Breakfast in the Great Hall was loud, bright, and entirely unimportant to Alexander Chen.
He was hunched over the Ravenclaw table, quill flying so fast it looked personally offended by the parchment.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I told you.
TOLD. YOU.
The Sorting Hat is racist.
I said Ravenclaw, you said "just wait and see," and GUESS WHAT HOUSE I'M IN.
RAVENCLAW.
This is clear statistical evidence. I don't make the rules; the hat does. And the hat is biased.
He paused only long enough to stab a piece of toast, missed, and went right back to writing.
Everyone keeps saying the Sorting Hat is "ancient" and "wise," but ancient things are usually the MOST problematic.
Also, the stairs move, and the ceiling lies.
Anyway, made it to Hogwarts safely. Be mentally prepared for how awesome a son you have. You're welcome.
Alexander leaned back, reread the letter, nodded in satisfaction, and added one last line:
PS: I will be right about everything.
He rolled the parchment, tied it, and immediately sprinted from the Great Hall toward the Owlery, nearly colliding with a third-year Hufflepuff who had the misfortune of walking slower than his sense of urgency.
Minutes later, he watched an owl vanish into the sky with his letter clutched proudly in its talons.
Mission accomplished.
-------------------------------
Monday Morning – Transfiguration
Alexander was late.
He reached the classroom, smoothed his robes, pushed the door open—and froze.
A gray tabby cat sat calmly on the professor's desk.
Alexander took exactly one step inside.
Then, at full volume—
"HEY—WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?!"
The entire class flinched.
Several Gryffindors nearly fell out of their chairs.
The cat's ears twitched.
Alexander reached into his pocket, pulled out a small, soft biscuit—clearly a wizarding treat—and tossed it across the room.
Not hard.
Not aimed at the cat.
It slid neatly across the desk and stopped near the cat's paws.
"Down," Alexander said firmly.
"Don't sit on the desk of a Professor."
Dead silence.
The cat stared at him.
A second later—
POOF.
Professor McGonagall stood on the desk.
Stone-faced.
Furious.
Terrifying.
Alexander blinked.
"…Oh."
No one breathed.
McGonagall stepped off the desk slowly, adjusted her robes with sharp precision, and fixed Alexander with a stare that felt like it had personally ended several historical bloodlines.
"Mr. Chen," she said coldly,
"Would you care to explain why you just shouted at me and threw food in my classroom?"
Alexander straightened immediately.
"Yes, Professor," he said sincerely.
"I thought it was rude to let a cat sit where you teach."
A pause.
Someone in the back of the room whimpered.
"Ten points from Ravenclaw," McGonagall said.
Gasps rippled through the class.
"Detention. One week."
Alexander nodded. Accepted it without complaint.
Then her voice sharpened.
"However."
Everyone froze.
"You showed no fear.
No cruelty.
And no hesitation."
She stepped closer.
"Next time, Mr. Chen—use your brain before your mouth."
She turned toward the board.
"Take your seat."
Alexander slid into a chair beside Cho Chang.
Cho stared at him like she was reconsidering every life choice that had placed her next to him.
"You just yelled at the professor," she whispered.
Alexander leaned back, completely calm.
"In my defense," he whispered back,
"I was right."