Doubting Thomas

Chapter 3 - Another Day, Another Room

Thomas Duncan woke to the starched white comfort of a almost-too-small bed in what appeared to be a medieval hospital. The odd gothic architecture told him he was in that humongous castle he saw from a distance while at Hogsmeade.

Hogsmeade! "Still not a dream, then." Wincing at a dull pain in the back of his head, he sat up. A woman's voice, old yet comforting, was approaching from the far end of the room.

"Good morning, Mr. Duncan. Sorry we couldn't do anything for that headache of yours, but well..." She seemed puzzled, and the odd little stick of wood in her apron comfirmed his fears, with a twinge of unease. A magic nurse, he thought. And she's worried, since that mumbo-jumbo doesn't work on me.

Wearily, Thomas pointed to his clothes and backpack, which were stacked neatly in a chair opposite his bed. "My shaving, kit, please, miz..."

"Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey." She retrieved the small black bag he indicated, then watched curiously as he took a white bottle from the pack and shook out three small tablets, then swallowing them with some water from the glass beside his bed. "I'm the head nurse here at Hogwarts." Her gentle look turned stony for a minute. "But after threatening Professor Snape like that, you're lucky all you got was a bump on the head from Hagrid!"

Thomas winced as her words made him remember the previous day. >Magic, he thought, recalling the men on brooms, the lights shot from little wooden wands, and that huge shaggy man with the deep, deep voice. An entire school of magic, in the middle of Scotland! While he waited for the aspirin to clear his head, he took inventory of his belongings. The tidy nature of his backpack was a clear giveaway that it had been searched, and then cleaned up. However, everything was still there, including the Wayfarer system. Unfolding the mini-solar panel, he set it in the window to charge the laptop's batteries, then put on the headset and booted the system.

<>

<>

<>

Sighing in frustration, he switched the system to "Local only", and typed in a brief outline of everything he could remember. If I ever get back to the States, maybe it'll make a good book... When he finally switched the headset off, Madam Pomfrey was gone, but he could hear her talking in the next room to someone whose voice he couldn't hear.

"But, Headmaster! What are we to do with him? Surely he can't stay in Hogwarts! What will the parents say when their children send them owls saying there's a Muggle staying on school grounds? Especially the Slytherin children..."

Thomas couldn't understand half the words she was using, but it was clear that Headmaster... Dumbledore, was it? Yeah, that's it. Dumbledore's plan for keeping him here to study his so-called "gift" wouldn't go over well with the students.

It's like some kind of miniature civilization, Thomas mused. This place sounded like a story from some sci-fi novel he'd read once, a whole world hidden from "normal" people, that worked on magic. But that had been underground, with creatures that weren't human. This, was something different altogether.

As if on cue, the two people came into the Hospital Wing, and Thomas could see that it was Professor Dumbledore, followed by Madam Pomfrey.

"Morning, Professor. Um, look, I heard her talking about what a ruckus the kids might make if they saw me here, and I don't want to cause any trouble, so maybe I'd better go. Can't say it hasn't been fun, though, but..."

Dumbledore smiled. "Under any other circumstance, I'd agree with you, Mister Duncan. However, due to the rather unsettling events at the Quidditch match yesterday, I'm afraid that won't be possible, at least not until we can get that ability of yours under some control. The Ministry of Magic, you see, is already making inquiries, and they fear you might be some kind of Dark Wizard."

Thomas gulped nervously. "Ministry of Magic? You guys have a government, too? Wait a minute... Dark Wizard!? I'm not a wizard at all, light or dark! I didn't even know there was such a thing as real magic, until yesterday! You think I meant for this to happen?" Thomas rummaged in his clothes, showing them his passport. "Look, I'm an Amercian citizen, and shouldn't you talk to the embassy or something?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Naturally. Once we saw your papers, we sent a message to your country's version of the Ministry... the "Bureau of Paranormal Affairs". However, the courier will take some time to cross the Atlantic, and back. We should hear from them within a week. In the meantime, according to international Wizarding Law, you are supposed to be held for questioning until their representative arrives."

