Convincing Dad

[easleyweasley]

A short Deanfic - really, an out take from a much longer fic. But I like it as a vignette.

Harry was sitting reading a chapter of 'Advanced Transfiguration' by the fireplace, when Dean came and perched himself on the arm of the chair next to him.

'Hi, Harry,' he said, slightly too casually.

'Hi,' Harry replied, a little warily. He looked up at Dean with an attempt at a non committal smile. An approach like this usually meant someone wanted something.

'Ron and Hermione not around?' Dean asked casually - again, slightly too casually.

'Prefect duties.'

'Ah.'

'That's their story, anyway.'

'Yeah.' Dean grinned, and paused for a moment. 'Harry - can I ask you a favour?'

His guess had been right. 'Depends.'

Dean gave another slight grin. 'Yeah.' He paused for a moment. 'You were brought up by Muggles, that right?'

'That's right,' said Harry, a little surprised by the question. 'My aunt and uncle - about as Mugglish as you can get.'

'And you know my parents are Muggles?'

'Yeah.'

Dean stared into the fire. 'Well, I've got a bit of a problem.' Harry waited for him to go on. 'It's Dad, really. You know, right at the beginning, when Professor McGonagall came round to explain about Hogwarts?'

'Didn't happen like that for me. But I know what you mean.'

'No? Well, anyway, when she came round she did these bits of magic to show them she was for real, not just mad, then started talking about the school and how there was a place for me. Now, the schools round us are crap, and Dad latched on to the idea that I was being awarded a scholarship at a boarding school.' Dean paused again. 'I think it was that which persuaded him. Mum - she got the idea of magic, and she's been okay with it, but it didn't really register with Dad. He just thinks Hogwarts is a school like any other.'

'What about when he gets your reports at the end of term?'

'He flicks through them, grunts, and gives them to Mum. She's the one who talks to me about them. And when I go home, I don't use magic - couldn't, when I was younger, anyway. Now Dad's talking about me getting a job - a Muggle job, that is - when I leave, and somehow I've got to get it through to him that I'm not a Muggle.'

'What does he do for a living?'

'Drives a cab - a London cab. One of the first ever black drivers. He's quite proud of that. He does quite well at it, but that's not for me.'

'So where do I come in?' asked Harry, although he was beginning to get a good idea.

'I was wondering - could you come round one evening? Sometime in the holidays? If he meets someone else from Hogwarts ...'

'Don't things like potion books lying around give him some idea?'

Dean screwed up his face. 'I've tried that sort of thing, but it just doesn't seem to register. I just thought if he met someone else - and it's no good asking Ron or Neville - they're Purebloods, they wouldn't understand. Seamus - well, he's Seamus. He'd probably set the place on fire or something.'

Harry smiled automatically, then: 'Of course I'll come.'

Dean's face lit up. 'You mean that?'

'Course I do.'

'That'd be great.'

'What do they knew about me?' Harry asked cautiously.

Dean shrugged. 'They're Muggles. They've heard me talk about you a bit, just like I do with the others - that's it.'

Just plain Harry then. He could live with that. 'How about we fix a date nearer the end of term. That okay?'

Dean nodded, relief on his face. 'Yeah. That'd be fine.'

xXx

For some reason, Harry didn't tell Ron and Hermione what he was up to. He mentioned casually that he'd be out that evening, but deliberately didn't say where. He could see they were bursting to ask, but it amused him slightly to keep them in suspense.

Dean had given him a slip of parchment with his address on it, and exactly how to Apparate to his flat. Out of curiosity, Harry had looked the address up in the London A to Z - it wasn't a very nice neighbourhood, from what Harry knew of it.

'You're better off Apparating,' Dean had said. 'Apart from it being easier, believe me, you don't want to be walking the streets around our place, not in the dark.'

And if he was to be a wizard for the evening, then he felt he ought to arrive in a wizard like sort of way. He smiled a farewell at Ron and Hermione - well, they were having an evening on their own, and he hoped they would make the most of it - walked out of the house and found a convenient dark alley. He thought of Dean and his bedroom - and there he was.

