Harry Potter and the Summer of the Dementors

Dinner with goblins was one thing: the next day Harry received another invitation, but rather a different one. An envelope was waiting for him on the dining room table when he went down to breakfast.

"Hi, Harry,

"I had problems getting this to you - I don't think you get Muggle post, do you? I had to ask at Ollivander's if I could Floo here. Remus met me, and suggested I leave you a note.

"Thing is, I wondered if you'd like to come round tomorrow evening? Meet Olive again, and my Mum and Dad as well. Stay for supper, if you like. I read all about you and Ron in the Prophet when I was at Ollivander's, and you can bring me up to date."

"Let me know whether that's okay.

"Dean.

"PS. If you want to Apparate to my bedroom, here're the instructions. Remus showed me how they should be written down. Six o'clock?"

Well, from goblins to Muggles. He didn't really know anything about Dean's family, but he remembered Olive. Why not? He reached for a slip of parchment.

"Yeah, six o'clock would be fine. Looking forward to it. Harry."

He went up to his room where Hedwig was perched on the sill of the open window, looking out sleepily.

"Could you take this to Dean Thomas? He may send a reply."

Hedwig turned and gave a soft hoot, then held out her leg. Harry attached the note, and she flew off into the morning sunshine.

The next evening found Harry in his room, frowning over Dean's instructions. When he thought he'd got them right, he focussed his mind - and there he was.

Olive was sitting on the bed, and gave a squeak at his sudden appearance.

"Sorry," said Harry, embarrassed.

"It's okay," she said, recovering. "Dean did warn me. But even so. You did give me a shock."

"Sorry. Yeah, well, it's convenient, travelling this way."

"Must be," she said, standing up.

Dean came in. "Hi, Harry, sorry to have missed you."

"Just arrived," said Harry.

"Gave me a shock, he did," Olive told him.

"Yeah, I bet. Hey, Ollivander said he would pay for my Apparating course at the Ministry."

"That's good news."

"Make getting there every morning a lot easier."

"I should think so. How's it going there?"

"Really good."

"What do you do?"

"Well, more often than not, I'm a dogsbody. But I get to do a lot of the sorting. You see ..." Dean screwed his face up ... "some of the stuff - hippogriff feather or whatever - some of it's much better than others. Better in wands, that is. I have the knack - that's what Ollivander tells me - of sorting out the good stuff from the ordinary."

"That sounds brilliant."

"Yeah, well, it's a knack you've got to have if you're going to make good wands."

Olive was looking at the two of them slightly bemused.

"Sorry," Harry said hastily.

She smiled slightly sadly. "Don't be," she said. "I mean, I don't understand it, but it means a lot to Dean."

He smiled at her. "Yeah. Come and meet Mum, Harry."

He took him out to the main room. Harry looked around curiously. By the view from the windows they were quite high up - obviously in a flat in one of those tower blocks somewhere in London.

Mrs Thomas was busy sorting some clothes, but stopped as soon as Harry came in.

"Welcome," she said. "I've heard a lot about you from Dean."

Harry looked sideways at him then said: "Don't believe any of it."

"Oh," she said, "Dean tells us all this stuff, and I don't know whether to believe all of it or none of it." Harry smiled. "Sit down," she told him.

"Thanks."

Harry took a chair, Olive and Dean the settee, and Mrs Thomas went back to sorting the clothes.

"If I don't get this done now, it'll never be done. Wayne will be home soon. That's my husband - Dean's father."

"Right," said Harry.

"He's a cabby," said Dean. "One of the first black ones," he said, with a slight note of pride.

"Really?" said Harry, not quite sure what to make of that.

"Yeah. He's doing well at the moment. We hope to move out of here soon."

"Right," said Harry again, slightly desperately.

"The Jasmine Allen estate," Dean said. "Not the nicest place."

Mrs Thomas snorted as she folded the last of the clothes. "You can say that again. The lift wasn't working again today. I spend half my time getting the repair man here."

"We're on the fourth floor," said Dean. "Better than the top."

"I can imagine."

"Easy enough if you can - what was it, Apparate?" said Olive.

"Makes life easier," said Harry.

