"Our next candidate," Aurora said with a gesture toward a girl who'd been sitting with almost military posture near the refreshments table, "is Kate Bishop."
Kate stood with the kind of fluid grace that suggested either extensive dance training or years of athletic practice—maybe both. She was around nine years old, with long dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, striking blue eyes that were currently scanning the room with sharp intelligence, and an air of confidence that somehow managed to avoid crossing the line into arrogance.
She was wearing a purple shirt and dark jeans that looked casual but were clearly expensive—the kind of expensive that whispered "my family has money" rather than shouting it. Her posture was perfect but not stiff, relaxed but alert, like someone who'd been taught proper bearing but had made it her own rather than just following instructions.
"Hi," Kate said, her voice clear and confident with a slight New York accent that suggested Manhattan rather than the outer boroughs. "I'm Kate Bishop. I'm nine, I live in Manhattan—Upper West Side specifically—and I've known about magic for about eight months now."
She paused, seeming to consider how much personal information to share, then apparently decided to just go for it.
"My mom died when I was seven," she continued matter-of-factly, like she was stating a simple fact rather than sharing something devastating. "My dad's... complicated. He travels a lot for business and isn't around much, so I mostly live with our housekeeper Eleanor and my martial arts instructors. I've been training in multiple disciplines since I was five—archery, fencing, some basic hand-to-hand combat—because my dad wanted me to be able to protect myself."
"That's..." Jean started, clearly searching for the right response.
"Intense?" Kate supplied with a slight smile. "Yeah, it is. But I like it. The training, I mean. It helps me focus, gives me goals to work toward. Plus it's useful—I'm really good at archery now. Like, competition-level good."
"Competition-level at nine years old?" Pietro asked with obvious respect.
"Started when I was five," Kate said with a shrug that was casual but also subtly proud. "Four years of daily practice tends to produce results. My instructors say I'm a natural, but I think it's mostly just stubbornness and repetition. Anyone can get good at something if they're willing to work at it long enough."
"That's a very pragmatic worldview," Gwen observed approvingly.
"I'm a very pragmatic person," Kate confirmed. "I have to be. When your parent is mostly absent and you're basically raising yourself with hired help, you learn to be practical pretty quickly. Either that or you fall apart, and falling apart wasn't really an option."
Harry felt another one of those painful twists in his chest—recognition of someone else who'd learned to be self-sufficient way too young, someone else who'd built walls to protect themselves, someone else who'd figured out that being practical and competent was better than being vulnerable.
"I found out about magic when I accidentally set my archery target on fire during practice," Kate continued, apparently deciding that if she was sharing, she might as well share the whole story. "Not just singed it—actually set it on *fire*. Flames everywhere. My instructor thought I'd somehow rigged an explosive arrow, but I was just... angry. Frustrated about something I can't even remember now. And the target just *exploded* into flames."
"That's actually really cool," Miles said with genuine admiration. "Fire magic is supposed to be one of the harder manifestations of accidental magic. The temperature requirements alone—"
"Miles," Aurora interrupted gently. "Kate's still introducing herself."
"Sorry," Miles said, though he was clearly filing this away for later discussion.
"MACUSA explained what happened," Kate said, "and they've been working with me since then to understand my magical abilities and prepare me for formal magical education. Which is why I'm here—trying to get selected for the Hogwarts exchange program because it seems like an incredible opportunity to learn from a completely different magical tradition."
She paused, then added with careful honesty, "Also because my dad thinks it would be 'character building' and 'look good on college applications,' which is a deeply weird thing to say about an eleven-year-old going to wizard school, but that's my dad for you. Always thinking about optics and future opportunities."
"That's..." Ned searched for words. "That's a lot of pressure?"
"It's normal for my family," Kate said with another shrug. "Bishops are achievers. We set goals, we work hard, we succeed. It's just how we operate. Though I should mention—I'm competing for this spot because *I* want it, not because my dad wants it. The magic thing is mine, not his. He doesn't really understand it anyway."
"Parents who don't understand magic is a whole mood," Peter said sympathetically.