The room was tiny. Dean had been sitting at a little desk, and the desk and the bed took up most of the space in the room. Dean jumped slightly at Harry's appearance, smiled, and stood up.

'Thanks for coming.'

'No problem.'

The curtains weren't drawn, and Harry could see that they must be quite high up in a tower block - he could see the lights of London stretching way into the distance.

Dean followed his gaze. 'Only good thing about this place,' he said. 'The view, that is. Apart from that ...' He shrugged.

'Can't say it's much nicer round by me.'

'But no gangs.'

'True. No gangs. But the yuppies are moving in a few streets away.'

Dean gave a theatrical sigh. 'That's it. Once you get the yuppies moving in, you know the place is going to the dogs.'

Harry caught his eye, and they both burst out laughing.

'So, what have you been doing then?'

It was probably an innocent question, but Harry was immediately wary. What they were doing was something that only he, Ron and Hermione knew, although everyone else knew they were up to something, but what that something was had been the subject of a great deal of speculation - and misdirection by the three of them.

'It's okay - you don't have to say,' Dean went on. 'Besides, if you told me, you'd have to kill me - right?'

'Something like that.'

There was a moment's embarrassed pause before Dean said, 'Dad's not back yet. Want to meet Mum?'

'Sure,' said Harry, grateful for the change in topic.

Dean opened the door of his room, which led directly into what was obviously the main room of the flat - sitting room and dining room combined. Mrs Thomas was sorting a pile of clothes.

'Mum - Harry's here.'

'Give me a moment, or I'll never get these done.' Harry followed Dean into the room, and then Mrs Thomas finished with the clothes, put them down, and turned to the two boys. She wasn't very tall, and she seemed even smaller next to her son. But she smiled at Harry, who held out a hand.

'Harry Potter.'

'Dean's mentioned you before - you're one of the boys in Dean's house - Gryffindor?'

It was the way she made the last word a question that told Harry that Dean's parents really didn’t have much of a clue about Hogwarts.

'That's right.'

'And you're the one who's always getting into trouble?'

'Not like that, Mum,' protested Dean. 'He's not a trouble maker - things seem to happen to him, that's all.'

'Well, it's one way of putting it,' said Harry.

Mrs Thomas looked at him appraisingly, then nodded her approval.

'You don't look like a trouble maker to me,' she said.

'Well,' began Harry, 'there was the time when ...'

Dean gave him a shove. 'Oi. Don't lead her on.'

'So. Is Dean a trouble maker, then?' asked his mother.

'Well,' Harry began, in a tone indicating he was about to Reveal All - but Dean gave him another shove. 'No, he's not, Mrs Thomas. Dean's actually quite good at keeping out of trouble.'

'Taking advantage of that education, is he?'

Harry wondered whether Mrs Thomas viewed Hogwarts as just some posh boarding school. To him, Hogwarts wasn't posh. All right, it had people like Malfoy and Justin ffinch-Fletchley, but it also had people from quite ordinary backgrounds, like Hermione. Then he realised that perhaps to the Thomases, the daughter of well to do dentists might be considered really quite posh. But he was rescued by the sound of a key in the lock.

'Ah,' said Mrs Thomas, 'that'll be Wayne - Dean's father.'

The door opened. Mr Thomas was as tall as his son, and between the two of them, they filled the room. As well as tall, he was broad - he looked like a man who could take care of himself. He gave his wife a swift hug, nodded at Dean, who muttered something in reply, then turned to Harry.

'You must be Dean's friend from school.' Mr Thomas held out a very large hand, which gripped Harry's firmly. 'Sorry I'm late - I'll just wash and change, and be with you in a minute.'

Mrs Thomas waved Harry to an armchair. Dean took another, and his mother sat on the settee.

'Dean's father has a taxi?' Harry asked.

Mrs Thomas nodded. 'It takes years to learn all the streets in London, and unless you know them, you don't get your licence. Took Wayne three years.'

'There's this film they had on TV once,' said Dean, 'called The Knowledge. That's what they call it, see - The Knowledge. Learning all the routes. Dad reckons the film's rubbish, but he watches it two or three times each year.'