"I bet. I wish I could do that sort of thing," she said, slightly wistfully.

"One of those things you're born with," Harry told her.

"Yeah, that's what Dean says."

"I still find it all hard to believe," said Mrs Thomas. "I remember when that woman came knocking on the door."

"Professor McGonagall," Dean supplied.

"Yeah. And Wayne was about to throw her out."

"She got out her wand," said Dean, "and pointed it out the ironing board."

"And the clothes suddenly started ironing themselves."

"We all looked at them, and Dad yelled: stop!"

"And when it did, I turned to him and asked him: what did you say that for?"

"So McGonagall started it up again."

"Saved me a couple of hours work."

"Harry's got a house elf to do his ironing," said Olive.

"Two, actually," said Harry, embarrassed again.

"Two?" asked Dean in surprise.

"Long story," said Harry briefly.

"What's one of them?" asked Mrs Thomas.

"They're funny little things that do all the housework for you. Just like me," said Olive.

"Oh."

To change the subject, Harry asked: "So you never guessed you were a wizard, Dean? Never did anything when you were younger?"

"Well, yeah. I'd be running from the gangs and I'd disappear round corners. Never knew how I did it, though. Nor did they, and they gave up after a time."

"Did you always know you were magical?" Mrs Thomas asked Harry.

"No," said Harry. "My aunt and uncle hid it from me. But I did things from time to time, just like Dean. Then one day Hagrid turned up. You've met Hagrid," he told Olive. "That really big bloke."

"The one you don't argue with?"

"Something like that."

Suddenly Harry heard a key in the door, and a voice shout: "I'm home!"

"Dad, if you hadn't guessed," said Dean.

Harry stood up as Mr Thomas came into the room. He looked rather tired, but smiled at Harry and said: "You must be Harry."

"Yeah."

"Dean's been telling us about you."

"Don't believe any of it," said Harry automatically.

"Good day?" asked Dean's mother.

"Not bad. A couple of good runs out to Heathrow. Nice rich Americans - tipped well." He turned to Harry. "The best are those who are flying out and want to get rid of their spare pounds."

Harry grinned. "Sounds good."

"Yeah." He turned to his wife. "What's for supper?"

"Lamb casserole." Mr Thomas lifted his eyebrows. "We've a guest," she said, nodding at Harry, who felt uncomfortable again.

"Oh, right. Fine by me. Just going for a wash."

Harry didn't know what to say next, but fortunately Dean broke the silence.

"Harry's been in the paper," he told his Mum.

"Oh, yes?"

"Tell us about it, Harry."

If anything, Harry felt even more uncomfortable. "Well, Ron and I got to work with some trainee Aurors."

Dean's eyes went round. "Wow," he breathed.

"Aurors?" asked Olive.

"Sort of wizard policemen," Harry told her.

"And more," said Dean. "Go on."

"Well, we were sent off to get rid of some Dementors - and found ourselves ambushed."

"Dementors?" asked Olive again.

"You don't wanna know," said Dean. "But they're nasty - very nasty."

"There was a bit of confusion," said Harry tactfully, "and Ron and me saw them off."

"What happened then?"

"We were moved from the Aurors' Department after all the publicity in the Prophet. It was all a bit embarrassing for them."

Mr Thomas came back, which saved Harry from having to tell them about the goblins. Then Mrs Thomas sat them all round the table - there wasn't much room in the small flat - and came in with supper. It was good.

After a while, Mr Thomas turned to Harry. "So, tell us about Dean."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, confused.

"How's he getting on at that school of yours? I mean, we get reports and that, but we've never been there or spoken to the teachers or anything like that."

Harry didn't know quite what to say, and looked across the table to Dean, who had his eyes on his plate. "Dean - well, he's good. I mean, not top of the class or anything, but he copes with it all, and gets on with everyone."

Dean looked up gratefully.

"And this job of his - what's all that about?"

"Good career if you ask me," said Harry. "I mean, people will always need wands." He realised how foolish that sounded as soon as he'd said it. "I mean ..."

"Yeah, I get your meaning. I think. You all have to have wands, right?"

"To do magic, yeah. And some wands are better than others."

