Do You Believe in Magic?

Dean Thomas

************

Dean Thomas dribbled his soccer ball down the street after playing in the park, on his way home. He was in a very good mood. He had won an art competition and his eleventh birthday was today. Grinning, Dean entered the flat he lived in with his parents. He grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl sitting on the piano, and peeled it while bouncing the ball on his head.

"Don't do that, dear. You might break something, " his mother said absently.

"Hullo, Mum. Guess what? I won the Community art competition for my age group! Isn't that great?" He laughed. " Anything interesting happen today besides the celebration of my birth?" Dean asked.

His mother looked around nervously. "You have received a . . . letter."

Dean brightened at this. "Really? From who? Where is it? I want to read it."

"NO!" his mother shrieked.

Dean gave her a confused look.

Mrs. Thomas bit her bottom lip and took a calming breath. "I mean . . . no. I'm sorry Dean. You can not have the letter."

"Why not?"

His mother gave him a hard look, "You can not have the letter because it is fastened to the talons of an owl."

Her son lifted an eyebrow. "Oh," he said thoughtfully, "that's a good reason."

**********

Dean and his mother waited for Mr. Thomas to get home from work.

Mrs. Thomas greeted her husband at the door. "Dear," she said, while taking her husband's coat, "there is an owl inside Dean's room."

Mr. Thomas looked at his wife with disbelief, "Why didn't you just open the door and shoo it out?" The man clearly did not believe his wife, "Darling, owls don't come out in the daytime, and they don't come into people's houses."

His wife glared at him.

"Fine," he sighed and went towards his son's room.

"Mom, why didn't you just chase the owl outside," Dean asked, as the family trooped down the hall and halted in front of a door.

"I tried," Mrs. Thomas said exasperatedly, "the owl just would not go."

Mr. Thomas chuckled and slowly opened the door. He peered in, stared for a few seconds, and slammed the door closed.

"What? What?" his family cried in alarm.

Mr. Thomas turned slowly to face them. "You left the window open . . ."

"Oh! You mean the owl left by itself, then," Mrs. Thomas sighed, closing her eyes in relief.

Dean felt a pang of disappointment. His mother had refused to let him enter the room, so he never had the chance to see the owl or the letter.

"That's not exactly what is in there," his father slowly admitted. Dean looked up with excitement and his mother sank to the floor.

"What's in there," Dean asked.

"There are over twenty owls in that room."

Dean's jaw dropped and his mother moaned.

"What if they all have some kind of disease?" she asked in despair, holding her head in her hands.

His father continued, ignoring his family's reaction to his most recent information.

"The strangest thing is, that they are all carrying letters - and all of them are addressed to Dean." Both parents looked at their son.

"Then I guess we have no choice but to catch an owl and open a letter," Dean said gleefully. He rushed forward to the door, ignoring his mother pleas to stop, and opened it. He stumbled back as owl after owl flew out towards the living room. Mrs. Thomas shrieked and her husband pulled her behind him, using his body as a shield. Dean reached out for the closest owl and stroked its feathers.

"Dean, do be careful," his mother quaked, twirling a strand of her black hair around a finger - a sure sign that she was nervous.

"Don't worry, Mum," Dean soothed, still petting the creature. The owl, preening under the attention, lifted it leg. Still caressing the bird, Dean quickly unfastened the letter. He opened he note and scanned it, "Dad! Come look at this!"

His father reluctantly took the note and read it. He paused.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"It can't be," Dean gesticulated wildly, "look at the owls and the amount of paper. Who would hire so many to deliver so many letters from a place called Hogwarts?!"

The family looked around in silence, staring at the owls.

Suddenly there was a small pop and a tiny man appeared on top of the piano.

**********

The Thomas's screamed.

In response, the little man squealed and fell off the piano.

"Honestly," he muttered, reappearing on the instrument, "I never was much good at Apparating."

Mrs. Thomas, who until that very moment, seemed weak and fragile, became very animated. With a loud screech, she wrenched a lamp sitting on a nearby table out of its socket and lunged towards the stranger, knocking him in the head with it.

With a squeak, the man disappeared again.

"Mum . . .wow . . . " Dean stuttered, "I didn't know you had it in you."

His father looked dazed, but was gaping at his wife with amazement.

Mrs. Thomas flipped her hair out of her sweaty face. She gave her family a wobbly grin, "Yeah, well."

"Oooooohhhh . . . that's going to leave a mark." The tiny man got up shakily, having just reappeared.