Mr Thomas re-appeared, catching the end of Dean's comment. 'Well, the film is rubbish, but it's got some funny moments.' He sat down next to his wife. 'Sorry I'm late, but I got a good run today. These American tourists wanted to go to Heathrow, and they had cases and cases of luggage. Took me ten minutes loading the cab, then another ten minutes unloading the other end, so they gave me this enormous tip. Mind you, I think they were getting their dollars and pounds mixed up.'

'Dad's been doing well,' said Dean. 'We're reckoning on moving out of here in a year or so.'

Mrs Thomas shook her head. 'It's getting terrible round here. Never been good, but lately ... anyway, come and have some supper.'

The conversation over the meal was fairly inconsequential. It wasn't until near the end that Mr Thomas turned to Harry and asked, 'Well, how's Dean getting on?'

Harry looked up, then across to Dean, who was looking down at his plate, carefully putting his knife and fork together.

'At school, you mean?'

Mr Thomas nodded. 'I mean, we've never been all that way up there to meet the teachers, or anything like that, so all we've got to on is what Dean tells us, which isn't that much.'

Harry chose his words carefully. 'Dean gets on well with everyone really. He's popular with people, keeps out of trouble.'

'And in lessons?'

Harry shrugged. 'He's not top of the class, but he copes well enough with the work.'

Dean shot him a grateful glance.

'What are the teachers like?'

In some ways, this was safer ground. Providing you didn't talk about the Potions master who murdered the Headmaster. Or the Headmaster that had been murdered by one of the teachers.

'Well,' he began, 'there's Professor McGonagall. She's our Head of House, and really strict, but she's fair with it, and she's a really good teacher.'

Dean nodded in agreement.

'And what does she teach?' Mr Thomas asked.

'Transfiguration.'

Mr Thomas now looked wary. 'Transfiguration - what exactly is that?', he asked carefully.

Harry and Dean exchanged glances again.

'Changing one thing into another,' he said carefully.

Mr Thomas's eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. 'But how do you do that?'

'You've got to know the right spell, and how to use it.'

'Spell?'

This was becoming more and more difficult.

'Magic spell.'

Mr Thomas was looking very sceptical now. 'Can you show us then?'

Harry looked across to Dean, who gave a slight nod. His wand was in the pocket of his jacket, and he reached for it.

'What's that?' asked Mr Thomas.

'A wand.'

'A wand?'

Harry nodded. What should he do? He looked at the empty glass on the table in front of him, then reached out and tapped it with his wand. It changed into a rather fine cut glass goblet.

Mr Thomas stared at it. 'How did you do that?'

'Magic, dad,' said Dean, slightly wearily.

Mr Thomas looked from Harry to Dean, then back again. He turned to his son. 'Can you do that?'

Dean nodded. 'I'll need my wand, though. It's in my room.'

Mr Thomas still looked slightly sceptical as Dean pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and disappeared into his room. He came back with his wand, sat down again, looked carefully at Harry's goblet, then tapped his own glass. Not bad, thought Harry - it looked just the same as his.

Mr Thomas said nothing for a minute, then reached over to pick up the two goblets. He examined them carefully, then asked, 'What's the trick?'

'No trick, Dad.'

'Then how did you do it?' Dean shrugged. 'Can you turn it into whatever you like then?'

'Pretty well.'

Mr Thomas thought for a moment. 'A vase,' he said.

Dean took one of the goblets and screwed up his face. Mrs Thomas was watching in silence. Dean tapped the goblet, and it became a tall fluted vase. There was utter silence. Mr Thomas picked it up gingerly, inspected it, put it back down onto the table.

'You could make a fortune that way.'

'Yeah,' said Dean, 'but the Ministry's not very keen on our doing that sort of thing.'

'Ministry?'

'Ministry of Magic.'

If anything, Mr Thomas was looking even more baffled. Harry wondered just how much Dean had told him - or how much had sunk in.

'What do they do?' asked Dean's father, obviously doing his best to keep his voice calm.