"We went along to that shop once, when Dean was starting there," said Mrs Thomas. Harry was taken aback - it was difficult to imagine more Muggle like folk that the Thomases, and the thought of them in a wand shop ...

"That fellow Ollivander - bit creepy, isn't he?" said Mr Thomas.

Harry remembered going in there for the first time, and his meeting with the strange man who seemed to know all about him.

"He's - well, he's one of the best. Wand makers, that is."

Mr Thomas grunted. There was a silence.

"No football at that school of yours then?" asked Olive.

Harry was glad of the change of subject. "No - we have another game, though. Played on broomsticks."

Mr Thomas screwed his face up. "Broomsticks?" Harry nodded. "I mean - that's for real? When Dean told us about it, I thought he was having us on."

"Oh, no," said Harry. "Genuine broomsticks."

"Harry's got a really good one," said Dean.

"Yeah, well, it was a present."

"Where is it?" asked Olive.

"At home."

"Could you go and get it?" she asked, her eyes shining.

Mr Thomas snorted. "How's he going to do that?"

"He can - what is it, Dean?"

"Apparate."

"Apparate," said Mr Thomas flatly. "What's that then?"

"Go on, Harry, show us."

Harry felt like a circus exhibit. "Er ..."

"He might not want to," said Dean quickly.

"No, it's okay. Do you mind if I leave the table for a moment?" he asked Mrs Thomas.

"No, go ahead," she told him, slightly startled.

He stood in the middle of the room, conscious of all the eyes on him. Then he Apparated to his room, fumbled in the cupboard for the Firebolt, and returned. Mr Thomas was sitting open mouthed.

"What did you do just then?" he breathed.

"Went back home."

"How?"

"Well," Harry shrugged, "it's one way of getting about. If you're a wizard, that is."

Mr Thomas looked at Harry, then slowly across to Dean. "Can you do that?"

"Not yet," Dean told him. "But Mr. Ollivander said he'd pay for me to get the licence. I'll be able to do it after that."

Mr Thomas stared at him open mouthed. Harry suddenly realised how little Mr Thomas had taken in about Dean being a wizard.

Olive was more interested in the broom. "Can I see it?"

"Sure." He passed it over to her. "But be careful with it."

Everyone gazed at Olive as she inspected the Firebolt. Finally she turned to Dean. "You got one of these?"

"Nah. I use one of the school brooms."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. "So you can't take me for a ride then?"

"Not on one of those." She giggled and nudged him in the ribs. "Wait until Ollivander starts paying me properly."

"Yeah. When's that?"

"When I leave school at the end of this year."

Olive looked at Harry. "Can you fly it for us?"

"Not here," he said firmly.

"Where then?"

Harry looked across to Dean. "Ask Ron if you can visit the Burrow."

"D'you reckon he would?"

"Yeah. Don't see why not."

"Ron?" broke in Mrs Thomas.

"Ron Weasley. He's in our year. They're a real wizard family."

"Really?" said Olive excitedly. "Can you ask him, Dean?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

Harry could see Dean was a little reluctant. "I'm sure it'd be fine."

"You reckon?"

"Yeah. You know Ron. Tell him you'll show him the sights of London again."

"Not round here, mate."

"Well, you must know some places."

"Maybe."

Mr Thomas interrupted them. "So you really fly on those things," looking at the Firebolt.

"I told you, Dad," said Dean. "Harry's a really good Quidditch player."

"Quidditch?"

"It's a game played on brooms," said Harry.

"You know," Mr Thomas said, "I remember that woman showing us the ironing and so on, but I didn't really think ..."

Harry knew that Dean wouldn't have been able to show his parents any magic before, since he'd been underage.

"It's all true, Mr Thomas."

"You've never shown us anything like that," his father said to Dean.

Dean looked uncomfortable. "Yeah, well, I couldn't. Under age then. Wasn't allowed to do magic outside school."

"And you are now?"

"Yeah."

"Show us something then."

Dean looked at Harry, but Harry looked straight back. Dean sighed. "I'll just get my wand," and he went to his room for a moment. He came back clutching it, looked at Harry for a moment, then picked up a plate from the table, and smashed it. His parents yelped.

Dean pointed his wand. "Reparo."

