1. Harry Potter

 

Aaron reads the books after they get popular. He doesn't have the time to read, but he's been taught to do it fast, and he makes it through the fourth book in two days, reading it during car rides and make-up and then late at night. His dancing sucks the next day and he gets yelled at, but it was worth it he thinks, the first book tucked inside his backpack for the next break.

He's not brilliant and he knows there are ways to look at books, ways of seeing layers on layers, and Aaron thinks these books are simple enough for him to do that. It's given him something to talk to Angel about at least, and it's Angel who sends him the first link when they're bitching about how long the next book is taking.

It's not much, a bit about summer holidays, and it's stupid, Aaron thinks, but the next day, it's all he can think about. Summer holidays and Harry back at the Dursley's, and Sirius moved in with Mrs Figg, the cats fleeing in terror. It's like a part of the book, only - it's not real. But it could be.

He doesn't have the words for it, but he likes it.

The movie comes out and Aaron's old enough to notice Oliver Wood. Howie got him a copy, invited them all over to watch it, and Aaron likes Howie, who notices when someone's quiet or sad, notices things like what books Aaron's reading, remembers what kind of chips Aaron likes.

Nick sprawls on the floor, head back on Howie's lap, watching intently. Nick likes films, even boring ones.

Aaron tries to watch the film, but he doesn't remember any of it.

 

 

He thinks about magic. He thinks about getting a letter from Hogwarts, just like every other kid in the world does. Lies in his hotel bed and thinks about cupboards under the stairs and Harry so thin his ribs show. He lets his hand rest on his chest, fingers sliding over the edge of bone there. He's shot up, and he's eating as much as he can, but he burns it off so fast. He wants --

He makes his hand still, his heart pounding softly underneath. He wants a letter to come. Brought to his hotel room by Lisa, along with the stack of mail. A big thick letter with blue ink and inside, that he was special. Not just a muggle. Going to London, to Hogwarts. Being the strange American kid. Meeting Potter and putting the Sorting Hat on.

He's falling asleep now, listening to the hat sing in his head, and he thinks "what if they were? and I was the squib?" before he closes his eyes.

 

 

Another plane ride, and Aaron watches the clouds, the laptop shut down and slipped into the seat pocket. He's flying, and the air is still around him. He wonders what it's like on a broom.

He's been reading more and more. Stuff Angel sends him, stuff he finds himself when he has the time. There are pictures, and they don't look like anyone he knows but his mirror tells him new things, silently. The mirror of erised, he thinks, as the plane tilts gently and the sun dazzles across a bed of clouds. Everything is beautiful and Aaron closes his eyes.

He's on a broom, and Harry is chasing him. Hand out-stretched and there's the snitch, he's going to catch it - tumbling, falling and his knee's wrenched again, but there's Harry, and James and everything muddles up and he's in a dusty classroom, staring at the mirror. His wand is in his hand, and he can feel the power gathering, deep in his chest, a knot unfurling. Robes and a cloak, his hair damp and his eyes are silver, then they're blue. Hazel. He moves back, he moves forward, and the mirror changes.

Aaron wakes up with a scream caught in his throat, caught and killed. His mother is asleep across the aisle. Lisa is working and doesn't look at him. The stewardess walks past and Aaron waits until he can hum without choking to ask her for a cup of water.

It's cold and his teeth hurt, but he thanks her politely before turning away to look out the window again.

 

 

Aaron never reads the Weasley stories.

 

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