July, 1990
Alexander Chen was supposed to be packing for Ilvermorny.
Instead, he was standing in the middle of his bedroom in New York City, arms crossed, glaring at a perfectly innocent suitcase like it had personally betrayed him.
Alexander Chen—Chinese American, eleven years old, pure-blood, born and raised in the magical chaos of the United States—had already decided his future. He was going to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was going to be sorted into Thunderbird House. He was going to travel, explore, get into trouble, and have fun doing it.
Thunderbird didn't wait around. Thunderbird moved.
Unfortunately, destiny had other plans. And destiny, apparently, had an English accent.
"Alex," his mother said gently, leaning against the doorway with a smile she absolutely did not deserve, "you need to calm down."
"I am calm," Alexander snapped, immediately raising his voice. "I'm calmly pointing out that Hogwarts is racist."
Jonathan William Chen lowered his newspaper with a sigh that carried the full weight of a man who had negotiated with foreign ministries and survived. "Alex—"
"No, hear me out," Alexander continued, pacing. "The Sorting Hat sees an Asian kid and goes, 'Ah, yes, Ravenclaw.' Boom. Done. No discussion. No personality check. Just—congratulations, enjoy your library."
Eleanor Mei Chen burst out laughing.
That only made it worse.
"Mom! This isn't funny!"
She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Sweetheart, if you end up in Ravenclaw, it won't be because you're Chinese. It'll be because you're smart and wise."
Alexander stared at her in horror.
"No," he said, voice cracking with betrayal. "No, no, no. I don't want wisdom. I want adventure. I want chaos. I want fun. I want to fly off cliffs and fight monsters and—" he pointed dramatically out the window, "—be a Thunderbird."
Jonathan folded his paper. "If it helps," he said calmly, "Gryffindor would suit you perfectly."
Alexander spun toward him. "This is not helping!"
"It's settled," Jonathan continued, tone firm but not unkind. "Your mother and I accepted the position. The British Ministry needs help rebuilding international trust. USA, UK, and several Asian magical governments. It's important."
"Then you go," Alexander shot back. "I'll stay. I'll hold down the fort. Ilvermorny needs me."
Eleanor crouched in front of him, hands on his shoulders. "Alex, we're moving. Hogwarts is where you'll go."
His eyes filled instantly.
"No," he said, dramatically. "I refuse. If I'm going to be a bird, I will not be some crappy raven. I will be a Thunderbird."
He jabbed a finger in the air. "And the Sorting Hat is racist. Hogwarts is racist. I'm not going."
"Alex," Jonathan warned.
"Not. Going."
Silence fell.
Jonathan and Eleanor exchanged a look—the kind of look that meant parental patience had officially expired.
Eleanor raised her wand.
"—HEY—"
"Silencio."
Alexander's mouth kept moving.
No sound came out.
He froze, eyes wide, hands flying to his throat. He tried yelling. Nothing. He tried protesting harder. Still nothing.
Jonathan stood, already heading toward the door. "He can say goodbye to his friends tomorrow."
Eleanor nodded, patting Alexander on the head as she walked past him. "We'll start packing tonight."
They left the room, closing the door behind them.
Alexander stood there, silently screaming, fists clenched, eyes burning with betrayal.
This was not over.
Hogwarts thought it could sort him.
Destiny thought it could move him.
Fine.
He'd go.
But he absolutely wasn't playing by the rules.