Super Bowl Sunday at Hogwarts

Super Bowl Sunday at Hogwarts


It had been a busy week, and one Xander was glad about. He’d gotten tentative permission to set up his Potion Factory, and to go through the specified course of research—but only if he could find someone to undertake a managerial position, or one to assume Nicholas’ professorial duties so the Alchemist could assume a direct role.

Xander had gotten a list of still-living Potions Masters and of emeritus-status Hogwarts staff who’d be qualified to serve. On the top of the list of contacts was the former Professor of Potions, Horace Slughorn, oddly without notes other than the obvious teaching status, and that he was Lily Potter’s former instructor.

*********************

Xander woke up early Saturday morning, and made his way to the courtyard expecting to meet Connor for some sword practice. Turning the corner, he saw something that made him pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t having a weird dream. In front of him, he found Neville Longbottom of Gryffindor and that odd kid, Addams, from Ravenclaw, practicing fencing. And while Neville was clearly just learning, and slightly clumsy, Addams was actually acting like he might know what he was doing.

“Impressive, actually,” Connor said in Xander’s ear, causing him to jump in startlement. Connor ignored the glare. “What’s the boy’s name?”

“Addams, I think. Don’t know his first name.”

“Pugsley,” Dawn answered as she walked around the corner. She looked up at Connor. “You looked surprised.”

“Do you know his parents’ names?”

She shook her head and called out.

“Pugsley?! What’s your dad’s name?!”

“Gomez!” the chubby red-headed Second Year responded while easily fending off Neville without looking at him.

“Thanks!” Dawn turned to Connor, who looked disturbed. “Is everything okay?”

“Hmm, yes. Gomez Addams is…an odd man. Funny, and he knows his antiques, especially swords.” Connor noticed Xander’s unspoken query. “Not one my club, but still very capable. I believe he still resides in New Jersey.”

“Yeah,” Dawn replied. “His sister is at Salem, but she’s a bit advanced, so she’ll come here next year, maybe in the same class instead of as a Second Year.”

Xander noticed her smile.

“What?”

“You know why Marcus Flint was held back a year?”

“No.”

“Pugsley exploded a serious stink bomb in Flint’s room.”

Xander frowned.

“But Pugsley’s a Ravenclaw, and how would he get into Slytherin’s rooms? And why would Flint be held back a year?”

Dawn smiled.

“Pugsley’s sister was visiting a couple years ago, and Flint had knocked her down while her folks were in Gringotts. Thought she was a Muggle, so he called her a few nasty names and left her there in the mud. Pugsley used to be in Slytherin, and seems to be an inventor like his dad. So mixing Muggle and Wizard stuff, he put an almost-permanent stink on Marcus, and something that made him only able to say ‘Sorry Miss Addams’ over and over again.”

Xander nodded—it seemed just.

“But why?”

“I’m not done. Marcus couldn’t do anything in school for the two months before exams, and was barely getting by…so he failed the year.”

“And Pugsley?”

“Oh, Fred and George told me they think eventually Headmaster Dumbledore found out, and decided that it was only a bit excessive—and you how Snakes get—transferred to Ravenclaw was social death. Not that Pugs would ever notice.”

“Huh.”

“Not only that, but the twins’ve declared Pugs a PFZ to stay safe.”

“PFZ?”

“Prank-Free-Zone. They think he might be the Heir of Slytherin and not even notice it.”

“Why?”

“It took five Wizards from the Ministry and a Chemical Engineer to remove the stink permanently—it kept coming back every few days.”

Connor nodded.

“Must be the same family. I urge both of you to not get into any family feuds—they’re the only ones the Addams family take seriously.”

“Anything I need to know, Connor?”

“Hmm, they age slowly, heal instantaneously unless they decide not to, are usually super-geniuses, and might be Lords of Chaos.”

“Lords of Chaos?”

“A suspicion my kinsman and I have. Gomez Addams is a hundred years old, but looks in his thirties. From what I’ve read, they’re one of the reasons there are so few Wizards in America.”

Dawn looked interested.

“Why’s that?”

“The family moves back and forth between Europe and the East Coast, but wherever they put down roots for more than twenty years, they seem to suck in all of the magic. I once asked Albus about this—but between Rhode Island and Virginia there’s very little Wizard magic, and in their section of New Jersey it is almost a dead zone. So that’s why that little school in Salem is the only one to really get going. Just out of range. So what Wizard would want to immigrate through that?”

“How’d they figure it out it was the Addams?”

“They didn’t; only Albus and I know because I knew the family through my dealings over” he looked at Dawn who was watching the boys fence “the years. So even though other forms of magic function, they also, from what Albus told me, take a lot more out of a caster.”

Xander shook his head, beginning to get access to some of the pertinent memories.

“This place never ceases to amaze me. But didn’t I hear something about them going to Durmstrang next year?”

“Yeah, I think their folks want them to meet up with relatives and such. And they seem to favor some of the older magicks, so they might get more going there.”

*********************

Xander very surprised at the very enthusiastic response from parents as to employment of their children, some also suggesting other family members who’d only graduated within the last few years. The Professors were delighted at the idea of some of the student returning in some role at Hogwarts, while others he was warned might not be good fits. Using the Time Turner, Xander arranged to meet with prospects and their partents in between his sessions at school in London.

In early February, he would actually have boosted the learning and productive potential of Hogwarts, and brought in forty helpers in two shifts. He’d had some discussions with Headmaster Dumbledore, and while the ‘night shift’ would also dorm in the Room, the ‘day shift’ would reside outside of Hogwarts. Connor offered what would in a past age have been servants quarters, and after blocking direct access to the main sections and floors of his house, accepted only minor rent, and that so as to accrue money for use in the Wizarding economy without being hit with Gringotts exchange rates and fees.


*********************

Now, it was Sunday, January 31st, and Xander had wheedled Dean Thomas into joining him for a late night Super Bowl viewing. Considering the broadcast times, this meant a ten o’clock kick off. Dean had thought American football a bit odd, really, but Xander seemed an alright guy still no mater what others said about the ‘Heir of Slytherin’ talk.

Dean put in a good effort, napping for a few hours in the afternoon and getting hold of some wake draughts for before school the next day. Dean was still only a kid, all of twelve, but he had a sort of pleasant sneakiness that made Xander take him under his wing like a little brother. It didn’t hurt that the Thomas’ thought well of Xander and his occasional tutoring of their son in school. Even if he did sneak out for football matches on weekends.

Xander and Dean talked a little of how they grew up; Xander admitted to having once feared clowns, while now just thinking clowns are creepy. Dean admitted—having recently learnt his father was really his step-father—that he’d like to know who his real father was though he wouldn’t give up his dad and brothers and sisters for anything.

Xander nodded at that.

“You think your mom would let me copy a short memory of him? I could then ask the Headmaster if he or the other staff recognize him. And as family, you could insist on being there.”

“Oh. I…wow.”

“Think about it, okay? And if the last memory she has of him isn’t too painful, that would be the best one.”

“I’ll post her and let you know. If she says yes, then the next time we see her, we’ll do it if the Headmaster agrees.”

“That…wow. Thanks. Um, pass those cheese curls…let’s have a look at your rugby game again.”

“American Football…”

“You said it, but it’s nothing like the real thing. Might not be too bad to have some groin, knee and face protection for Quidditch for that matter—but then we could always play rugby instead, couldn’t we?”

“You, my young friend, are a lost cause,” Xander mock-sighed. “Have some more cheese curls.”

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