Thomas was amazed. The U.S. had an agency for magic as well? Maybe those conspiracy nuts aren't so crazy after all. What's next, aliens? "So, until then, Professor, what do I do?"

"If we could figure out how you are able to nullify magic, and teach you to control your power, perhaps we could convince them that you are no longer a danger to our world. Then, so long as you swear never to reveal our existence to other Muggles, you could return to your normal life."

"All right. Professor. I guess I'm going 'back to school', so to speak."

The two wizards looked relieved. Doubtless they might have been worried that he would have refused, due to his rough treatment by Snape and Hagrid. "As for the students, I have an idea, Professor," Madam Pomfrey said. "We could claim he's a Squib, and let him help teach Muggle Studies with Professor Jameson. Who better to teach about non-magical life, than someone who's non-magical themselves?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Excellent idea. What do you say, 'Assistant Professor' Duncan?"

Thomas shook Dumbledore's hand. "I think you got yourselves a deal. By the way, you got anything to eat? I'm starved!"

The two wizards laughed. "If you hurry, Mr. Duncan, you can be dressed in time for afternoon tea," Dumbledore said. "We'll be waiting outside, to show you the way."

Chapter 4 - The "M" Files

Williamsburg, Virginia.

This picturesque colonial town, once the capital of old Virginia, holds a very old, very important secret.

Unbeknownst to the majority of the populace, it still is a capital city... of the American magical community. Behind an old bar called The Greenleaf, if you know the right signs and passwords, an old door marked "Service Entrance - Authorized Personnel Only" opens to a gleaming marble lobby, with elevators and the glimpse of rows and rows of offices and cubicles. Much like an ordinary office, typical of any modern business or government office in the country.

Except for the messages and memos flying around the office as paper airplanes, like origami birds.

Except for the crystal balls on the desks in place of PCs, connected to a flat pane of glass that is lit up like a transparent flat-screen monitor.

Except for the two long rows of doors in the lobby, one row marked "ARRIVALS", the other, "DEPARTURES", which seem to open into ever-changing closets, and through which people are coming and going, like some kind of transportation system.

For this is no typical government office.

This is the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs, the agency devoted to the regulation of magical society, and the preservation of the Big Secret.

And this is where a slightly scruffy young man, now emerging from a bedroom closet that just opened up in Arrivals, is running for the elevators, twenty minutes late for his morning shift.

Just as he exits the elevator on the sixteenth floor, a bright red paper airplane nosedives into the top of his head, then rapidly unfolds.

"AGENT BLAIR, HOW MANY TIMES MUST YOU BE REMINDED TO BE ON TIME FOR WORK!? IF YOU ARE LATE TO YOUR POST ONE MORE TIME..." the memo's high-pitched shouting is cut short as it's recipient quickly snatches it from the top of his head with one hand, while the other, already holding his wand, quickly traces the runes for Silence and Containment. With a dull pop, a grey bubble seals the wad of red paper, holding in the muffled thump of its explosion at being interrupted.

"Ms. Logan giving you a hard time about you being late again, Pete?" asked a dark-haired fellow sitting in the adjacent cubicle once Agent Blair sat down wearily at his desk.

"Same as always, Don." They were classmates at the Academy, but while Don Romero was always sharp and hardworking, Pete Blair was lax, even a little sloppy. However, it was Pete's often brilliant deductions in investigating and analyzing unknown magic that allowed him to keep his career, and earned him the somewhat embarrassing nickname "Bloodhound Blair". "So, what's the big stir? The office seems to be buzzing over something, and Logan hasn't left her office yet to chew me out."