The plate became whole again. Mr Thomas stared at it for a long time then at Dean.

"How did you do that?" he whispered.

Dean shrugged. "Magic, innit?"

"But I saw it break."

"And I fixed it."

Mr Thomas turned to Harry. "You can all do this - all the people at that school of yours?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Mr Thomas."

Dean pointed his wand at a glass of water. "Vereverto."

The glass became a green parakeet. It blinked, looked round, gave a loud squawk, and began to unfurl its wings ready for flight. Dean hastily changed it back.

Dean's mother was sitting as if transfixed. Dean's father was shaking his head. Olive, on the other hand, was taking it all in her stride. Harry had a sudden insight into the mind of Muggles - how they might be terrified of magic, and for a moment he almost felt empathy with the Dursleys. Mr Thomas was obviously frightened of the powers his son had acquired - but probably would accept them because it was his son. What would have happened if Mr Thomas had just been shown this by someone he'd never met before?

Dean was standing by the table slightly crestfallen by his father's reaction. Finally Mr Thomas turned to Harry and said with an effort: "So Dean has been learning all these things at this school of yours?" Harry nodded. Mr Thomas looked at him for a long time. "Can you, well, do whatever you want?"

"Not really. I mean, if you put your mind to it you could probably invent new spells. What Dean did there is fairly standard stuff."

"Standard stuff, eh?" whispered Mr Thomas. He turned back to his son. "I'll never not believe you again."

Dean gave a tentative smile. "I'm sorry, Dad. I mean, I wasn't allowed to do stuff out of school when I was younger. And I suppose I'm just used to this stuff by now, so," he shrugged, "it doesn't seem strange to me any more. It was when I first started, but not now."

Mr Thomas was still looking bewildered. "It's still hard to get my head round it." Finally he made an effort to pull himself together. Then he turned to Harry. "Where you live - everyone's a wizard?"

"At home? There's just me and someone else there."

Olive piped up. "The other bloke's a werewolf."

There was a horrified silence.

"A werewolf?" Mr Thomas whispered.

Dean nodded quietly. "Yeah. But he's a good bloke."

Harry came in hastily. "Look, if you want to see a proper wizarding family, we ought to arrange for you to meet the Weasleys. They're really nice people."

Mr Thomas shook his head. "I'll pass on that one."

Dean looked across to Harry. There was not a lot he could say to comfort him. Obviously Mr Thomas had had some idea of what Dean had been learning, but it hadn't really sunk in. Until now, that is.

"Um .. Mr Thomas?" Harry began.

"Yes?"

"This has all been something of a shock, hasn't it?"

Mr Thomas shook his head again. "You could say that. I mean," - he floundered for words for a moment - "yeah, that woman came, and did those tricks, and I was a bit worried about Dean going off to some school I'd never heard of, but I thought it was better than being round here. I mean, the local schools are rubbish." Dean was watching his father carefully. "But I suppose I didn't really think that Dean - well, doing all that stuff ..."

"There's a lot more I can do than that, Dad," Dean said quietly.

Mr Thomas pushed his chair away from the table and looked at his son. "I suppose there is. Brooms, wands ... I don't know."

"You see, Dean, your father and I have never really talked about it," said Mrs Thomas quietly. "I suppose I was expecting something - but not quite like this."

Dean gave them the best smile he could. "I'm going to be in a good job. And I know you want to move out of here."

"We'll still see you?"

"Yeah. I mean, I can live at home and still work at Ollivanders. Mind you ..." he glanced down to Olive.

"Plans, have you, you two?"

They both looked a little uncomfortable. "Maybe," Dean muttered.

"Well, you haven't finished at that school of yours anyway."

"I know. There's another year to go."

"A year's a long time," said Mrs Thomas practically. "Anyway, if you want to take Harry and Olive to your room, I think your father and I want to talk."

Dean nodded. Harry and Olive followed him, and Dean shut the door of the little bedroom behind them.

"Wow," he said. "I didn't think they'd be like that."

"But they must have known," said Harry.

"Well, yeah, but you know we're not allowed to do magic in the holidays ..." - Harry certainly knew that, from bitter experience - "... and, well," he shrugged again, "I would come home, and put all my stuff in the trunk, and we wouldn't talk about it. I didn't even tell Olive until we went to that party of yours."

