To Be A Magical Boy

Chapter 7 - Fifth Year (part 1)

It hadn't been a good summer. Dean was almost glad to be heading back to Hogwarts, to saying goodbye to his family, because at least that was a return to normalcy that he hadn't experienced in what felt like years.

There were countless reasons for the discomfort of that break. Firstly was that the Wizarding world was up in arms. Dean knew because he made it his business to know. The previous year he'd made a point of subscribing to the Daily Prophet, even if the grumbled words of Harry, Ron and Hermione alongside him made him nothing if not dubious of its content.

It had been a benefit, however, if only because it kept Dean up to date with what was happening in the world he briefly stepped out of over the summer. He learned that, despite Harry's words, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still believed to be vanquished, and that Harry himself was supposedly nothing if not an attention-seeking little boy with a big mouth. He learned that the Ministry was aggressively opposed to Dumbledore's statements in agreement with Harry's words, and that the Wizarding world at large was furious for the disruption he was causing. That Dumbledore had been sacked from the Wizengamot, which, though Dean knew little enough about, he assumed was a big deal. He learned that, on top of that, despite disbelieving the Prophet's claims, every witch and wizard was on edge. Visibly so, apparently.

Secondly was that Dean's parents found out. It was impossible for them not to given that the owl bearing the Prophet arrived at their breakfast table every morning, even if Dean did manage to ensure they didn't read it most of the time. He could pinpoint the exact moment his mum had decided something was seriously wrong in his world, and the shared glances she and Andrew spared one another when they thought he wasn't looking were very telling. They didn't remain silent for long, and within two weeks into Dean's holidays had requested he stay as close to home as possible.

And therein lay the third problem. Dean hadn't been able to see any of his friends. Even Neville, his closest-living housemate, he was able to see but briefly. More importantly, however, Dean had only been able to visit Seamus once, and then only at the very beginning of the holidays.

Dean loved the Finnigan's country steading, the Kavanagh manor, and would ask his parents if they could all stay there as they had before third year if he didn't recognise it as being rude to so impose upon Seamus' family. But with his mum's restrictions he was prevented from visiting his best friend and reduced to exchanging letters because, even though Seamus' dad was Muggle, the Kavanagh manor lacked a working telephone at the manor.

Dean never remembered just how much he missed Seamus over the summer when they were back at school. In the months between his third and fourth years, however, he was made blatantly aware of it. Dean may as well have been missing a limb. A talkative, smiley and enthusiastic limb, for Seamus really was attached to him more often than not. Even though Seamus had become close with the Hufflepuffs in the second half of the previous year, and with Wayne in particular, Dean knew they were still best friends. If he had anything to do with it, they always would be.

Except that Seamus was angry with him. Or something similar at least. Dean had deduced that much, though Seamus hadn't revealed as much in so many words. They exchanged letters every few days, and yet Seamus' had grown gradually yet noticeably shorter. He didn't seem to be leaving anything profound out, but his words and even the slant of his writing seemed somehow distracted. As though he hadn't the time or the inclination to send Dean a proper missive.

It hurt just a little. Or a lot. It hurt even more than Dean couldn't see him to ask Seamus about it to his face. Dean had never been one to leave confrontations hanging in the air. Seamus' letters became an itch he couldn't scratch that grew incessantly persistent.

So it was with relief that September the first approached, and Dean was almost begging his mum to hasten out the door before it was even ten o'clock on his morning to leave. She obliged, and though Andrew smiled and joked at Dean's enthusiasm from the doorstep as he waved them off, there was a tightness to both of his and Dean's mum's expressions that said they were worried. Dean didn't begrudge them that worry. He doubted they would be the only parents to be concerned to send their children off that year. He didn't even sigh with exasperation as his mum requested on their trip to Kings Cross that he send a letter "At least once a week, you hear me? At least."