"A huge mood," Ned agreed.
"The biggest mood," Miles confirmed.
Kate's posture relaxed slightly at this recognition—not much, just a degree or two, but enough to be noticeable. "Anyway, that's me. Kate Bishop, nine years old, competitive archer, accidental fire-starter, orphaned by one parent and mostly abandoned by the other but functional anyway. I'm good at following instructions, I work well independently or in groups, and I don't panic in high-pressure situations."
"That's a very efficient summary," Gwen said with obvious appreciation for Kate's systematic self-assessment.
"I've been told I'm efficient to the point of concerning," Kate replied with a slight smile.
"That's not a bad thing," Wanda said quietly. "Efficient is good. Efficient means you can take care of yourself."
"Exactly," Kate said, and something in her expression suggested she and Wanda understood each other in ways that didn't need to be verbalized.
"Thank you, Kate," Aurora said warmly. "Next, we have America Chavez."
A girl who'd been sitting in the corner practically radiated energy—the kind of barely contained physical energy that suggested she was someone who needed to move, needed to do, needed to act rather than just sit still. She was around nine or ten, with dark skin, dark hair cut short in a practical style, and dark eyes that were currently bright with excitement and maybe just a hint of defensiveness.
She was wearing a denim jacket covered in pins and patches (Harry spotted at least three different Pride flags, a "Science is Real" button, and what appeared to be a homemade patch that said "PUNCH NAZIS" in glitter letters), ripped jeans, and red sneakers that looked like they'd seen serious use.
"Hey," America said, standing up with easy athletic grace. "I'm America Chavez—yes, that's actually my name, no, my parents weren't making a political statement, they just really liked the sound of it—and I'm from Washington Heights. Born there, raised there, probably gonna die there someday when I'm like a hundred and fifty because I plan to live forever out of pure spite."
Several people laughed at this declaration, which made America's defensive posture ease slightly.
"I'm ten years old—older than most of you, I know, but I started school late because we moved around a lot when I was little and my educational records got messed up. My family's from Puerto Rico originally—my mom's side, anyway. My dad's family is from the Dominican Republic. So I'm a whole cocktail of Latinx heritage and New York attitude."
"That's a great combination," Pietro said with obvious approval.
"It really is," America agreed with a grin. "I speak Spanish and English fluently, I can curse in both languages plus Portuguese for some reason—long story involving my tío and a very memorable family vacation—and I have *opinions* about basically everything."
"What kind of opinions?" MJ asked with interest.
"Social justice opinions, mostly," America said, gesturing at her jacket. "Like, I'm really into activism and community organizing and making sure people who get marginalized actually get heard. My mom works with a community center in Washington Heights and I've been helping out there since I was like six. Teaching kids to read, helping with food distribution, that kind of thing."
"That's really cool," Jean said quietly.
"It's important," America corrected gently. "Cool is just a side effect of doing important work."
She paused, seeming to consider how to continue, then shrugged and kept going with the same direct honesty that had characterized her introduction so far.
"I found out about magic when I accidentally punched through a concrete wall during a self-defense class."
"You WHAT?" several people said simultaneously.
"Punched through a concrete wall," America repeated calmly. "Well, 'through' might be an exaggeration. More like I punched it and it *cracked*. Like, seriously cracked. Spider-web cracks radiating out from where my fist hit. My instructor was ready to call an ambulance because he thought I'd broken every bone in my hand, but my hand was fine. The wall was not fine. The wall was very not fine."
"That's incredible," Kate said with obvious respect. "What kind of force would that require?"
"A lot," America said. "More than a ten-year-old should be able to generate through normal muscle action. MACUSA showed up pretty quickly after that—apparently 'child destroys concrete wall with bare fist' is one of those things that triggers their monitoring systems—and they explained that I had unusual physical magical abilities."
"Physical magical abilities?" Miles asked, leaning forward with interest.
"Strength, durability, that kind of thing," America explained. "Apparently some witches and wizards develop enhanced physical capabilities as their magic manifests. I'm stronger than I should be, tougher than I should be, and I heal faster than normal. It's like being a superhero but with actual magic instead of radiation or alien DNA or whatever."
