Hello again, folks! Some of you might remember this Mary Sue monstrosity from a year ago. This was my first fanfic attempt in many years and while it was enjoyed by some, it was also sporked by many. I pulled the story after getting some very distressing and disturbing reviews and went about fixing the story.

Over several months I read many fanfics and tried, bit by bit, to take away some of the "Sue-isms" of the story. Finally, I gave up, deciding there were just too many brit-picking flaws to fix and went about my life.

Even nearly a year later, I'm still getting e-mails asking for the unfinished story of "The Yankee" and asking if or when I'll finish. I said that I just couldn't find an end for Reg. To be honest, there was a part of me that was scared of the flamers out there ready to pounce on the next Mary Sue with the sporking of death. I came to realize that while perfection in fanfiction is prefered, there's those of us out there who just do this to vent. I have another fanfic that's a work-in-progress because, yes, I'm going through painstaking details to get this one right.

"The Yankee" was meant to be nothing more than a fun piece for me to work on. It's horrible. It's offensive to the English and New York natives alike. I beg for anyone living in those areas not to read any further. I beg anyone with no tolerance to blatent Mary Sues to turn back now and avert your eyes. This is Mary Sue at her worst...American, sarcastic, and obnoxious. You have been warned.

To those who never stopped checking for updates, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I also apologize for bad fic writing. You'd think a teacher would know better. Hey, everyone needs a hobby. Here is "The Yankee"---un-edited, non Brit-picked, and worse than ever.

Cheers.

Disclaimer: JKR. Not mine. Got it? Oh...BLATENT MARY SUE WARNING! AGAIN!

Chapter One: Got Yank, Will Travel

I should've know from the moment Uncle Jack handed me that ticket that this was going to be a very off year for me.

"Platform Nine and three-quarters?" I asked as I looked down at the shiny ticket. I looked back up at Uncle Jack, "You're joking right?"

Uncle Jack sighed and ran a hand through his thick, sandy hair. I'm amazed at his age that he hasn't started balding, "That's what they sent me. Said it's somewhere between platforms nine and ten."

I shook my head as I shoved the ticket in my back jeans pocket. I looked around the station again—there seemed to be a lot of kids running around with owls and trunks. Some of them were accompanied by older folks wearing some of the most ungodly robes I've ever seen and muttering about Muggles. I tightened my grip on my cart. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Six months ago I never would've thought I'd be standing at Kings Cross Station waiting for some phantom train. I assumed that I would be catching the subway to the American Academy of Magic on 43rd Street in Manhattan. I assumed that those petty little fights between Aunt Sarah and Uncle Jack were this that—stupid arguments that got out of hand. I assumed that Aunt Sarah would know better than to run off to Mexico with some 24-year-old Spanish painter from SoHo. I assumed that Uncle Jack wouldn't have a mid-life crisis and take that ridiculous job offer in London. I also assumed that I wouldn't go to pieces myself and manage to get suspended from school for "gross misuse of school equipment and magic"—after all, it only took two weeks to get those potion stains off the wall. I thought bright orange color was an improvement. The smell will go away…eventually. In a couple of months. Or years.

But you know what they say about people who "assume"….

So that brings me to my current predicament. Fifteen years old and one of the few, the proud, the only transfer students to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in over a century. Hooray for me. England in general was so weird to me—even if I had been born and raised here until I was five. I was an American now. Scratch that—a New Yorker. The thought of being shipped off to a magic school in the middle of God-knows-where made me feel like some kind of unwanted stepchild being sent to boarding school in Switzerland. I know my mom and dad had gone to school at Hogwarts and, I guess, in a way it's sort of like "coming home". Aunt Sarah had told me once about how my mom had talked about Hogwarts—like another family filled with love, hope, and people who share a common, magical bond. Then again, she could've been talking about her little Spanish fling. Come to think of it, I think she was tanked at the time. Actually, all the time.

I shook my head as Uncle Jack and I sauntered between a large brick arch. Platform nine…platform ten…no platform nine and three-quarters. I bit my lip and tasted some of my cherry lip balm. God, I hope they sell chap stick, wherever I'm going.

"Well, this is it," Uncle Jack said as he looked around. I think he half expected to see some kind of golden ticket booth smack in the middle of the station.

"Didn't the letter say it was hidden?" I asked. I looked at my watch. 10: 40…only twenty minutes to catch that train.

"They said it was—whoa!" Uncle Jack exclaimed as he had started leaning casually against the brick arch. He wobbled halfway between air and—brick? It looked like his whole body could fall right through, but he got his footing and stood back up. He looked puzzled at the wall for a moment then waved his hand through the wall again, "Think we found it, Reg."