Don handed Pete a copy of a piece of parchment. "Some 'Green Letter' item from England." A 'Green Letter' was an Unexplained Event, so called because the reports were written in emerald ink for quick assignment. Black ink for regulatory violations, Blue for items involving magical creatures, and Red ink for potential Exposure of the Big Secret. As a Field Agent assigned to the Unexplained Phenomena Section, or UPhS, Agent Blair handled green files. "Apparently, a small riot started when a Quidditch match was interrupted with some kind of mass Counterspell."

Pete stared in amazement. "All fourteen players? At once?"

"The referee, too. Anyway, the local magic school, Hogwarts, has the man in custody."

"Don, you're telling me that one guy dispelled fifteen brooms in one shot?"

"And the four balls, too. Quit interrupting. Anyway, this would normally just be a matter for their guys to handle, but it just so happens he's an American tourist. Checked his name, and he's not Registered, no Caster's License, no magical record, nothing."

"He's a Cowan?"

"Their term, according to the report, is 'Muggle', but yeah. No record of any kind of magic until this. So, what do you think, a late bloomer?"

Pete ran his fingers through his sleep-mussed hair. "If he is, he's the most powerful since, well, anybody. Those brooms the Brits use to fly have all kinds of Anti-Tampering Charms, the balls too. They take their sports very seriously."

Just then, a small swarm of memos landed on Pete's desk. As he read the first one, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Logan finally transfered you to Alaska, Pete? You look like you've seen your own ghost."

Pete showed Don the memo, titled "Immediate Reassignment: Priority One", and began looking through the rest, which were travel forms and visas. "Not a ghost, old buddy, but I will get to see this Green Letter file for myself. HQ called me up to go to Scotland to investigate. Me and some..." he read through a copy of the orders "type of 'Advisory Liason' named Wendy Nekodas. She and I fly for Glasgow tomorrow."

"Lucky dog. Hot on the heels of an international mystery, while we poor working stiffs keep watch here in ol' Virginny."

Pete laughed. "I just hope its not those Dark Wizards they've had trouble with all these years. What's the name of their leader, Lord Moldythingy, or something?"

Don nodded, smiling. "Voldemort. Even though he sounds French, he's English, and bad to the bone. All kinds of murders, Cowans and Wizards alike. You be careful over there, Pete."

Pete twirled his wand like a rock star's drumstick. "I'll be fine. Remember, you're talking to the Agent that busted that whole Dark Magic street gang in Chicago, solo."

"Yeah, yeah, and that voodoo queen in New Orleans, too. Just take care of yourself, OK?"

Pete collected the reports and forms, then stood. He had to run home to pack his bags, then meet Agent Nekodas at the airport. Recent cutbacks in the Bureau's budget had forced them to lay off most of their Portkey technicians, creating a waiting list for Portkeys two weeks long. Most priority travel nowadays was done through conventional means. "All right then. See you around, Agent Romero."

"Likewise, Agent Blair."

Chapter 5 - A Most Unusual Request

It was a typical late summer morning in the Burrow. The sweet scents of a home-cooked breakfast drifted through the house. While the rather large, all red-headed family sat down to eat, there was a buzz of quiet nervousness.

Ms. Weasley was expecting a very important letter.

The future subject of this letter, Ron Weasley, was silently dreading it.

And worst of all, it should have been here a month ago.

"Honestly, Ron, you must eat something! You've hardly touched your eggs!"

Ronald Weasley, soon-to-be sixth year at Hogwarts, Gryffindor Prefect, and Keeper for the house Quidditch team, hadn't yet recieved his O.W.L.s.

He didn't know which was worse: the suspense, or the scathing looks his mother gave him, convinced that the delay meant something truly horrible, like all "T"s. What could be taking so long... I didn't do that bad, did I?

A muffled "thump" and a cloud of grey feathers erupting from the toast rack signaled the arrival of the morning mail from Errol, the Weasley's antique owl.

Arthur was looking through the letters. "Here's today's Daily Prophet, Ginny, here's a letter from Dean Thomas (Ron winced slightly), and... Hm, that's odd, a letter for me, from Dumbledore."