"That's so cool," Ned said with genuine enthusiasm.
"It's pretty cool," America agreed. "Though it means I have to be careful about how hard I do things, which is annoying because my instinct is usually to just go full force at everything. I've broken a lot of doorknobs. And light switches. And that one time, a steering wheel, but we don't talk about that."
"You broke a steering wheel?" Pietro asked.
"It was an accident!" America defended. "I was helping my tío move his car and I grabbed the wheel to steady myself and it just... came off. Like, the whole wheel. Just came right off in my hands. He was not happy. Very not happy. So not happy that I'm banned from touching his car for the next ten years."
"That seems reasonable," Wanda said.
"It absolutely is reasonable," America agreed. "I would ban me too."
She grinned, then continued with her introduction. "Anyway, that's me. America Chavez, ten years old, accidentally super strong, community organizer in training, and someone who has *a lot* of feelings about social justice and equal access to resources. I want to go to Hogwarts partly because the magical education seems amazing, but also because I'm really interested in understanding how the magical community handles—or doesn't handle—issues of inequality and discrimination."
"That's a very specific area of interest," Gwen observed.
"I've been thinking about it a lot since I found out about magic," America said seriously. "Like, if there's this whole hidden magical society that's been separate from the non-magical world for centuries, how do they deal with things like racism, homophobia, economic inequality? Do they have the same problems? Different problems? Better solutions? Worse solutions? It's fascinating and also kind of concerning, and I want to understand it so I can maybe help make it better."
"That's actually really cool," Harry said before he could stop himself. "I mean, most people just get excited about learning spells and flying and stuff—which is great, obviously—but thinking about the social and political implications of magic is also really important and not enough people do it."
America looked at him—really looked at him, like she was seeing him properly for the first time—and something in her expression shifted from defensive to genuinely interested.
"You're Harry Potter," she said—not a question, just a statement.
"Yeah," Harry confirmed, bracing himself for whatever was coming next.
"The information packet said you'd be starting Hogwarts the same year as whoever gets selected," America continued, "and that you're connected to some important magical history, but it didn't give details. Are you okay with me asking about that, or would you rather I just looked it up later?"
Harry blinked, completely thrown by the direct but respectful approach. "I... what?"
"Like, I'm curious," America clarified, "but I also don't want to be rude or make you uncomfortable by asking invasive questions about potentially traumatic stuff. So I'm asking permission first. Is that okay?"
"That's..." Harry paused, processing this completely unexpected courtesy. "That's actually really nice of you? Most people either treat me like a celebrity and ask invasive questions without permission, or they act weird and don't talk to me at all. The asking permission thing is new."
"My mom raised me to respect people's boundaries," America said with a shrug. "Especially about traumatic stuff. So, is it okay if I ask, or should I just research it later on my own?"
"You can ask," Harry said, making a split-second decision to trust this direct, socially conscious, wall-punching girl who'd just demonstrated more emotional intelligence than most adults he'd met. "The short version is that Voldemort—the Dark Lord who was terrorizing Britain in the 1980s—killed my parents when I was a baby. He tried to kill me too, but the spell rebounded somehow and he disappeared. Nobody knows exactly how or why it rebounded, which is why I'm famous—I'm 'the Boy Who Lived' because I survived something nobody should have been able to survive."
"That's heavy," America said quietly. "I'm sorry about your parents."
"Thanks," Harry said, appreciating the simple acknowledgment without excessive sympathy or pity.
"Are you doing okay?" America asked. "Like, generally? Because that's a lot to carry around, especially when you're also dealing with magical celebrity stuff."
"I'm..." Harry paused, considering how honest to be. "I'm okay. I have good support—my aunt and uncle who raised me, my friends, people who care about me. It's complicated sometimes, but I'm managing."
"Cool," America said, and then just... moved on. Didn't push for more details, didn't offer excessive reassurance, just accepted his answer and continued with her introduction like they'd been discussing something normal rather than his tragic origin story.
