn't pay much attention. I was interested for what was coming up soon…

Music class.

Sure enough, she dismissed us, mentioning homework. The new kid, Benjamin, had taken studious notes. But I noticed a lot of doodles in the margins, of guitars and music notes. We traded in a bully for a music fanatic. It was a hell of a trade off; hell, one day we may even make a band.

I grinned at that thought as DeeJay walked up behind me. "Yo, Puff. What's your take on the Brit?" Puberty hadn't really came around yet, but DeeJay's voice had deepened slightly since third grade. I noticed quietly that he was actually a little wider. It had been a few weeks since I saw my best friend, and his curled hair was coerced into being straight for one day. It was still sticking straight up, of course.

Mine wasn't much better. My hair looked like it came straight out of a JRPG; I thought it looked cool. I had found a red hoodie in Grandma's attic that surprisingly fit comfortably. I was wearing it now.

"He seemed relatively intelligent. The way he fondled that guitar, he probably has a music fetish. Not that I could necessarily blame him, ya know?" DeeJay nodded.

In music class, Benjamin stunned us all. He had a little squeak of a British voice, but when he sang it deepened a little and got smoother. He also developed an American accent while singing. He looked sheepish when questioned about it, and explained he grew up listening to American pop singers, and that's how he learned to sing. He wasn't bad on his guitar either; what was really impressive was he could play it and sing in smooth synchronization.

He went from nobody to class star in forty minutes. I had been trying to do that for three years, and he swoops in and casually does it, and he actually looked embarrassed at the attention. It ticked me off. Surprisingly, DeeJay was pretty calm about it. He wasn't impressed or unimpressed. He was simply DeeJay.

Regardless, Ben and I struck up a conversation. He admitted to hating being called Ben or Benjamin, and had come up with a blending of his name and his favorite Instrument; Benatar. I had to admit, it sounded pretty cool. I kind of liked the kid, and DeeJay and I silently agreed the Devil Duo, as we were called, was now a Tyrant Triplet.

Fast forward one more year

I sat, stunned at the letter. It had come with the others, but it even smelled different. It said I was accepted to a school of witchcraft and wizardry called Hogwarts…at first I thought it was a joke.

Then I called Benatar.

"Puff, you are NOT going to believe this! I got the same letter! I'M GOING BACK TO BRITAIN! With you, no less! We should talk to Dee-" Another call bleeped through. I swapped over. It was DeeJay.

"Puff, I got this wack letter sayin I'm a wizard. This is bullshit, man. Magic aint real." I sat, blown away for a moment. Three kids all getting the same letter at the same time couldn't be a joke; besides, Puff didn't know anybody smart or good enough to pull this off. It was legitimate.

They were going to Hogwarts.