Mrs. Thomas hauled up the lamp up threateningly.

"EXPELLIARIMUS!" shouted the little man.

Mrs. Thomas dropped the lamp as she was lifted off the ground and hurled against a wall. Mr. Thomas darted forward, and the stranger lifted a thin piece of wood and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!" Dean's father tumbled to the floor, stiff as a board.

Dean stared in amazement and hastily backed away as the short man turned to him.

"You leave my son alone," Mrs. Thomas called, wincing in pain, "don't you dare touch him!" The small man tutted to himself.

"Why do I always wind up with the difficult ones? Minerva told me all about her meeting with the Grangers - she had no problems with them! And Albus wants to send Hagrid to The Boy Who Lived! Why is it I am the one who returns to Hogwarts sporting the latest fashion in bruises?"

"Excuse me," Dean interrupted, fascination written clearly on his face. Curiosity, instead of safety, had gotten the better of him. "How did you do that? I mean with that stick?"

The small man paused in his ranting. "Young man," he replied seriously, "this is a wand."

Dean's eyes widened, "Wicked," he breathed.

His mother, who had crawled up behind him, pulled her son against her chest, "Dean, there is nothing wicked about this situation. There is a stranger who sounds like he is on helium, standing in our house." She edged away, pulling Dean with her.

"Let me introduce myself," the stranger said. "My name is Filius Flitwick. I am a professor at a boarding school known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."

Dean leaned forward. "Hogwarts? The place where all these letters keep coming from?"

"Yes. The very one." Flitwick smiled at the boy, but looked sternly at the adults. "Now, if we could just talk like civilized people, there will not be any problems." He surveyed them. "Do you agree with me?"

Mrs. Thomas looked at Dean who was nodding energetically, "Yes, Mum! Oh, yes! Let's listen to him! Please?" - To her husband, still prostrate on the floor, his eyes pleading. Mrs. Thomas sighed. "Alright," she reluctantly said.

Flitwick beamed. "Wonderful! Ennervate!"

With a groan, Mr. Thomas slowly sat up. His wife ran to him, showering him with hugs and kisses. "Darling, are you alright?"

"Yes. my dear, I'm fine. Shhh," he held his wife to him, warily watching Flitwick, who had made himself comfortable on the sofa, his impossibly short legs sticking stiffly out in front of him. "Who are you and what do you want with Dean?"

"Your son is a wizard, Mr. Thomas."

There was absolute silence as Dean and Mr. and Mrs. Thomas digested what had just been said.

Mrs. Thomas sniffled. "Mr. Flitwick --"

"Call me Filius, dear."

"Filius . . . what are you talking about? Who are you, really?"

"I told you. I am a professor at Hogwarts. I teach Charms - a specialized area of magic."

"But there is no such thing like magic. It is impossible --"

"My dear woman," Flitwick interrupted gently, "if there is no such thing as magic, explain how someone as small as me was able to throw you against the wall? How was I able to paralyze your husband with a stick, as you are so set in calling it?"

Mrs. Thomas could not answer. She just stood there, twisting her hair around her fingers. Her husband patted her on the back and steered her towards a chair. Then, he turned to the professor in front of him.

"How do we know this is not just some elaborate scheme? My brother did say that he was going to do something big for Dean's birthday."

Dean jumped. He had forgotten that he had turned eleven that day with all the excitement that had happened.

"If this was some elaborate hoax for young Mr. Thomas, tell me how I was able to do all those things? When I petrified you, did you not feel that you could not move? You felt frozen in place. If this was a practical joke, then you probably would have been informed about it by your brother." Flitwick observed the Thomas's skeptical faces and sighed. "I can tell neither of you are really certain to believe me. If I show you magic, then you will know for real that I am telling the truth."

"All right!" Dean smiled broadly and Flitwick winked at him.

Why is it, Flitwick thought, that children are always easier to convert? You tell them that magic is real and they believe you right away?

Flitwick looked around the room. He focused on a chair, raised his tiny arm, then muttered two words: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The single piece of furniture began to rise into the air.

"Good, sweet Lord in Heaven," Mrs. Thomas breathed. "How did you do that?"

"Blimey! That's mind-boggling! Will I be able to do that one day?" Dean exclaimed, "Mum! I must go to that school! I have to!" His mother had started to tremble again, so Dean turned to his father beseeching him. " Dad, please make Mum let me go to Hogwarts! Please! I promise to be good!"

