It took eight days for Flynn to discover what Jones had been on about, during their talk behind the gym. Flynn had skipped school early and was doing drills with Jones in the ring, as usual, when their session was interrupted by a knock.

The sound of someone rapping against the metal door echoed across the entire gym, and Jones, who had only been half-heartedly participating in the drills so far, immediately snapped to attention at the sound.

"Can't you fucking read?" he shouted. "We're closed."

Flynn rolled his eyes. It wasn't a mystery as to why the gym wasn't doing well, financially, but he supposed he couldn't mock Jones for his lack in people skills without being a hypocrite.

"Pardon me," a voice said, muffled by the still-closed door. "I'm here for Flintstone Fredericton."

Flynn's blood ran cold at the sound of his name. With the only people he was close to being Tom, Jones, and Liz, the only person who would ever come looking for him was the police.

Though he hadn't committed any crimes in years, under the threat of an ass-whooping by all three adults in his life, he knew from experience that the cops didn't give a shit about whether you actually did something or not. He considered bolting, knowing he could probably outrun most of the lardasses on the force, as long as he ran into an area where they couldn't follow him by car, but Jones's hand fell on his shoulder.

Flynn's first reaction was to lash out at the hand that held him, but Jones expected it, catching Flynn's wrist before he could shake him off.

"Don't fucking touch me, old man," Flynn growled.

"Calm down, brat," he said, before letting him go. "It's not the cops."

Flynn immediately retreated away from Jones's reach. He considered running anyways, but the hard look in Jones's eyes made him pause.

"Who is it then?" he asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Jones grumbled before he shouted once more. "The door's unlocked. I ain't coming to open it for you."

There was a moment of pause before the steel door swung open.

A midget stood on the other side of the door, and Flynn's first thought was that he looked absurdly posh. The suit was a dead giveaway, being made of a material that Flynn hadn't ever seen in his life. It was obviously worth more money than Flynn expected to see in his entire lifetime, especially with how it was tailor made to fit a man of his size, and he couldn't help but wonder how he managed not to get mugged on the way there.

While the obvious old money aura he exuded would be a deterrent to attacking him, since most people would know that the police would actually care if someone like him got inconvenienced in any way, there were enough brainless crackheads that Flynn was legitimately shocked to see the man looking completely unconcerned about where he was, even before he could even think about why he was there in the first place.

"Filius Flitwick, at your service," he said, with a flick of his wrist and a slight bow. "It's a pleasure to meet you both, Mr. Fredericton and Mr. Zabini."

"It's Jones now," Jones said, before Flynn could speak up and ask who the hell Zabini was. "Marcus Jones."

Flitwick raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow before nodding. "Very well, Mr. Jones," he said, before turning back to Flynn. "Mr. Fredericton, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Filius Flitwick of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am pleased to inform you that you are a wizard."

Flynn immediately turned on his heel and sprinted away before the tiny pimp could continue. He'd seen countless kids in his orphanage being lured into prostitution before, but Flynn would never be one of them.

"Flynn!" Jones barked before he could get too far. "If I was gonna sell your ass, I would've made sure you couldn't move by the time he got here. Sit back down and listen for once in your fucking life before you run off like an idiot."

Flynn's hand was already on the back door to the gym, but he paused at Jones's words. Begrudgingly, he looked back to see an unamused Jones, making no effort to trap him physically, as well as a very confused Flitwick, whose smile had frozen plastic on his face.

Jones was right. If this really was an attempt to kidnap him, there would be no realistic chance for him to escape. Someone like Flitwick would have goons, and there would be no chance that they weren't surrounding the gym right now.

Flynn dashed to the side, and charged through another door, leading to the kitchen. As fast as he could manage, he grabbed a steak knife, letting the feeling of cold steel calm his nerves and pressed the tip gently against his neck, keeping it there as he stepped back out into the gym.

Jones merely rolled his eyes at the sight of Flynn threatening to kill himself, though Flitwick seemed to be absolutely stunned.

"M-Mr. Fredericton," he stammered. "I really can't say I quite understand your reaction."

"I'd rather die than touch any dick but my own," Flynn said, spitting on the floor for emphasis. "Try me, bitch. You think I won't?"

Jones sighed as he massaged his temple. "You're cleaning that up later, you brat."

"Fuck you and fuck your gym," Flynn shouted. "You set me up, you fucker."