'Well, there are rules and things for us wizards, and they make the rules and enforce them.'

'Right,' said Mr Thomas, then another thought struck him. 'Why haven't I seen you do this sort of stuff before, then?'

'One of the rules,' said Dean. 'We're not allowed to do magic under age - away from Hogwarts, that is, so each holidays I used to put my wand away in a drawer and forget about it.'

'Not allowed to do magic under age?'

'No. Not at home. You get into trouble that way, don't you, Harry?'

Harry gave a weak smile. 'Something like that.'

'You got into trouble?' asked Mrs Thomas, speaking for the first time.

'Sort of - but one time it wasn't me, and the other time was when I had to defend myself.'

'Defend yourself?'

'I was attacked,' said Harry briefly.

Fortunately Mrs Thomas didn't follow that one up.

'So what else can you do?' Mr Thomas asked his son.

Dean shrugged. 'Loads. F'rinstance ...'

He pushed back his chair and stood up, and then with a crack he was gone. Mr Thomas gaped, then the door to Dean's room opened, and he came back.

'Apparating,' said Dean briefly.

'What's that?'

'Apparating. It means I can go where I want to, providing I think about it first.'

'Can you do that?' demanded Mr Thomas, turning to Harry.

Harry blinked. 'Yeah.'

'Go on then.'

Harry stood up, then Apparated to Dean's bedroom. Feeling rather foolish, he came back into the living room.

'Good thing everyone can't do that,' grumbled Mr Thomas, 'or I'd be out of a job.'

Harry gave him a faint smile.

Dean caught his eye - he'd obviously had an idea about something. 'You know how Colin Creevey keeps taking all those pictures?' Harry nodded, slightly wary again. 'You got any at home?'

Come to that, he had. Colin had given an album one Christmas. Not just pictures of Harry, but of other people in Gryffindor too, and of the school and its grounds.

'Something to remember in the years to come,' Colin had said with an embarrassed laugh. And although Harry kept it in a drawer somewhere, he did take it out from time to time, mainly to remember times more innocent.

'I can go and fetch them if you like,' Harry offered.

Mr Thomas looked at him for a moment, then said, 'You're going to do that watsit again - all the way back home?'

Another faint smile from Harry. 'Yeah. Watch me.'

And he was gone.

Finding the album took only a moment, and he tucked it under his arm before going back to the Thomases. Mr Thomas was still watching.

'You been home and back?'

Harry nodded. 'Brought this back with me,' and he laid the album on the table. Mr Thomas picked up rather gingerly.

'It's just a photo album,' said Harry re-assuringly. 'Pictures from school.'

Mr Thomas opened it, and looked at the picture on the first page - one of the Gryffindor common room.

'But the people - they're moving!' he exclaimed.

'Yeah, that's right,' said Dean, 'they do. Magical, see?'

As they looked, Dennis Creevey came into view, looked at them, beamed, gave them a thumbs up, then walked on.

'Who was that?' asked a thunderstruck Mr Thomas.

'Dennis - he's the brother of the one taking the pictures.'

'Oh,' Mr Thomas said in a small voice. 'And what's this place he's in?'

'The Gryffindor common room,' said Dean.

'Are all the pictures like this? I mean, with people moving and everything?'

'Yeah. Y'see ...'

Mrs Thomas intervened for the first time. 'Why don't you give Wayne and I a few minutes to look through these by ourselves,' and she gave Dean a significant look, and nodded towards his room. Dean took the hint, caught Harry's eye, and jerked his head sideways.

Closing the door behind him, Dean collapsed onto his bed and blew out a long slow whistle. 'Hard work, isn't it?'

Harry wasn't quite sure what Dean was talking about, but assumed he meant his father.

'What's that word psychiatrists use?' asked Dean rhetorically. 'Denial? Dad's been in denial about the whole thing for the last seven years.'

Harry began to appreciate why Dean had asked him round.

'Must be difficult for him. I mean, what did you think when McGonagall first told you you were a wizard?'

