A/N

Fellas, this has been a long time coming. I know, I know. Turns out, I didn't have a stomach bug. I have mono. And on mono, you can't drink. And when I can't drink, I can't be an inebriated author. BUT! I defied my doctor's orders today (I already have once or twice already :P ) to celebrate! Today, I made the impossible happen. I did ten pages of fairly good quality academic writing in under two and a half hours and made my deadline. So this celebration is: booze! Is it only 3:45? Yes. Do I get triply worse hangovers? Yes. Am I still going to drink excessively? No! Two drinks tops. So about 3.5 ounces of cheap brandy. Or maybe one of those ounces could be that limoncello I've been saving for a special occasion.

Granted, not drinking has been very good for my health, mono notwithstanding. I've lost 15 lbs since I stopped drinking as often, though that was before my mono, and I guess also because of healthier eating habits? I dunno. It's nice. Highly recommend. In any case, cheers, ya bastards.

Disclaimer: Normally, I say fuck you. Today, I'm not so sure. It's been a good day. I'm feeling alright. Not so cynical. How's about a calmer "Screw you?" Nah, doesn't carry the same wait.

Disclaimer, take 2: fuck you.

"No fucking way," said Harry, his mouth agape, "it's Jason Alexander!"

"Who's Jason Alexander?" responded the stocky man in front of him, "I'm George Costanza!"

Harry was confused, but very quickly understood. The demon he'd summoned created a real-life George Costanza for him—the character as he exists on the wonderful television show Seinfeld. Not the actor, but a living breathing George Costanza. One who looked the exact same as the actor, but who was, for all intents and purposes, a different person. This George Costanza had the lived experience of the characters—the memories of his childhood, his wild college years as the leader of the juggling club, his cons and schemes, his hopes and his dreams, and, most importantly, the strange feelings in his heart whenever he thinks of Jerry. This George Costanza, standing in front of him, was truly born to Frank and Estelle Costanza.

Harry's open mouth slowly shifted into a smile, "George, it's good to see ya!"

"Jerry? What the hell happened to you? You're a kid again! You look just like you did in junior high!"

"It's magic, George! Magic is real!" Harry said, fine that George thought he was a younger Jerry.

"Magic?!" George responded, shocked.

"Yes, George, magic! Not the abracadabra, pull a rabbit out of a hat type, but real magic!" The floor shook with an unearthly, hollow laughter. George leapt up into the air.

"What the hell was that, Jerry?" George yelped.

"Our magic studio audience!" Harry said, and the ghostly crowd cheered.

"This has got to be some type of joke, Jerry," George said, sweating profusely. "I can see you pulled a fast one. Come on out, Kramer and Elaine!"

"No, George. It's real! All of it! I'll prove it to you!" Harry exclaimed. "Yo, Susan, come on out!"

Several seconds later, Susan the ghost passed through Harry's dormitory door.

"Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding me, Harry, you shit! This guy murdered me!" Susan yelled.

"Jesus fuck!" George responded upon seeing the undead apparition. "That's my dead wife! Well—almost wife. What the fuck Jerry?"

"Jerry?" Susan asked. "No, this is Harry. Harry Potter. He's a first year student at Wizard School."

"Wizard School? Harry? I didn't kill her. Everyone thinks I killed her!" George said, and he collapsed on the ground, passed out.

"Well, what's the deal with that?" Harry asked. The unholy crowd chuckled in ghostly unison.

At that moment, the door slammed open, and in came Ron Weasley, sliding across the floor "Oh, hey, ho, Harry Potter!" He collided with George's crumpled form and fell on top of him. "Who's this dilapidated portly fellow?"

Harry quickly explained to Ron what had just transpired.

"You mean to say that you summoned a Trump-supporting demon and created George Costanza? That's absolutely wicked, Harry. Just wait till Dr. Spock hears about this!"

"No, no, we can't tell anybody about this. I'm not too certain people will be pleased about there being a forty-year-old man living with me in my dormitory. Y'know it's bad enough that Scabbers was an adult man, too."

"What the fuck?!" Ron exclaimed, shocked.

"Oh, did I not tell you about that?" Harry nonchalantly asked. "I assumed I'd told you."

"When you assume, you make an ass out of yourself, Harry, mate." Ron responded.

"Yeah, well, he's Peter Pettigrew, he works for Voldemort, and Voldemort is back." Harry said.

"Ah, gotcha. Thanks for the heads up, mate. Bloody hell. Wicked." Ron responded. He paused and turned back towards the body of George Costanza. "Reckon we should wake him up?" He asked.

"Yeah, probably. I think it would do wise to help calm him down. And Susan," he addressed the ghost, "it might be best if you weren't here when he was awake.

"I am way ahead of you," the ghost said, leaving the dormitory. She had been there throughout the conversation without saying a single word or making a single muscle, such that I had forgotten she was there.