Harry felt something in his chest unclench—another degree, another increment, another small victory in the ongoing battle of getting through this social situation without completely falling apart.
"Anyway," America said, "that's me. Social justice warrior with super strength and a tendency to break things accidentally. I'm looking forward to maybe going to Hogwarts and learning magic and hopefully making the magical world a better place while I'm at it."
"That's an ambitious goal," Gwen said.
"I'm an ambitious person," America replied with a grin.
"Thank you, America," Aurora said with obvious approval. "Next, we have Kitty Pryde."
A girl who'd been sitting quietly near Jean stood up with careful grace, and Harry immediately got the sense that she was someone who'd spent a lot of time trying to make herself unnoticeable—or at least less noticeable than she actually was.
She was around nine years old, with brown hair that fell in soft curls around her face, warm brown eyes behind glasses that kept sliding down her nose, and the kind of nervous energy that suggested she was constantly worried about taking up too much space or saying the wrong thing.
She was wearing a purple sweater that was slightly too big for her and jeans that looked comfortable rather than stylish—the kind of outfit that said "I want to be comfortable and also invisible, please don't look at me too closely."
"Um, hi," Kitty said, her voice quiet but clear enough to carry across the room. "I'm Kitty Pryde. Well, Katherine, but everyone calls me Kitty. I'm nine, I'm from Deerfield, Illinois—that's near Chicago—and I've known about magic for about six months."
She paused, pushing her glasses up with one finger—a nervous gesture that seemed automatic—and continued.
"I found out about magic when I fell through my bedroom floor," she said, and despite the nervousness in her voice, there was something almost amused in her tone. "Not like, breaking through the floor. Actually falling *through* it. Like it wasn't there. Like I was a ghost."
"You fell through the floor?" Jean asked with immediate concern. "Were you hurt?"
"No, that's the weird part," Kitty said. "I didn't fall all the way down—I just sort of... partially sank through the floor and then got stuck there for like twenty minutes until I figured out how to un-sink myself. My parents thought I was pranking them when I called for help because how could I possibly be stuck *in* the floor, but I really was stuck, and it was really scary, and then MACUSA showed up and explained that I was phasing."
"Phasing?" Miles asked with immediate scientific interest.
"Passing through solid objects," Kitty explained. "Apparently it's a rare magical ability where you can make yourself intangible—make your body less solid, basically—so you can pass through walls and floors and stuff. I've been working with MACUSA to learn how to control it, but it still happens accidentally sometimes when I'm nervous or scared."
"That's fascinating from a physics perspective," Peter said, then caught himself. "Sorry, I know Aurora said no rabbit holes."
"It's okay," Kitty said with a slight smile. "It *is* fascinating. And also terrifying. Do you know what it feels like to accidentally phase through a chair while you're sitting in it? It's not fun. You fall through the chair, through the floor, and if you don't figure out how to un-phase quickly enough, you just keep falling through everything until you either figure it out or end up in the basement or possibly the center of the Earth."
"The center of the Earth?" Wanda asked, alarmed.
"I mean, *probably* not actually the center of the Earth," Kitty clarified quickly. "MACUSA says there are safety limits on phasing—you can't phase through everything indefinitely, eventually the magic runs out and you resolidify. But the thought of falling through multiple floors is still pretty scary."
"That sounds really difficult to live with," Jean said sympathetically.
"It is," Kitty admitted. "I'm basically a walking hazard. I've phased through so many things accidentally—chairs, tables, floors, that one time the wall of a department store which was *super* embarrassing because I was in the middle of shopping with my mom and suddenly I was in the wall and people were staring—"
"That sounds mortifying," MJ said with genuine sympathy.
"It really was," Kitty confirmed. "I thought I was going to die of embarrassment. My mom had to explain to the security guard that I had a 'medical condition' and we left very quickly."
"Is phasing considered a medical condition?" Miles asked.
"In the non-magical world, I guess?" Kitty said. "We had to come up with some explanation for why I occasionally fall through things, and 'medical condition' was vague enough that people didn't ask too many follow-up questions."
