Gryffindors at Platform 9¾

Dean Thomas

"Mum?" called Dean as he watched his mum's eyes scan the platform. "Mum!"

"Hmm? Sorry, love," she said as she turned her eyes to him. "What were you saying?"

"Shouldn't I get on the train now?" he asked. The platform was emptying steadily and he didn't want to be left behind. Besides, he was sick of seeing his mum doing what she had been doing every time they were in a magical place – scan the crowd in the hopes that she would see his dad.

For as long as Dean could remember, his mum had given up hope on ever seeing the man she loved again but since they had been paid a visit by Professor Burbage this had changed. According to the kind woman who had turned Dean's life upside down, it was a possibility that his father could have been a wizard and his mum had taken this to mean that maybe his dad had ran off to the wizarding world and that was why she hadn't heard from him in over a decade.

Dean had no such optimism. As far as he was concerned his dad had left him, didn't care enough to ever try to get to know him and, even if he was a wizard, wasn't worth his time.

"Yes, of course," his mum smiled, placing a cold hand on his cheek, "wouldn't want you to be late, now?" She gave him a small smile that he returned before a look of panic crossed her face.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said as she started rummaging around in her bag.

Dean watched as she pulled out a small photograph and handed it to him.

"I wouldn't want you to forget home, now," she said, nervously waiting for his reaction.

He knew what this photo was of; it was the last one of the three of them together. They were stood by a huge oak tree covered in golden and brown leaves. He was barely over a year old, wearing a coat so thick that he looked almost spherical, while sat on his mother's hip as she held his wrist and made him wave at the camera. Standing next to them, with his arm around his mum's shoulders and a gold and scarlet scarf around his neck, was the man Dean knew to be his dad. Dean knew how much this photo meant to his mum so he smiled up at her.

"Thanks, mum," he said softly and she annoyingly patted his head.

"No problem," she whispered, clearly trying not to cry.

With a wet chuckle, she pulled him into another hug and rested her head on top of his dark curls.

"Mum, c'mon," Dean protested. "I've got to get on the train."

"Sorry," she replied, giving him one last squeeze. "It's just that I don't know how much longer I'll be able to do that for. You'll probably be taller than me when you come home at Christmas!"

After a few more hugs, Dean's mum finally consented to let him get on the train. Just before he did so, he turned around to look at his mum one last time.

"Thanks again for the photo, Mum."

He watched as her bottom lip quivered but was pleased to see that no tears fell.