All eyes turned to the head of the house, except for Mrs. Weasley's, who glared at Ron. Seconds ticked by while he read, everyone dead still in anticipation of the familiar matriarchal outburst.

"Well? What does it say, dear?" Molly just couldn't hold back.

"He's asked me to come to Hogwart's. Says it's urgent."

"But it's not start of term yet... oh, that boy!" *sigh* "I told him he should have done better on his O.W.L.s!"

"No, it's not that, Molly. Something about 'a bit of a mystery, that someone with your hobbies should find most interesting'."

Ron sighed with a bit of relief, now that he was sure it wasn't about his grades. Briefly he wondered what his friends were up to. Hermione was probably memorizing all her textbooks and setting new records with the length of her summer homework essays, while poor Harry was either being tormented by the Dursleys or by dreams of You-Know-Who. Harry had mentioned in his last letter that he hadn't recieved his O.W.L.s either, nor had Hermione, but Mrs. Weasley was still convinced that the delay meant bad news.

"But what about the Ministry?"

"It says here it's all arranged, I'll be on temporary assignment for the school, room and board as well, so it looks like I'll be staying on the grounds. Oh, and here he says, 'Don't mention this to anyone outside of your family, or the Order.' Sounds... interesting."

Now Mrs. Weasley was worried. "Well dear, I'll go get some things packed. Does he say how long you'll be there?"

"No more than a few weeks, he says. Hopefully, I'll be back before Ron and Ginny leave for term."

Mrs. Weasley rapidly finished her breakfast, then went upstairs to pack. Later, as Ginny cleared the table and Fred and George started a Dishwashing Spell in the sink, Ron asked his father, "Dad, any word in there about... my O.W.L.s?"

Arthur Weasley smiled at his youngest son. Like Ron, he too was a little concerned about their delay. "Sorry, no mention. But don't worry, Ron. I'm sure you did fine."

Hearing his father's vote of confidence helped, but the butterflies in his stomach kept on playing Quidditch...

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts, Thomas was trying to explain his job back in the States to a room full of faculty wizards who had little-to-no concept of technology.

After about the first hour over tea and sandwiches, he was still not getting anywhere.

"OK, we'll start with the basics. Have any of you heard of computers?"

Silence.

"Is that like that little talking box that shows pictures? I saw one of those in my nephew's house... he married a Muggle."

Thomas nodded, slowly. "Sort of. That's a television. It receives picture and sound signals from the air or by wire. And their's different things to watch on different settings, called 'channels'."

Getting into stride now, as if practicing for his class, Thomas continued. "A computer is kind of a 'thinking machine'. It can do lots of mathematical functions VERY quickly, as well as records keeping and databases..." Thomas noticed he was losing them whenever he used too much jargon, so he tried to keep it as simple as possible.

Finally, a short, serious looking wizard in spectacles raised his hand and asked. "Excuse me, could we, um, talk about your, ah, gifts, so to speak? I'd like to explore this 'Anti-Magic' phenomenon Professor Flitwick has told me about."

Professor McGonagall stood, and said "Perhaps a demonstration is in order."

They moved to the middle of the Great Hall. The four long students tables were against the sides of the hall, since they were not needed until the start-of-term feast. Leaning close to Thomas' ear, she whispered. "Now, just believe, or rather, disbelieve, everything I do. Professor Dumbledore tells me your gift is mainly tuned to prevent anything from happening to you, so keep that in mind, alright?" He nodded, and they took up opposite positions, as if to duel.

"Right. Now, ladies and gentlemen, all I have to do is not believe in your so-called magic..." There was some grumblings from this, after all, magic was the meaning of their entire world.

"Stupefy!"

A red bolt shot from McGonagall's wand, then faded to pink, and then nothingness, a meter from Thomas' chest. "...and it just doesn't work."