She paused, pushing her glasses up again—they'd slid down while she was talking—and continued with more confidence.
"Anyway, that's me. Kitty Pryde, nine years old, accidental phaser, occasional floor-faller, person who is terrified of chairs because they might betray me at any moment. I'm really interested in going to Hogwarts because I want to learn how to control my abilities better and also because the idea of learning magic in a castle sounds amazing and maybe slightly less scary than learning it in Illinois where I might accidentally phase through my house and end up in my neighbor's basement."
"Has that happened?" Pietro asked.
"Twice," Kitty said. "My neighbors are very understanding but I think they're getting concerned."
"That's very reasonable," Wanda said.
"It absolutely is," Kitty agreed.
Harry found himself smiling despite his lingering nervousness. Kitty seemed genuinely nice—nervous and self-deprecating but also funny and honest in a way that made her immediately likeable.
"Thank you, Kitty," Aurora said warmly. "And our final candidate for today—Emma Frost."
The last girl stood with the kind of natural poise that suggested she'd been born knowing exactly how important she was and had never questioned it for a single moment. She was around nine or ten, with platinum blonde hair styled in a way that was casual but clearly expensive, striking blue eyes that were currently assessing everyone in the room with cool intelligence, and the kind of confidence that made everyone else's seem like nervous bravado in comparison.
She was wearing what Harry's aunt would call "business casual"—a white blouse and dark slacks that looked both age-appropriate and somehow incredibly sophisticated, like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine's "Future CEOs of America" spread.
Everything about her screamed "money" and "power" and "I am already more successful than you will ever be"—but not in an aggressive way. In a matter-of-fact way. Like she was simply stating observable reality.
"Hello," Emma said, her voice carrying a slight New England accent—Massachusetts, maybe Boston—and a cool confidence that suggested she was used to rooms full of people paying attention when she spoke. "I'm Emma Frost. I'm ten years old, I'm from Boston, and I come from what you might call an 'established magical family.'"
She paused, clearly giving everyone time to process this information.
"My father is Winston Frost—some of you might recognize the name from magical finance and business. My mother is Hazel Frost, formerly Hazel Worthington, from the Worthington magical dynasty. So yes, I'm from money. Old money. Generational magical family wealth money. I'm stating this upfront because I've learned that pretending I'm not from money just makes everyone uncomfortable when they find out later, so let's just acknowledge it now and move on."
"That's..." Jean started, clearly not sure how to respond.
"Honest," Emma supplied. "I try to be honest about things that are going to be obvious anyway. It saves time and reduces social awkwardness. Mostly."
Harry found himself simultaneously impressed by and slightly intimidated by Emma's directness. She reminded him of Felicia—that same easy confidence in her own worth—but somehow even more pronounced, like Felicia dialed up to eleven and given several million dollars and a magical dynasty to back her up.
"I've known about magic my entire life," Emma continued, "which means I have advantages that most of you don't. I'm not going to pretend otherwise. I've had private tutors in magical theory since I was five, I've been attending magical social functions since I could walk, and I've been groomed to eventually take a leadership position in magical society since before I could form complete sentences."
"That's a lot of pressure," Wanda observed.
"It absolutely is," Emma agreed with surprising frankness. "My family has *expectations*. Very specific, very demanding expectations about what I should achieve, who I should associate with, what kind of career path I should follow. Most of those expectations are... let's say 'traditional' and leave it at that."
There was something in her tone—something bitter hiding under the cool confidence—that suggested those traditional expectations weren't entirely welcome.
"I'm applying for the Hogwarts exchange program," Emma said, "partly because it's an excellent educational opportunity, partly because it will look impressive on my future academic record, but mostly—and I'm being honest here—because I want to get away from Boston and my family's expectations for a year and just... be a student. Not Emma Frost of the Boston Frosts, not the heir to a magical dynasty, just... Emma. A girl who's learning magic and figuring out who she wants to be."
She paused, then added with careful vulnerability that seemed to cost her something, "Also because I want to meet people who aren't part of my family's social circle. People who might actually like me for me rather than for my family connections or my father's business influence or my mother's dynasty connections."