Slowly, Mr. Thomas approached the levitating chair. He walked around it a few times and prodded it cautiously. "There's nothing holding it up," he whispered, "no ropes, no riggings . . . nothing. This - this is extraordinary!" He turned to the professor. "It's real," he gasped, rubbing his chin in wonder. "It is actually real. There is such a thing as magic!" He laughed and shook his head. Then he turned towards his son and bowed.

"My son. Dean Thomas, what is the word? Oh yes, Dean Thomas, wizard extraordinaire." Mr. Thomas seemed to be getting a kick out of that. He roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "My boy is going to learn magic." He grabbed his son roughly to him and ruffled the boy's hair. "My boy . . ." he trailed off, pride evident in his voice.

Flitwick smiled and Dean grinned. All three men turned to the solitary woman in the flat.

Dean walked over to her. "Mum . . . Mum? What is the matter? You do see that magic does exist, don't you? This entire day has been evidence of its existence," he took his mother's hands and hugged her. "Mother," he asked sadly, "does this really scare you? I won't go to the school if you don't want me to. Professor Flitwick can tell them I won't go."

Mrs. Thomas clung tighter to her only child and sniffled.

Dean felt horrible. His mother was a weeping mess and all he could think about was getting a wand and going to a school that he had never heard of until that day...

"Oh, Dean", Mrs. Thomas said softly, "I'm not lamenting over your being a . . . a wizard. I'm crying because I am happy for you." Mrs. Thomas pulled away from her son, so she could look him straight in the eye. "Dean, darling, I, well, we - we are going to miss you. Hogwarts," she paused, letting the foreign word roll of her tongue, "Hogwarts is a boarding school. We have never seen it. We have never even heard of it, and suddenly you are going to be whisked off to learn how to become a wizard." Mrs. Thomas gave her son a watery smile.

Dean's heart leapt, "Do you mean it?" he asked, half afraid his mother would change her mind. "You really don't mind my going off to Hogwarts?"

"Darling, I want you to be happy, and you seem pretty happy right now," she wiped her eyes with the edge of her sweater, straightened her dress, and stood up. "Mr. Flitwick --"

He smiled, "Filius, dear."

"Right. Filius, we would be honored if you took our son into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." She gave them an unsteady smile, which was returned to her threefold.

"Well, now that we are all in agreement," Flitwick beamed, "let us get down to business." He lowered the chair gently to the floor and faced the Thomas's, Dean in particular. "Do you still have the papers from Hogwarts?"

The boy nodded, ran off to gather the documents, and promptly returned, parchments in hand. He handed them over to his parents.

"Do you agree with the terms?" Dean's parents nodded, after Flitwick explained the cost of the school year by converting galleons to pounds. Excellent," the minuscule man said in a high voice. He extracted a sheet and wrote:

I have talked to Dean Thomas and his family. They have agreed that Dean is to come to Hogwarts.

He folded the sheet, muttered a quick spell so that an eagle appeared on one side, and looked around for an owl. He quickly tied the letter to the closest one and threw it out the window. "Now that we have gotten that out of the way, there are a few unresolved matters."

"Yes, there are. Where are we going to get robes, cauldrons, and a wand," Mr. Thomas asked. "I doubt we can go to the nearest store and say `Pardon me, but my child is in need of a wand and a broom.'"

Flitwick nodded, "That is why the Headmaster has instructed me to take you to Diagon Alley. That's the place where the magical people around here do their shopping. It's too late this evening, as it's after eight, but are you doing anything important tomorrow?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Thomas answered. He looked at his family, "Are you?"

They shook their heads no in response.

"Wonderful!" Flitwick exclaimed. "In that case, we should all be able to take a tour of Diagon Alley. I will meet you all here at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Would you like to travel to Diagon Alley by the Muggle way or the magic way?"

"Muggle? What's a Muggle?" Mrs. Thomas asked.

"Muggles are non magical people, like you and your husband. Now, which way?"

"Magic," Dean answered quickly. He wanted to gain knowledge of magic as much as possible before school opened in September. His parents must have agreed with their son's logic because they didn't argue.

"All right," Flitwick chirped. He smiled and shook Dean's, Mrs. Thomas's, and Mr. Thomas's hands. Flitwick stood back. "I will see you tomorrow. Goodbye for now," and with a little pop, he was gone.

**********

Dean paced quickly in the living room, nervously checking the clock. The clock, at ten - oh - three was getting rather loud.

