It was a nice spring day out on the Hogwarts’ grounds. Students were walking around enjoying the warmth, or sitting in their common rooms with the windows as far open as possible.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione, in their sixth year, were seated around a maple table in the common room. Their books and quills were spread out in front of them, abandoned. No one felt much like working today; instead they were talking about the upcoming Hogsmead trip. As they chatted, a student they had never seen before entered through the portrait hole. The boy, around sixteen, gazed about the common room for a minute, observing the groups of students that were present. He then made his way over to Harry and stood over him, his brown hair gleaming. The boy smiled.

“Hey, mate. Budge up, would ya’?” he asked in a heavy British accent. Harry raised his eyebrows, and took a look at the couch he was sitting on. There was plenty of room next to him already, seeing as Hermione and Ron were on the opposite couch. The boy, not waiting for Harry’s response, sat down and stuck his head forward, into their conversation.

“Hi,” said Ron and Hermione, smiling at the boy.

The boy nodded. “Watcha,” he responded, sounding proud.

“I’m Ron, and this is Hermione,” Ron introduced, nodding to himself and Hermione.

“And I’m Harry,” said Harry, eyeing the boy.

“Harry?” exclaimed the boy excitedly. “That’s a dead on British name, you know that? I’m Thomas, by the way.” Harry gave Thomas a short smile, feeling rather uncomfortable.

“Are you new?” Harry asked after a moment of awkward silence.

“Nah, I’ve just dropped in for a quick nip of bangers and mash, or porridge, before I take the underground to a double decker in London,” Thomas replied, his blue eyes full of excitement.

“Right…” responded Harry, Ron and Hermione slowly. They were pretty sure witches and wizards couldn’t just randomly walk into Hogwarts for a meal. Thomas just smiled at them.

“What house are you in, again?” asked Ron, shifting his weight on the couch.

“Mate, I’m not in any specific house,” Thomas responded easily. “But I am gobsmacked at how gigantic this common room is! It’s brilliant!”

“Thanks,” said Hermione slowly. She glanced at Harry and Ron, and then back to Thomas. “We like it, too.”

By this time, a small crowd had started gathering around the trio and Thomas, listening to their conversation with the new student.

Lavender pushed her way to the front and perched herself on the arm of the couch. “Hi, I’m Lavender,” she introduced herself flirtatiously.

“Jolly good!” he cried, shaking her hand. “Blimey, you’re pretty,” he added on in a quieter tone. Lavender blushed.

“Why, thank yo-”

“I expect that I’d be barking mad if you hadn’t a boyfriend whom you liked to snog day and night-”

“Excuse me?” asked Lavender angrily, jumping up. She thought he was mocking her.

Thomas laughed. “Oh, come on now! Don’t get your knickers in a twist!” But Lavender huffed up the stairs, two at a time, insulted. The crowed stared at Thomas, some angry, some amused. But Thomas didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he was smiling. “Spot on, mates,” he exclaimed, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “You know, old chaps, I’m really lucky to have such brilliant mates as you three!”

Ron choked on a bit of his spit, raising his eyebrows at Thomas. “Not to be rude, Thomas, but we ah- hardly know you...” Thomas jumped off the couch in alarm, glaring at him.

“Are you barking mad, mate?” yelled Thomas angrily.

“No,” muttered Harry. “You are.” A few people from the crowd laughed at this remark, while others tried to figure out if Thomas was joking or not. Thomas hadn’t heard Harry, and was now pacing through the crowd.

“Blimey, mates, how can you do this to me? I even gave you my best jumper last year, for your birthday, Harry! And Ron!” Ron, who had been whispering to Hermione, looked up, alarmed at the sound of his name. “Ron, I gave you my best pair of trainers for the holidays!”

“You didn’t give us anything!” Harry contradicted Thomas, also standing up. He was just an inch taller then Thomas.

“I’m gutted that you don’t even acknowledge me,” Thomas said in a hard, low voice, shaking his head as one would at a small child.

“Who gave you the password in here?” asked Hermione exasperatedly, also standing up. Thomas opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Everyone stared at him. “Well?” she prompted impatiently. Thomas seemed lost for words.

“I- I… don’t know how to answer that in British slang,” he stammered. “Err… Oh! Wait- that’s British!” he perked up, and started making ‘er’ sounds, sounding like a car that refused to start. “Err….. errr….. errr…”

Ginny slowly poked his shoulder. “Are you mental, or something?”

“Honestly, Thomas, tell me who gave you the-” Hermione started again, but Thomas waved her off.

“I told you, I don’t know how to answer that one!” he repeated, sounding annoyed. He frowned at her, as if she had spoiled his favourite game. He sighed, and gave a smile. “Ask me a different one!”

“What?” Hermione stuttered, looking around for support. “I’m not going to ask a different question, I want to know the ans -”

“When it’s raining out, I carry a brolly around!” Thomas shouted over Hermione.

“Just tell me who gave yo-”

“I rang my Mum from the call box down the street-”

“There’s no call box down the street!” yelled Dean, annoyed, from the crowd.

“I like clotted cream with my biscuits and tea!” hollered Thomas over the constant demands of Hermione that he tell her where he got the password, and the rebuttal of remarks he got from the crowd at each comment he made.

“That’s it!” said Katie Bell, making her way towards the portrait hole. “I’m getting Dumbledore.”

“Is that your headmaster?” asked Thomas excitedly. No one bothered to answer him. “I had a headmaster at my old school, where I got great marks in all my subjects!”

“Well bully for you,” muttered Dean sarcastically.

“THAT’S SO BRITISH!” yelled Thomas elatedly; he grabbed Dean by the shoulders, and smiled like a maniac. Dean prided Thomas’ hands off his shoulders, and backed away.

Thomas, unbothered by this, turned to Ron, and gave his shoulder a small punch. “I plan to live in a flat when I come of age, mate-”

“STOP CALLING ME MATE!” bellowed Ron angrily, advancing on Thomas. Thomas, looking panicked, pointed at Ron franticly.

“Bob’s your Uncle!” he shouted. Everyone stopped talking and looked at him.

“What?” they chorused together. Thomas shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Bob’s your Uncle,” he repeated slowly. “It’s an old British phrase, as in, there you have it, or, it’s all settled…”

Everyone was silent for a moment, before a third year yelled, “No one uses that anymore!”

“Oh,” Thomas muttered to himself. He thought for a moment, and then- “Give it a go!” he shouted, pumping his fists into the air. He seemed to be pulling out random phrases, trying to find a recent one. “He eats dodgy custard! Drive fast over sleeping policemen in jumpers!”

“That didn’t even make sense!” shouted Ginny angrily. “Get out of here!”

“Wicked!” shouted Thomas, retreating slowly backwards. “What a brilliant git! Err… Oh! Wait- ERRRRR-”

“GET HIM!” a seventh year yelled.

Thomas, finally realising he was in trouble, bolted. The angry crowd of Gryffindors pursued him, chasing him out of the common room and onto the sunny grounds.

The only ones left in the common room, Neville and Parvati, sat down on one of the couches, still replaying what had just happened in their heads. “Well, he was off his rocker,” Neville said, shaking his head.

“Agreed,” responded Parvati, also shaking her head. “And those phrases… I haven’t heard half of those.”

Neville shrugged his shoulders, craning his neck to see out the window, where Thomas was running in circles, still pursed by the Gryffindors. “I don’t even think he was British…”