Alexander Chen was not a normal child.
This wasn't something he bragged about—mostly because no one would believe him—but it was true all the same. Long before New York, before magic, before wands and pure-blood politics, Alexander had lived an entirely different life.
On Earth.
A world where magic didn't exist, where Hogwarts was ink on paper, and where the name Harry Potter belonged to a bestselling series that fueled endless arguments, fanfics, and late-night debates across the internet.
Alexander remembered everything.
He had been reincarnated into this world one year before Harry Potter was born, dropped neatly into a pure-blood Asian American wizardry family with connections powerful enough to bend governments. From the moment his magic surfaced, the truth had clicked into place.
This was that world.
The books.
The timeline.
The savior with the lightning scar.
And that was exactly the problem.
Alexander liked the Harry Potter series. He loved it, actually. He'd read the books, devoured fanfiction, argued passionately about Houses, magic systems, and whether the Ministry of Magic was the single most incompetent organization ever written.
But enjoying a story was very different from living inside it.
Hogwarts, from the outside, was charming. From the inside? It was a safety hazard disguised as a school. Staircases that moved without warning. Forests full of creatures that wanted to eat students. Professors who routinely trusted eleven-year-olds with world-ending problems.
And don't even get him started on destiny.
"Screw that," Alexander muttered to himself, pacing his room now that the silencing spell had finally worn off. "I'm not fighting Voldemort. That's Harry's trauma, not mine."
Voldemort. Death Eaters. Prophecies. Dark Lords with dramatic flair and even worse long-term planning. None of it appealed to him. And the British Ministry of Magic?
A circus.
He'd seen enough canon to know better than to get involved.
The worst part? Thanks to his parents, he didn't even have the excuse of ignorance.
Jonathan and Eleanor Chen had raised him properly. Wand handling. Magical theory. Discipline. Control. They hadn't rushed him, but they hadn't coddled him either. Alexander knew how to cast basic spells, understood magical law, and knew exactly how dangerous real magic could be when mishandled.
He wasn't some wide-eyed kid waiting for Hogwarts to explain the world.
He already understood it.
Which made this entire situation worse.
Alexander flopped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Ilvermorny would've been perfect," he groaned. "Thunderbird House. Freedom. Adventure. No prophecy."
Thunderbird didn't choose based on books or brains. It chose people who acted. People who moved first and figured things out later.
People like him.
And then there was Newt Scamander.
The thought cheered him up a little.
Alexander grinned, remembering the man's soft voice and excited rambling. Newt had treated him seriously—asked him questions, listened to his answers. When Alexander had shown a genuine interest in magical creatures instead of flashy spells, something had clicked between them.
The promise still stood.
A suitcase, Newt had said. One that can house creatures safely. After your first year.
That alone made Hogwarts slightly more tolerable.
Slightly.
Alexander rolled onto his side, scowling again. "Still doesn't change the fact that the Sorting Hat is racist."
He could already hear it in his head.
Ah, yes, clever thoughts, analytical mind—Ravenclaw!
No.
Absolutely not.
He wasn't spending seven years being shoved into a tower because a hat thought smart equaled quiet and studious. He liked jokes. He liked pranks. He liked pushing buttons and seeing what happened.
He liked fun.
If Hogwarts thought it was going to box him into a neat role—hero, side character, or background genius—it was wrong.
Very wrong.
Alexander Chen knew the story.
And he had zero intention of following it.
If destiny wanted him at Hogwarts, fine.
But it was going to regret assuming he'd play along.