Tick tock. . .tick tock . . . tick tock.

Professor Flitwick is real, Dean thought. I could not have dreamed up that whole meeting yesterday, right? Right?

Tick tock . . . tick tock . . . tick tock.

Mum and Dad did agree to let me go to the school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am going to be a wizard. I need to get my school supplies for first year.

Tick tock . . . tick tock . . . tick tock

Too bad first years are not allowed to bring brooms. I would have liked carrying a flying broom about. Interesting, I always thought witches were the only ones who flew on brooms. I wonder how hard it is going to be to learn magic . . .

Tick tock. . . tick tock . . . tick tock

He is coming right? Of course he is.

Dean tossed a glance at his parents who were both sitting wordlessly on the couch.

There was a miniscule pop and a tiny voice piped up, "Sorry I'm late. There was a slight problem with one of the teachers helping a Muggle born witch and her family."

"Oh. Is everything all right?" Mr. Thomas asked, as he and his spouse stood up.

"Oh, yes, yes. Everything is perfectly fine," Flitwick said. "Now, you all decided that you want to travel to Diagon Alley like true witches and wizards. Witches are good," he added hastily, as he saw Mrs. Thomas' sour look at being called a witch.

"He obviously has never been here on Halloween," she muttered to her husband, so that Flitwick would not overhear, "being called a witch is not normally what I would take as a compliment."

"This," the tiny professor held up a sock, "is a Portkey."

There was absolute silence after that.

"Nooo," Mr. Thomas said slowly and deliberately, "that is a sock. One with many holes in it."

"Yes, it is a sock," Flitwick agreed, "but it is more than that. When magic people need to get somewhere quickly, they can charm an object to transport them. A Portkey will take you to a particular place at a designated time. Portkeys are normally made from objects that are often ignored by Muggles. Mr. Thomas, if you saw this sock on the ground, without knowing what it did, would you pick it up?" Mr. Thomas shook his head. "Exactly. Now quickly touch the sock. We must get a move on."

Dean and his parents each stood in the middle of the room and put a hand the sock. He felt a bit embarrassed, and by the looks on his parents faces, he was not the only one. The only one who looked perfectly serene was Flitwick.

"Um, professor," Dean started, "are you sure the Portkey is work --" his sentence was cut off by a sudden jerk behind his navel and he disappeared along with his family and teacher.

**********

His bottom hurt.

Dean slowly opened one eye. Then he opened the other eye. He and his mother were sprawled on the ground. His father had managed to land standing, but was staggering around a bit. Professor Flitwick, was once again, the only person calm about the entire thing.

"We're here," Flitwick announced, "inside a small place called The Leaky Cauldron. A pub invisible to Muggles who know nothing about this world."

"Come now, Dean," his father grunted, bending to help his wife off the ground. "People are staring."

"Hullo, Filius," the bartender said. "Another Muggle family comin' for their Hogwarts supplies?"

"Yes, Tom," Flitwick answered. "I must thank you once again for letting your pub be used as a stop area before getting into Diagon Alley." The bartender grinned and the customers went back to what they were doing originally.

Professor Flitwick led the Thomases to the rear of the tavern and out the back door, where they stopped in front of a large brick wall. "Stand back," Flitwick murmured a spell and rose into the air. He got as close to the wall as possible and tapped his wand against the wall in certain places, then floated back down as the wall began to move and rebuild.

Dean heard his father gasp, his mother wring her fingers, and he, himself, gulped. Flitwick smiled, "Dean, Mr. Thomas. Mrs. Thomas. Welcome, to Diagon Alley," the land in front of them, swarmed with people in robes and pointy hats. The Thomas's and the professor walked to Gringotts, a bank run by goblins. "Come quickly. You don't want to get lost on your very first visit!" Flitwick turned to the Dean after they had stepped out of the wizarding bank. "Dean, it is up to you. What would you like to get first?" Dean looked at the small man in front of him and up at all the shops surrounding him.

"I want to get my wand, first," Dean admitted. The Charms teacher grinned.

"This way to Ollivander's," the Thomas's followed the tiny man into a shabby store titled: Ollivander: Maker of Fine Wands. The group stepped inside, ignoring the bells that chimed to announce their presence.

"Hullo," an old man said softly, "Hmmmm. I haven't seen anyone from your lineage for a very long time." He hobbled closer, staring deeply into Dean`s eyes. The boys fidgeted.