Harry and Ron shuffled over to George's unconscious form and grabbed under his shoulders and heaved with all the weight their eleven-year-old bodies could muster. Thankfully, their magic powers kicked in and they were alright. They heaved him onto the couch. George awoke with a shake, in tears.

"Jerry, I just had the strangest dream! You were young, and there was a ghost, and I told you I loved you." George wiped his eyes, looked up, and saw Harry and Ron. "Now you, too, Kramer?! What the fuck is happening?"

Kramer? mouthed Ron to Harry, but Harry shook his head and mouthed, I'll explain later.

Harry caressed George's balding head, "Shh, it'll be alright, George. Want me to get you some food?"

George sniffled and nodded, "Yes, please."

Harry leapt up and ran over to the kitchenette. He opened the compartment and only found one item: a can of beans. The label read Wizard Beans. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," Harry muttered. He tapped his wand onto the can and uttered the can-opening spell Alohamora Canicus, and the top popped off like a water bottle cap under extreme pressure. Harry poured the wizard beans into a bowl and whispered a warming charm, Warmicus the fuckicus upicus. The beans quickly came to a nice temperature, and Harry cast the spoon-summoning charm, Exspoonto Patronum, and a silvery spoon popped up in his hand (The secret for this spell is you have to be really fuckin hungry, or at least remember a time when you were).

Harry carried the stuff over to George and fed him wizard beans. nom nom nom. Ron and George, it seemed, had been talking to each other about magic, "I still don't quite understand why it's called wizard chess—" George was saying, but he cut himself off as he saw Harry return. "Mm, beans!" George exclaimed.

"No, they're wizard beans, mate," Ron said, but Harry kicked him in the shins.

"I'm warning you, Harry, nothing good is going to come of your newfound friendship with George Costanza," the ghost of Susan told Harry as he scurried to his Transfiguration class. "He is a selfish, ruthless, cruel man with no remorse. He makes Voldemort look like the epitome of compassion."

"That's kind of a fuckin' stretch to be making, Susan, especially to a guy whose parents were murdered by Voldemort." Harry pointed to his S-shaped scar. "George is a character of the jealous, neurotic human. He is us, and we are he."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Susan said, and she turned away and floated out to the Courtyard below.

Harry entered the Transfiguration classroom as the bell rang and sat down next to Bartleby. Transfiguration was with the Hufflepuffs for the lone member of Seinfeld House.

"Good evening, pimps and players," said Professor McDonaldagall. "Today we will be doing some shit irrelevant to the plot. Please get out your wands." The students, most of whom had been expecting a practical lesson, already had their wands on the table. Harry reached into the backpocket of his jeans and pulled out his wand and placed it on the table in front of him. Bartleby just stared forward.

McDonaldagall distributed, using magic, some sort of item which had no bearing on the following conversation. Each student began to attempt to make some sort of unimportant transfiguration to that object.

"Oi, Bartleby," Harry whispered, "How do I perform this unnecessary action?"

Bartleby stared.

"Can you help me out?" Harry asked.

"I would prefer not to," Bartleby responded.

"Gee, thanks a lot mate," Harry said.

It was at that moment that a half-naked man burst in through the doors wearing nothing but a white towel. "Jerry, I've been looking all over for you. How do I work the shower in your apartment? I tried the knobs but it's not working."

Harry slunk down in his seat, pretending not to notice. This did not work. This figure, obviously George, had lumbered over Harry's table and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Harry," McDonaldagall inquired while eating McNuggets transfigured from wooden blocks (FUCK GAMP'S LAWS HE DOESN'T RUN SHIT HERE), "do you know this strapping fellow?"

"Strapping? Well, you're not too bad yourself lady," George said, turning away from Harry to McDonaldagall.

"What do you have under that towel there?" She asked, sensually.

"I wouldn't look right now. I just got out of the pool. Shrinkage, you know."

"Nothing a little magic can't fix," McDonaldagall said sultrily.

"Ok, Pause." Harry said. The entire scene froze. Harry's classmates, save Bartleby, looked on at George and McDonaldagall making passes at each other with a mixture of looks of fear and fascination. McDonaldagall was biting her lip.

"You haven't been present much this time around, author. Can we just undo this? And can you cancel this lesson or something? I don't really feel like working right now."

No can do, Harry, m'boytoy.

"Why not? This is a rather dull and humorless installation. All that happened was George came, cried, and is now trying to fuck Professor McDonaldagall."

Normally I'd expect George to do that in the opposite order.

"Funny, Inebriated Author. Very funny. But my point is, when is something going to happen? This has not been very plot centric."

I'll have you know, Harry, I can't write plot for shit. But you're right. This is weird. I promised to keep the erotica on the lower end, so I'll help you break this up. I recommend you do to George what you do best.

"Gotcha, author. Can do." Harry paused. "Oh, also, could you resume time?"

Time resumed.