Jones sighed again as he lazily waved a hand at Flitwick. "Could you just show him some magic? Kid's a muggle. He's not gonna believe anything until he sees it with his own eyes. Even then, it'll take some more convincing after that."

"O-of course," Flitwick said, reaching into his coat pocket.

Flynn pressed the knife a little deeper into his neck, feeling its sting when it punctured his skin and drew first blood. When the tiny man drew out a small stick, Flynn felt his grip slacken slightly in confusion, but he still refused to put the knife away.

"Don't touch the knife just yet," Jones said, making Flynn immediately tighten his grip around it once more. "It's his only source of stability right now. Taking it away will just make things worse."

"Oh yes," Flitwick said, nodding frantically, and generally sounding like he was on the verge of hyperventilating. "That makes sense... I suppose."

Flynn watched as Flitwick waved the stick, and a swarm of glowing golden birds erupted from the end of it.

"A-as you can see, Mr. Fredericton-"

"That ain't gonna work," Jones grumbled.

Flynn hated that he was proving Jones's point by stabbing his knife deeper into his neck. He started to feel a trickle down his neck, but paid no mind that he was ruining one of his better shirts.

"What about this?" Flitwick said, with a somewhat hysterical laugh, as he waved his stick, causing a gout of fire to erupt from the end.

It was pretty, but Flynn didn't move.

"This?" Flitwick asked, desperation creeping into his voice as he waved his stick again. A beam of blue light erupted from the end of it and hit Flynn's discarded boxing gloves, making them float over to the nearest punching bag and hitting it, as if they were being worn by an invisible boxer.

Though it was impressive, it wasn't convincing enough for Flynn to risk his ass over it.

"Try again, magic man," he growled, still keeping his knife against his neck.

Flitwick really did start to hyperventilate before he raised his stick and pointed it into the air. Though nothing seemed to happen at first, Flynn's eyes widened when he saw the dark cloud starting to form in the room, expanding to obscure the entirety of the tall roof with a stormcloud.

When the stormcloud started to thunder, sending tiny lightning bolts careening to the ground, Flynn felt his grip slacken at the wonder of what he was seeing. Though he still kept the knife against his neck, he almost forgot about it when the first drops of rain hit his face.

"Hey, asshole! Not indoors!" Jones shouted, but Flitwick didn't seem to hear him, too focused on waving his stick around like a conductor.

Flynn watched as the stormclouds swirled to match the movements of Flitwick's stick, swirling faster and faster with the wind that picked up inside of the gym, until it created a tornado that touched down halfway between where Flynn and Flitwick were standing.

Flynn's paranoia spiked when he suddenly lost sight of the tiny man, but for the first time in his life, the feeling was overwhelmed by a sense of wonder. For a moment, he watched the small scale natural disaster simply existing in front of him, and he let himself do the same.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

And then the tornado dissipated, revealing a very drenched Flitwick, still standing in the very same spot he had been in a moment ago.

"So?" Flitwick panted out, as the storm clouds in the room dissipated into nothingness. "Still not convinced, Mr. Fredericton?"

Flynn narrowed his eyes, not liking the way that Flitwick was grinning, like he had won. He readjusted his grip on his knife and pointed it towards the tiny man.

"Fine, magic's real," he said. "What the fuck does that have to do with me?"

If he felt a little satisfaction at the way that the man's expression fell into a tired and haunted look, he didn't let it show on his face. He simply watched as Flitwick's eyes darted to the side, silently pleading Jones for help.

"Remember what I said about a week ago?" Jones said. "About whether you would take power if it meant giving up your freedom?"

"This was it?" Flynn asked. "You could've fucking warned me, you old coot."

"We both know you wouldn't have believed me," Jones grunted. "Worst case scenario, you would've run away, and this shit would've happened anyways, just without me there to calm your ass down."

Flynn glared at Jones, not wanting to acknowledge that he was right. Instead he turned his gaze to Flitwick, who almost flinched when they locked eyes.

"Fine," Flynn said. "I'm listening."

From the look on Flitwick's face, Flynn wasn't sure if the man looked like the man wanted to cry out of joy or stress. In either case, the older man managed to hold back his tears long enough to clear his throat and regain some of his composure.

