American Transfer · Y/n story by @froggy

The classroom is warm and drowsy with the late afternoon sun slanting through the high, arched windows. Dust motes dance in the golden light. Professor Flitwick, perched on his stack of books, is mid-lecture on the finer points of the Wingardium Leviosa charm, his squeaky voice a familiar drone.

Professor Flitwick

—and the swish must be firm, not floppy! Now, who can—oh! Ah, yes!

A new student stands in the doorway, silhouetted for a moment against the brighter light of the corridor. They step inside, letting the door swing shut. Their shoulders are set back, their chin is level. They don’t look at the floor.

???

Howdy, y’all.

The voice is a slow, honeyed drawl, utterly foreign in the stone halls of Hogwarts. It cuts through the quiet like a knife through butter. A few students snicker into their hands. Others just stare.

Theodore Nott

looks up from where he’s been tracing idle patterns on his parchment, his quill stilling

Professor Flitwick

A new transfer! From Ilvermorny, if I’m not mistaken. Welcome, welcome! Please, find a seat. We’re just reviewing.

The student’s eyes—a clear, assessing color—sweep across the rows of desks. They move with a lazy confidence, taking in the Gryffindor reds, the Ravenclaw blues, the Hufflepuff yellows. Their gaze slides over the section of green-trimmed robes, pauses, and lands on a dark-haired boy near the back. It holds for a heartbeat too long.