"And that was some surprise, I can tell you," said Olive.

"It must have been," said Harry. "What do you think they'll say? Your parents, I mean."

"No idea," said Dean frankly. "But I can understand now why some Muggles get really frightened. The look on my dad's face when you disappeared like that ..."

"I wish I was magical too," said Olive wistfully. "Imagine. Just popping home for something like you did then."

"Not always as simple as that," said Harry. "Yeah, you can do all sorts of things. But there are some very nasty things lurking out there. Ask Dean about Dementors sometime."

Dean shuddered. "Don't remind me."

"Dementors?"

"Really nasty horrible frightening - well, I'll tell you later."

"By the way, I suppose I can tell you now - the Ministry's organising a big Dementor hunt, starting tomorrow."

"What?"

"They've been hanging round Muggle towns, and after that attack the other day ..."

"The one where you saved everyone?" asked Olive.

"Well, something like that. You see, the woman in charge got distracted, and they were getting closer and closer. So ..."

"How many were there?"

"Didn't stop to count. Ron was good too - he produced a really good Patronus."

"A what?" asked Olive, screwing up her nose.

"A charm which scares them off," Harry told her.

"You said a hunt - do you mean a real hunt?" Dean asked.

Harry nodded. "Yeah. To get rid of them once and for all."

"Not going to be easy."

"Well, we'll see, I suppose."

"Yeah."

The conversation ground to a halt.

But Harry noticed that Dean was still looking worried. "Look, do you two really want to come to Ron's this weekend?"

"Oh, yes, please," said Olive before Dean had time to open his mouth.

"Well, if you can get hold of some of that special Floo stuff tomorrow in Diagon Alley, you could use my fireplace. And you can send an owl to Ron while you're there. He'd be glad to see you. Providing you don't talk about him and London."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, I reckon I could do that," he said eventually.

"You better send me a note too," said Harry, "when you've sorted things, telling me when you're coming. You won't find the house otherwise."

"Okay. And, look, Harry," Dean said awkwardly, "I'm sorry about tonight and ..."

"You don't have to tell me. I spent sixteen years with Muggles who hated the thought of anything to do with magic."

"Yeah. Even so."

"Look, I'd better be getting back."

"Okay."

"But I'd better say thanks to your mum and goodbye to your dad."

"Yeah - I suppose."

Mr and Mrs Thomas were sitting on the settee when they went back in; it was dark outside now, but the curtains were still open. Harry could see the lights of London blazing out to the horizon.

"Thank you for the supper, Mrs Thomas," Harry said formally. All those meetings with goblins was beginning to rub off. "And it was good to have met you," he said to Dean's father.

Mr Thomas stood up, a slightly rueful smile on his face. "I'm sorry - I must have seemed rude."

"The first time it really sunk home?"

Mr Thomas nodded. "Something like that."

Harry told them both: "Dean's done well at Hogwarts. It couldn't have been easy for him, going there knowing nothing about it."

"Well, it's good to know that. Thanks, Harry."

And Mr Thomas reached out a hand. Harry took it, and they solemnly shook hands.

"How are you getting back?" asked Mrs Thomas, and then put her hand to her mouth as she realised she'd asked rather a stupid question.

"Do you mind if I Apparate?"

"No, that's fine," she said.

But Mr Thomas asked: "What exactly do you do when you - well, whatever it was?"

"Apparate? Well, you can't describe it. You've got to know where you're going, of course, and you've got to know how that relates to where you are. And then you think about where you're going, and ... well, you just get there."

"You just get there," repeated Mr Thomas.

"Yeah. I mean, I couldn't describe in words how it's done - it's more of a knack really."

"Well," said Mr Thomas, "just as well everyone can't do it, or I'd be out of a job."

"Let the lad go, Wayne," said Mrs Thomas.

"Yeah, okay. I hope you'll come back sometime. Maybe tell me more about it."

"I will," promised Harry. "Bye all. Thanks again." Then he moved to a clear spot in the room, clutched his Firebolt, and ... he was back in Grimmauld Place.