"That's really honest," Miles said, looking at Emma with new respect.
"I've found that honesty is more efficient than pretending to be something I'm not," Emma replied. "Though I should mention—I have magical abilities that are... unusual."
"What kind of unusual?" Gwen asked with immediate systematic interest.
"Telepathy," Emma said simply, and several people's eyes went wide. "I can hear people's thoughts—surface thoughts, mostly, though with effort I can go deeper. I've been training with MACUSA specialists to learn how to control it and respect people's mental privacy, but it's still developing and sometimes I hear things I don't mean to hear."
"That's..." Jean started, looking suddenly very interested and maybe a little relieved. "That's actually really cool. And also probably really difficult?"
"It's both," Emma confirmed, looking at Jean with sudden sharp focus. "Do you...?"
"I think so?" Jean said quietly. "Sometimes I hear things that I think might be thoughts instead of actual words, but I wasn't sure if that was real or if I was just imagining it."
"You're not imagining it," Emma said with surprising gentleness. "If you're hearing thoughts, you're probably developing telepathic abilities too. We should talk about that later—I can share some of the mental shielding techniques MACUSA taught me."
"Really?" Jean asked hopefully.
"Really," Emma confirmed. "Telepathy is isolating if you don't know anyone else who experiences it. Having someone to compare notes with would be... nice."
Harry watched this interaction with fascination, seeing Emma's cool mask slip just slightly to reveal something more vulnerable underneath—someone who was genuinely lonely despite (or maybe because of) her family's wealth and status, someone who was looking for real connections rather than the carefully managed social relationships that probably characterized her life in Boston.
"Anyway," Emma continued, her professional mask sliding back into place, "that's me. Emma Frost, ten years old, from Boston, privileged as hell and aware of it, telepathic abilities that I'm learning to control, trying to escape my family's expectations for at least a little while. I'm good at strategy, I work well under pressure, and I have absolutely no tolerance for people who waste my time or anyone else's."
"That last part seems important," MJ observed.
"It is," Emma confirmed. "Efficiency is one of my core values. If we're going to do something, we should do it well and not waste energy on ineffective approaches."
"I like her," Felicia said to no one in particular.
"Of course you do," MJ said. "She's basically you with a family dynasty and telepathy."
"That's not entirely inaccurate," Felicia admitted.
"Thank you, Emma," Aurora said warmly, clearly pleased with how the introductions had gone. "And now that everyone's met each other, I have one more piece of information to share before we move into our informal discussion period."
She paused dramatically—because Aurora did everything dramatically—and smiled at the assembled group with obvious satisfaction.
"I want you all to know that these introductions were technically part of the evaluation process, but I'm pleased to announce that as of yesterday evening, MACUSA and the Ministry of Magic jointly decided to expand the exchange program."
Another pause for effect.
"Which means," Aurora continued, her smile widening, "that instead of selecting five candidates from the eight of you, we're selecting all eight of you."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
Then chaos.
"WAIT, WHAT?" Miles practically shouted.
"All eight of us?" Jean asked, her eyes going wide.
"You're not making us compete against each other?" Wanda asked, looking like someone had just removed a heavy weight from her shoulders.
"No competition," Aurora confirmed, clearly delighted with their reactions. "You're all exceptional candidates with unique qualities that would benefit from international magical education. So congratulations—you're all going to Hogwarts."
"OH MY GOD," Kitty said, her hand flying to her mouth. "I'm going to Hogwarts? For real? Like, actually going?"
"Actually going," Aurora confirmed. "All eight of you."
Harry felt a surge of genuine happiness—not just for himself (though knowing he'd be starting Hogwarts with eight potential friends rather than five was definitely exciting), but for everyone else too.
Jean, who'd been so nervous about whether she'd fit in.
Wanda and Pietro, who'd been worried about being split up or judged for their foster system background.
Miles, who'd been practically vibrating with anxiety and excitement.
Kate, who'd been trying so hard to seem unaffected by the pressure.
America, who'd been ready to fight for her spot.