As he hobbled to the back of the store to bring out thin boxes, a charmed tape measure flew at Dean and began to measure his arm and other various body parts. Flitwick did not object, so Dean did not say anything, even though he wasn't too happy having his left nostril measured. Ollivander returned, carrying loads of small packages with him. He grabbed the measuring tape and dragged Dean closer to the front of the store. Ollivander opened the closest parcel.

"Here," he said and thrust the wand into Dean's hand, "give it a good wave."

Dean lifted his arm, but Ollivander snatched the wand from him.

"No, that isn't right," he shoved another wand into the boy's hand. Dean eagerly raised his arm and the wand was swept away from him. They spent the next ten minutes searching for the right wand. Dean was getting more excited, but his parents sighed with weariness.

Finally, Ollivander brought out one more wand. He gave it reverently to Dean.

"Do you want me to swish it about?" Dean asked, unused to Ollivander giving him a wand without promptly taking it away. The old man nodded, a thoughtful look upon his face. Dean swished the wand and felt warm and contented. He dropped his arm and turned to his parents.

They stood eyes wide open.

"What?" he asked.

"You glowed," his mother replied.

Ollivander nodded. "Yes. That is the wand for you, young Mr. Thomas. Nine and a half inches, rosewood and fairy hair. I haven't used fairy hair in quite some time; it's rather temperamental, but I believe it suits you."

"Wicked," Dean exhaled, his eyes fixated on the wand. They paid for the wand and left the store. Dean glanced at his mother, who seemed more relaxed and having a discussion with the charms professor.

Professor Flitwick and the Thomas's wandered around Diagon Alley, speaking excitedly and pointing out various aspects of the magical community.

"Look, Mum! Can I have a golden cauldron?"

"The school list says to get a pewter one."

"Well, I'll be. An actual broomstick! A real flying broomstick!"

"Oh yes! The first year students will learn how to fly them. Not top of the line models like the Nimbus 2000, but older brooms."

The group spent the rest of the day there. By the time they Portkeyed back, the Thomas's were exhausted.

Flitwick gave them a cheery farewell. "See you at Hogwarts!" he said, and Apparated away.

Dean smiled. Tired as he was, he could not wait to start Hogwarts.

********** (September 1st)

The Thomas's were on Platform 9 and 3/4 at Kings Cross Station. They had gotten onto the wizarding platform rather easily, by the fact Filius Flitwick left them detailed instructions on how to get on the hidden platform.

"Goodbye, Dean," his mother fussed, hugging him tightly.

"Make us proud, son," his father added, clapping the boy on the back. Dean kissed his parents. "We shall see you during winter break." Dean nodded and pulled away. He had a train to catch.

**********

"Potter, Harry."

Dean listened to gasps of amazement from the other Hogwarts students, old and new.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

Dean watched a thin boy with messy black hair that obscured an odd scar on his forehead, walk up to the stool and put the Sorting Hat on. Dean did not see what the big deal was about for the first year, and did not understand why the Gryffindor table suddenly came to life when the Sorting Hat put Harry in that House.

A lot of people went into that House tonight, Dean thought, but that table is going crazy over Harry Potter. His thoughts were cut off by the next person called to be sorted.

"Thomas, Dean."

Adrenaline pumping through his body, Dean ran up to the stool and eagerly jammed the Hat upon his head. A voice filled his head, making him jump a bit.

"Hmmm . . . I see your compassion. You were willing to go to a Muggle school for the sake of your mother, were you? I don't see you in this house...or this one, but you do have lots of courage in you. My, this might be one of my easier Sortings. You belong in GRYFFINDOR!"

The Gryffindor table roared with applause; Dean went to the table and sat next to a first year boy with sandy hair. The remaining people were sorted into their respective houses.

The boy next to him spoke up, "Hullo, My name is Seamus Finnigan. I'm half and half. Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch `til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." Those around laughed appreciatively and conversation flowed. Seamus turned towards Dean. "What about you?" he asked.

"Both my parents are Muggles. I didn't know I was a wizard until Professor Flitwick popped into my home." Dean shrugged. "I hope I'm not too far behind everyone else."

Seamus grinned, "Don't worry about it. Even though some of us know things about the magical world, this is our first time actually training. We're all in the same boat."

After dinner and the school song was sang, the first years were led to their common rooms. Dean put on his pajamas and fell into the bed. As he drifted off to sleep, his last thought was:

I'm going to really like it here at Hogwarts.