Chapter 2: Open it!

"Mind if I sit here?" I ask, giving them my best smile. "Everywhere else seems to be full."

"Are you a Yank?" Ron asks, brows furrowed.

"Ronald Weasley, have you no manners? That's a pejorative!" Hermione says quickly with a furious frown.

"A what?" he asks dumbly.

I laugh. "No worries, no worries. You might use it as a pejorative, but it doesn't particularly bother me. Yes, I'm from the United States. Don't hold it against me."

That doesn't get much of a reaction, though Hermione generously turns the corners of her lips up at my joke. 

"I'm Hermione Granger, and you already know this gentleman with his foot in his mouth is Ron Weasley, and that's Harry." she trails off.

"Harry Potter," the Daniel Radcliffe doppelganger says with a sigh.

He obviously doesn't like being introduced to strangers, so I smile and decide to throw them for a loop. 

"Hermione Granger, are you really?" I ask in my best star-struck voice. 

"I've heard so much about you!" I gush.

It has the intended effect of silencing the entirety of the cabin with open-mouthed stares. 

"What?" Hermione asked, being the first one to recover. "You...you have?"

"Uh, not really," I lied. "Sorry, I was just giving Harry a break."

They all look surprised, then Harry laughs and Hermione joins in with a chuckle. Ron gives a nervous laugh like he didn't get the joke, which he probably didn't.

"So you are...?" Hermione prods.

"Oh yeah, I'm...uh...oh!" I remember the letter in my bag. 

"Call me Bud. Bud A. Lerner," I say, trying to avoid thinking about how stupid my name is, I shake her hand gently and then offer mine to the others. "Nice to meet you."

"Yep, definitely a Yank name," Ron observes briefly before a solid smack to his shoulder causes him to cry out in indignation.

"Is there no filter between your brain and your mouth?" she asks angrily, then turns an apologetic look to me.

"No, it's okay, I fully agree," I assure them. It does sound like a redneck name...maybe I should come up with a better one. 

"Can't help our names, can we?"

I pull out the letter and hand it to Hermione.

"But this isn't even open!" she says incredulously.

"Oh yeah...oops."

"But how did you get here? How did you know what stuff to get?"

"Uh...oops again? I uh, kinda forgot and then I kinda accidentally ended up here this morning."

"How did you 'accidentally' end up on Platform Nine and Three Quarters?" she asks dubiously.

I scratch my head and squint my eyes as if I'm trying to remember. That's not too far off, really, since I don't know how this happened. 

"Well, I was just standing in an airport leaning against a pillar, and next thing I know I'm just sitting on the Platform."

She doesn't look like she believes me. "But what about your stuff?"

"Well, I've got my wand, but...uh...I don't have any money for the rest," I say sheepishly. 

I dig out my wallet and there's a ten dollar bill and a few ones. I'm not sure what the exchange rate is between dollars and pounds and galleons, but I figure it can't be much more than a galleon. 

"This is all I've got," I say, showing them.

"What are those?" Ron asks.

"American dollars, of course," Hermione says, then looks up at me sadly. "Well you're a bit taller than Ron...Ron, do you have any spare robes?"

"Not really, my other two are too small even for me...oh wait," he says with a grimace. He digs out his hideous dress robes that would only not look out of place on a vampire in the 18th century. "Mum packed these awful things..."

Just then the door slides open to reveal a platinum blonde-haired boy with a pointy face twisted into a sneer. "What ridiculous robes, Weasley! Were those your great-grandfather's?"

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry snaps.

I decided to jump in. "Did you say Malfoy? As in Draco Malfoy? Are you really? Oh, Mr. Malfoy, I've heard so much about you! Can I have your autograph? I know I must have something around here..."

He looks surprised for a moment, then takes in my state of dress and smiles imperiously. "Well, at least some peasants around here seem to know their place." Then he notices Hermione snickering, and a scowl forms. "What's so funny, mudblood?"

"He's not a peasant, you ponce," Harry says angrily.

"Look at him," Draco says, gesturing toward me. "He dresses worse than Weasley!"

"I'll have you know my grandfather is Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, the most feared Dark Lord in United States history! You might want to take that back." I fix a glare in his direction, trying to avoid breaking out into a grin.

Hermione chokes out a laugh and I have to bite my lip to fight to keep the smile off my face. 

Draco looks uncertain for a moment, then turns and angrily hisses at Hermione, "what's so funny?"

"Oh, I think you've got something in your hair," I say, waving my hand in his direction. 

I feel an odd rush flowing from my stomach, up my chest, and through my arm. 

Much to my surprise, a pink blob appears entangled in his hair.

"Whaâ€"" he begins, hand darting to his hair. "What is it?" he screeches in a high-pitched voice. "Get it out! Get it out!"

"Sorry, I don't know how to get bubble gum out of someone's hair. Maybe Ms. Granger knows?"

Draco squeals like a girl, pushes one of the big lugs behind him out of the way and runs up the train.

"That was brilliant, mate!" Ron says enthusiastically.

"Did you conjure that gum silently?" Hermione says, astonished. "That's really advanced magic! What year are you in?"

"Uh..." I shrug and point at the letter.

"Open it."

She looks torn between asking me about my accidental conjuration and opening my letter. Hermione probably lives for Hogwarts letters.

"Are you sure?"