Dean sighed. 'Thought she was barmy, of course. Even after seeing her do stuff. She put a spell on the iron so it went on ironing the clothes while we talking. Then Dad saw it, and yelped for it to stop. McGonagall stopped it, and then Mum told her to go on again. It was like a madhouse, that day, I can tell you.' He paused for a moment. 'Thanks for coming round tonight, Harry,' he said awkwardly. 'That photo album was a stroke of genius, though I say it myself.'

'You can hang on to it for a few days,' Harry told him.

'Can I? That'd be good.'

'Drop round one evening and bring it back then.'

Dean realised that this wasn't an entirely casual offer. 'Thanks. I know you and Ron and Hermione are up to stuff ...' His voice trailed away.

'Not too busy to see friends,' Harry said briskly.

'I appreciate that.'

The door opened, and Mrs Thomas put her head round. 'Do you want to come back through?'

Mr Thomas had the album on the table among the forgotten and discarded dinner plates, turning over the pages in fascination.

'Weird,' he muttered.

Dean sat down next to his father, whilst Harry hung back. 'That's Hagrid, the gamekeeper,' he said, pointing to a picture.

'The gamekeeper? Is he really that big?'

'Oh, yeah.'

Harry exchanged glances with Mrs Thomas. It was obvious that she had accepted Dean's abilities a long time ago, but knew her husband hadn't. She gave Harry a grateful look.

'Thanks for the supper, Mrs Thomas,' Harry said quietly.

'It was nice to meet one of Dean's friends.'

'Maybe he'll invite some more round later,' making a mental vow to send Ron and Hermione over. Heaven knows what Mr Thomas would make of them.

She nodded, not saying anything.

'It's getting a bit late,' said Harry. 'I think I ought to be getting home. I'll leave them ...' He gestured towards father and son, their heads bent over the album. He thought of another album, one Hagrid had given him. But he hadn't got a father to look at the pictures with.

Mrs Thomas took his hand and squeezed it gently for a moment. 'You're a good lad, Harry.'

He was embarrassed, and ducked his head down for a moment. 'Yeah, well, so's Dean.'

'Thank you for coming round. Dean - well, he was getting impatient with his father, I know. But it's a difficult thing to accept. Took me time to come to terms with it, I know.' She hesitated for a moment. 'It was when I went with Dean to get all that stuff for school. Wayne was working, so it was just Dean and me. We went to ... well, wherever that place is, where everything is magical ... all those people - and all those things. That bank. I was never so frightened in all my life by those things ...'

'Goblins, you mean?'

'Is that what they were?' Harry nodded. 'Scary, they were. And that bloke who sold wands ...'

'Ollivander,' Harry said automatically.

'I remember now - that's right. Never had a day like it. After that, well, I could believe anything. I talked to Wayne about it, but unless you've seen it for yourself ...'

Harry nodded, remembering his own first time in Diagon Alley.

'I think Wayne thought I was making it all up or something. But then Dean would come home for the holidays, and he'd tell us stuff, and I'd believe him, but I could see Wayne thought he was making it all up. So Dean stopped telling us ... well, he'd tell me from time to time, when we were alone together.'

‘He seems a bit more convinced now,’ Harry said, looking over towards Dean and his father.

‘Won’t you be wanting your book back?’

‘I told Dean to hang on to it for a couple of days.’

‘That’s very kind of you.’

‘Not at all,’ said Harry, embarrassed again. ‘Look, I’d better be going. Thanks again for the supper. And I’ll call round again in a while.’

‘You take care now,’ Mrs Thomas told him, patting his arm.

‘I will, don’t worry.’ He felt it might be a little rude, disappearing in front of her like that, so he nodded towards Dean’s room. ‘I’ll go from there.’

Mrs Thomas smiled and nodded. Dean looked up from the album and flashed him a quick, grateful smile. Harry silently mouthed, 'I'm off.' Dean made to stand up, but Harry waved him back into his seat. Mr Thomas was still absorbed in the photo album, so he quickly made for Dean’s room, and Apparated back to Grimmauld Place. He could send Hedwig with a note to Dean in the morning. And tell Ron and Hermione they had a dinner invitation later in the week.