"Let me have a go!" Flitwick made his way next to McGonagall, then waved his wand. "Mugglus Leviosa!" Thomas' feet stayed firmly on the ground, despite Flitwick's flawless execution of the old "swish and flick".

Eventually, the small crowd of wizards and witches played at a sport the old Norse gods were fond of, with Mr. Duncan playing the role of Balder. One by one, and then in pairs, and then by groups, they all threw spell after spell, curse after hex after incantation, all without effect. Here was a completely non-magic person, a Muggle, who was impervious to everything they cast at him.

Two wizards in the group reached the same thought, at the same time: the Potions master, and the newly-arrived Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

Remus Lupin caught Snape's eye from across the crowd, and nodded. Snape scowled, but realized he, too, had arrived at the same idea.

"Professor McGonagall, with your permission, I'd like to try something... a little more powerful against our invincible friend here. I'm sure Severus would find this most enlightening as well."

McGonagall's eyes widened as she realized exactly what he meant, but nodded. "Professors, a little more space, please. Madam Pomfrey, stand by."

Thomas gulped nervously at the sudden serious tone they all took nearly simultaneously. "Um, Mr., ah..."

"Lupin, Mr. Duncan. Remus Lupin."

"Mr. Lupin, what exactly are you intending to do to me?"

Lupin ran a thin hand through his lanky hair. "There are three curses called the Unforgivable Curses, that are used by agents of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

"I heard about him a bit over lunch. He's supposed to be the worst of the worst, right?"

Lupin scoffed. "That's putting it mildly. Anyways, these three spells are normally very illegal, very dark, but we need to know if they will work on you, to see if you are vulnerable."

"Um, I'm not sure about this, they sound painful, even though nothing else you've done has hit me yet..."

"Well, Thomas, there's one that won't hurt, all it will do is let me control your body for a while. It's like a puppet on a string. And since we don't really want to hurt you, I'll just make you dance."

When he put it like that, Thomas felt slightly relieved. "What about the other two?"

"I won't lie to you; the others are very dangerous. If it turns out you are vulnerable to the first one, we'll stop there. Otherwise, we'll let you decide. Deal?"

Thomas nodded. "You're an OK guy, Mr. Lupin."

Lupin raised his wand. "Don't thank me yet." He looked at McGonagall, who was standing next to Madam Pomfrey, who had a bottle of healing tonic out.

"Imperio!"

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

A minute passed, with Lupin pointing his wand at Thomas, locked in total concentration.

A few minutes later, just as Lupin was about to quit, Thomas shook his head, muttering "Shut up, shut up!"

Lupin lowered his wand. Beads of sweat were running down his face. "What, what did you hear?"

Thomas looked around. "It was a voice, in my head... Your voice, Lupin. Telling me over and over, 'Dance, dance!'." He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess your spell didn't work."

Lupin looked at him, grimly. "You resisted the Imperius Curse, sure, but there was an effect. You heard me in your mind, telling you to dance. Did you feel any desire to obey?"

Thomas shook his head. "Not really, just that voice, over and over. Kinda irritating, you know?"

Lupin considered this. Professor McGonagall broke the silence by announcing "I think we've done enough to our guest for one afternoon. Come, Mr. Duncan, I'll show you to your quarters."

As the two turned to leave, Lupin called after him, "See you around, Mr. Duncan!"

Thomas waved to the D.A.D.A. Teacher. "Likewise, Mr. Lupin."

As Lupin turned to his own quarters, a somber voice behind him said, "I do hope you know what you are doing, Lupin."

Lupin looked over his shoulder at Snape, eyeing him warily. "Well, we now know he's not completely magic-proof. We'll still have to protect him. If he fell into Voldemort's hands, and they managed to get control of his power, none of us would be safe."

Snape nodded reluctantly. I wonder if his stomach is as resistant as the rest of him...? He strode towards the dungeons, a sneer on his thin lips.