"I'm really starting to like this magic, Jerry!" George called over to Harry. But George was stunned to see Harry/Jerry running straight towards him.

"HIYYYYYA!" Harry yelled, as he kicked George in his water-shrunken wiener.

"Oh Sweet mother Estelle!" George gasped as he collapsed on the ground, in immaculate pain. But he didn't fly off into the distance as usually happened when Harry kicked someone in the dick. No, George was somehow stronger than his previous foes. He started growling and slowly picked himself up off the floor, his towel barely managing to cover his sexual extremities.

"Jerry, what the hell are you doing?!" He grunted. His skin began to rumble and a shimmering red aura began to form about his body.

"I'm not fucking Jerry, ok George! I've told you that!" Harry yelled back. The room began to quake slightly. Books fell off children's desks. Professor McDonaldagall was frozen in horror and lust. Hannah Abbott began to whimper. Bartleby stared.

"You've been acting real strange lately, Jerry! Is there something you want to tell me?" George shouted over the sounds of the crashes of various items. The aura surrounding him shone brighter and cast a frigid warmth about the classroom. The hair around his bald spot stood as if he were conducting static electricity.

"George…" Harry started, but was interrupted by a glass-shattering Godzilla-like scream from George. Everybody in the classroom covered their ears on instinct. George threw his hands to his side and continued to scream. The energy now quickly emanating from his body condensed into two spheres of pure magic in his hands. Surges of red lightning crackled from his body and beams of light moved from his heart down towards his arms, strengthening the power collected there.

"JEEEE-RRRRY!" George shouted, aiming his hands at Harry. "JEEEE-RRRRY!" George shouted again, mustering all of his will into the magic in his hands. "SEEEEINFEEEELD!" George screamed with all of his being—and the magic burst forth from his hands and sped toward Harry. Harry did not react in time and was hit with the full force of the magic. Upon impact, his body was carried twenty feet backwards through the air, he hit the wall by the door of the classroom, and he fell to the ground.

George heaved heavily and looked at his hands in utter fear, and he began to scream in agony. The magic which had just been surging through his being had completely vanished, and he collapsed to the floor in exhaustion.

"Well shit," Professor McDonaldagall said, as she slowly retrieved a Chicken McNugget from her Chicken McNugget pouch and slowly nibbled on it. "That was… quite… unexpected to say the least. Bartleby, do be a dear and fetch Professors Dumbledore and Newman for me, won't you?"

Bartleby stared.

"Ah, right, my mistake. Miss Abbott, then?"

"Right away, Professor," Hannah mumbled, and ran off.

"So, where were we?" McDonaldagall said.

Ten minutes later, Hannah returned with the Professors in tow. McDonaldagall continued teaching the class as though nothing had happened. George Costanza's weakened body still lied prostrate in the middle of the classroom, and Harry's body—potentially dead—was still collapsed on the floor by the door.

"Jesus fuck, Minotaur, m'boy, what happened?" Dumbledore asked.

"This sexy George Costanza fellow came in here and Skadooshed Harry Potter," McDonaldagall responded. (A/N yes, her name is Minotaur McDonaldagall).

"Did… Did you say George Costanza?" Newman shakily asked.

"Yes, Professor," McDonaldagall said, "Which is why I thought you might be interested."

"I am indeed interested, Professor. Quite interested." Professor Newman drew his wand and slowly walked towards Costanza's unconscious body. He cast a quick diagnostic spell. "He's alive. Unconscious." Newman paused. "Fascinating. Truly fascinating. This is the real George Costanza. I don't believe it."

"Mm, Pardon me, Professor Newman, m'boy, the real George Costanza?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, Albus. I am afraid so. It seems somebody has summoned this being with Dark Magic. Just as I, too, was once summoned." Newman responded. Nobody in the class gasped because most of them were still kind of in shock from the whole fuckin battle scene that had just happened. Yeah so Newman got summoned, too. This is the real Newman from Seinfeld. Not Wayne Knight.

"Well, shit." Dumbledore said. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten!" Dumbledore turned around and pranced towards the back of the classroom. He swished his wand and Harry's body levitated up from the ground. Dumbledore stretched his arm back as far as he could and then smacked Harry across the face.

"OW!" Harry yelled, although his voice sounded different than it had before.

"Well, he's alive at least!" Dumbledore said, "though I'm not entirely certain what's to be made of these other changes."

"Changes?" Harry asked.

"I'll let the others see for themselves." Dumbledore said, and he stepped aside, letting the entire class observe Harry.

"SEINFELD?! What the HELL are you doing here?!" Newman growled.

"What? Seinfeld? I'm Harry!" Harry retorted.

"Don't be so sure about that, young Harry m'boy old sport fuck fuck fuck." Dumbledore conjured a mirror out of a piece of rubble. Lo and behold, the face looking at Harry through the mirror was not his own. It was Jerry Seinfeld's. With his S-Shaped scar. What's the deal with that?