Kitty, who'd been terrified she wasn't good enough.
Emma, who'd been trying to escape her family's expectations.
They were all going.
All of them.
"This is the best news," Peter said, his face splitting into an enormous grin. "Do you know what this means? Harry's going to start Hogwarts with EIGHT new American first-years instead of five! That's like, sixty percent more Americans! That's a whole mob of Americans! A flock! A gaggle!"
"Americans don't come in gaggles," MJ said.
"They do now!" Peter declared. "I'm making it official! A gaggle of Americans!"
"That's not how collective nouns work," Gwen protested, but she was smiling.
"It is now!" Peter insisted.
"This is amazing," Miles said, bouncing on his toes with barely contained excitement. "We're all going! All eight of us! And Harry! That's nine Americans total starting Hogwarts in two years! That's—"
"A significant American presence," Gwen supplied.
"A SIGNIFICANT AMERICAN PRESENCE!" Miles agreed enthusiastically.
Harry found himself grinning—actually, genuinely grinning for the first time since he'd arrived at MACUSA headquarters. All the anxiety and worry and fear about meeting potential classmates, all the stress about whether he'd make a good impression or say the wrong thing or somehow screw everything up—it had all been worth it.
Because he'd just met eight people who seemed genuinely cool, genuinely interesting, genuinely like people he could be friends with.
Eight people who hadn't treated him like a legend or a celebrity or a tragic orphan, but just like Harry.
Eight people who were going to be his classmates, his year-mates, his fellow students navigating Hogwarts together.
Eight people who might actually become real friends.
"Before we dive into informal discussion," Aurora said, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of control over the increasingly chaotic energy in the room, "I want to remind everyone that this is still an orientation and evaluation process—we need to make sure you're all properly prepared for international magical education. But the hard part—the selection part—is over. You're all in. Now we just need to help you succeed."
"That's the best thing anyone's said to me all day," Kitty said with obvious relief.
"Same," Jean agreed.
"Honestly, same," Emma added, and something in her voice suggested this was a rare moment of genuine vulnerability from someone who usually kept her guard up.
"So," Aurora continued with a smile that suggested she was very pleased with how this was going, "now that the formal part is over, you all have the rest of the afternoon to get to know each other. Ask questions, share experiences, debate theoretical physics if you're so inclined—" She looked pointedly at Peter, Miles, and Harry. "—and generally figure out how to work together as a team."
"Because you'll be a team," she added seriously. "Nine Americans starting Hogwarts together. You're going to be each other's primary support system in a foreign country with different customs, different expectations, different ways of doing things. The strength of your relationships now will directly impact your success later."
"No pressure," Pietro said with a slight smile.
"Some pressure," Aurora corrected. "But the good kind. The kind that comes from high expectations and genuine support."
She clapped her hands once more—definitely her signature move—and gestured toward the refreshments table.
"Snacks are available, comfortable seating is abundant, and I've blocked out the next three hours specifically for informal interaction. I'll be nearby if you need anything, but otherwise, this time is yours. Use it well."
And with that, she swept away toward where the parents were congregating, leaving nine American students—eight candidates and one observer—to figure out how to be friends.
"So," Miles said after a moment of slightly awkward silence, "anyone want to debate whether magic violates thermodynamics?"
"YES," Peter said immediately.
"Absolutely," Harry agreed.
"I have *opinions*," Wanda added.
"Oh no," MJ said. "We've lost them already."
"It's been thirty seconds," Gwen observed.
"They're very committed to the rabbit hole," Felicia said.
"The rabbit hole is amazing," Miles insisted. "The rabbit hole is where all the good stuff happens!"
Jean laughed—soft and genuine—and suddenly the awkwardness was gone, replaced by the comfortable chaos of nine kids who'd just figured out they were going to be friends whether they planned to be or not.
Small victories, Harry thought.
Actually, scratch that.
Large victories.
Massive victories.
He was taking all of them.
Every single one.
And for the first time in a long time, he actually believed things were going to be okay.
Better than okay.
They were going to be great.
---
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