I pushed my cart up along side him and stuck my hand through the wall—half expecting it to catch on fire or something. I pulled it back. Sneaky, I thought. I adjusted my backpack straps and turned to Jack, "Yeah, I think it is. I heard some of the kids in Diagon Alley talking about this. Something about the train being on the other side or something." I shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. I hadn't been looking forward to this part, "So, do you wanna come?" I reached up and started fussing with my hair. I just had it highlighted for my first day…how cliché. Not that anyone was going to care about the Yank with brown hair and honey highlights.

Uncle Jack looked at the wall for a moment, thinking it over, then shook his head, "Nah, you're a big girl. You can handle it yourself." The whole magic thing still kinda weirds him out, I thought. Uncle Jack was cool about me being a witch and all. Aunt Sarah was the one who had the magic in the family, but even though Jack had accepted it, it still made him a little uneasy at times. That's why when Aunt Sarah left he found himself kind of lost for awhile—a Muggle raising a magical niece-by-marriage. No wonder he was medicated these days.

"Yeah, I guess," I looked back up at him as I fiddled with the edge of my t-shirt.

Uncle Jack lurched forward and wrapped me in an awkward hug. My eyes flew open for a minute in shock, but I got my composure back and hugged him in return.

"I know this isn't the best situation, Reggie," he said as he pulled back and held me at arms length, "But it's one of the best magic schools in the world. In the world, Reg. I mean, we're lucky to get you into a school after—"

"Ah, yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, half-smiling and holding up a hand, "I know, I know. I know the drill. Don't do anything stupid…don't mouth off to the teacher…no using illegal charms and hexes…yadda, yadda, yadda." I rolled my eyes.

Uncle Jack laughed. It'd been a long time sine I heard him do that, "All I can say is I better not get any letter telling me I need to come in for some parent-teacher conferences. Not with how work is going to be now."

"Owls," I said as I reared back with the cart to go through the barrier, "They send owls."

"Huh?" Jack asked in confusion.

"Didn't I tell you? They don't send letters by mail out there—they send them with owls." The of horror and surprise on his face was priceless. I charged through the barrier, "See you at Christmas! Love ya!"

I ran through what seemed like dark fog for a moment before I saw the lights go bright again. Break on through to the other side, I sang in my head. I looked around and whistled in surprise.

I had been expecting something similar to the subway or even that bullet train, but not some old-fashioned, steam-powered, scarlet nightmare. I looked up at the sign that read "Platform 9 ¾". Yep, this was it. I moved out of the way of the barrier in case some other kid came plowing through at any time. As I made my way down the platform I could see the other students—and became painfully aware of how much more toned down I would have to be this year. I watched parents kissing their children goodbye as they loaded their trunks onto the lower compartments and hurried them on the train. I picked a spot in the back of the train and shoved my trunk inside then shoved myself in a train compartment just as quickly. The more I watched families saying goodbye the more alienated I began to feel.

Magic families were so much more connected here. You could tell just by how non-intertwined the real and Magical worlds were over here. When I had pulled out my cell phone in The Leaky Cauldron I saw several people gawking—I thought maybe I'd done something offensive, but when they starting asking if they could see it I realized that most wizards over here used Floos instead of mobile phones. I knew real money and wizard money would be different, but I didn't expect a woman to cry in shock when I accidentally tried to pay for my schoolbooks with a check. Oops…you don't use Wizard Express Checks over here, do you? My bad. I had tried to strike up a conversation with some kids in the Quidditch store (at least I know something stays the same across the ocean) about a TV show I had seen the other day. They looked at me like I had just grown three heads and said, "You watch Muggle telly? Real muggle telly? But that's so boring!"

I made a mistake, I thought as I leaned my forehead against the window. It's just too different over here. I can use Muggle transportation without ogling around like a tourist. I can use regular and Wizard currency without making a production. I can watch TV and not be mystified by how it gets its power. From the electric outlet, freak show!

I wasn't even aware that the compartment door had opened until I heard his voice, "Hello."

I jumped, clearly not expecting anyone to talk, let alone look, at me. "Oh—er—hi." Nice and articulate…the American way.

"Is anybody sitting here," he asked. I couldn't help looking at his glasses, which were quite old-fashioned. Completely round and black, but at least he had nice looking green eyes to magnify. His black hair was sticking up everywhere and he looked a little smaller than some of the other guys I'd seen that day. Still, he was smiling and it was the first one I'd seen since I'd left Uncle Jack.

"Oh, no. Go ahead," I said, shifting my pack from the seat across from me.

He sat down and let his robes fall to the side. To my relief he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt like I was. I'd been fighting this rising dread that I was going to be the only student on this train looking like some kind of hobo. Actually, the guy looked like his had been through some serious wear and tear. Like they were too big from him.

He looked at me for a moment and cocked his head, "You're not from around here, are you?"

I shook my head, "No, I'm not." I stuck out my hand, "Regina Bradshaw, fifth year transfer."

He smiled and took my hand, "Harry Potter. I'm a fifth year too."