"Well, Mr. Fredericton," he said. "As I've already mentioned, I come bearing an invitation for you to attend the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Flitwick gave a start as he seemed to remember something. He patted at his suit for a few seconds before drawing out a soaking wet envelope. He didn't seem too disappointed about the state it was in, tapping the envelope twice with his stick and magically reverting it to a dry state.

"Here's your invitation," Flitwick said, waving his stick once more, sending the envelope gently floating in Flynn's direction. Once it got close enough, Flynn quickly snatched it out of the air, like it would suddenly zip away if he was too slow.

Tearing the edge of the envelope open with his teeth, he held the letter up in front of him, slightly to the side, so he could keep an eye on Flitwick while he read.

Dear Mr. Fredericton,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on the 1st of September. We await your owl by no later than the 31st of July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

"You're inviting me to a school," Flynn said frankly.

"Yes," Flitwick responded.

Flynn eyed the flowing suit that Flitwick wore. Now that he was looking at him, without the assumption that he was a pimp, Flynn had to admit that the suit that he was wearing was quite strange, though he didn't know enough about high fashion to comment on it. In any case, it was something way out of his price range.

"Seems like a fancy private school," Flynn said. "I can't afford it."

"Actually, there are no tuition fees to attend Hogwarts," Flitwick said, seeming to find comfort in the familiar topic. "Additionally, while most students are expected to buy their own school supplies, any students in financial need will be provided with secondhand books, as well as a stipend to purchase a wand and two sets of robes."

"Bullshit," Flynn said.

"E-excuse me?" Flitwick asked, his temporary cheer immediately being crushed.

"If it sounds too good to be true, it likely is," Flynn said. "You're lying."

Flitwick's mouth gaped open as he once again looked towards Jones for help.

Jones sighed and shook his head before looking up at Flynn.

"Hogwarts is the most prestigious magic school in all of the UK, brat, but you're right. It is too good to be true. Up until about a decade ago, tuition wasn't free and the stipend didn't exist," he said.

"What changed, then?" Flynn asked.

Jones shrugged. "Lots of magic folk died," he said. "Some nutter basically went about the UK, killing magical folks as he liked for a couple years. Hogwarts isn't just the most prestigious magical school in the UK anymore. It's the only school. With so many wizards being killed, the smaller schools shut down and Hogwarts became the only one left. They're desperate enough for students that they're offering free shit to anyone with a lick of magic in them, even if it's a street rat like you."

Flynn frowned. If Jones was telling the truth, then he could see the sense in it. Nothing in the world was free, but if this school was desperate for students, then he could agree that it made sense that they could offer free shit.

"Does that track, magic man?" Flynn asked.

Flitwick didn't seem to understand that the question was directed at him, but Flynn could guess from the utterly distraught look on his face, that Jones's blunt explanation had been correct.

"Fine," Flynn said. "I'll play along for now. Tell me more."

Turns out, there wasn't much else to tell. It takes a moment for Flitwick to realize that Flynn had tentatively accepted his offer to go to his school, and he took the news with mixed emotions, seeming unsure of whether he actually wanted him to attend after actually meeting him. The fact that he didn't rescind his offer immediately despite that made Flynn more confident that Jones was telling the truth about the school being desperate.

"Now traditionally, the first teacher to contact a muggleborn student is the one to show them around Diagon Alley, to get them accustomed to the magical world, but seeing as you have a member of the magical community you're familiar with, I suppose you could go with him instead. If that is what you wish, of course."

"I'll go with Jones," Flynn said.

Flitwick let out a sigh of relief almost immediately. He pulled another letter from his coat and dried it out before floating it over to Flynn's hands again.

"That envelope contains a voucher of sorts for you to acquire two sets of robes from Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions as well as a wand from Ollivanders. Those are both shops in Diagon Alley," he added hastily, once he seemed to remember who he was talking to.

"Thanks," Flynn drawled sarcastically. "Couldn't have figured that without you."

Flitwick didn't seem to know whether to be insulted by the sarcasm, or simply ignore it, but before he could come to a decision, Jones coughed into his hand.

"Leaky Cauldron's an hour bus ride from here," he said. "I'll go with the brat, but I ain't eager to waste time, Mr. Flitwick. I'd appreciate it if you could at least take us there and back."

Though Flitwick didn't seem to be too enthused by the request, but the obvious look of relief at Jones's agreement to be Flynn's chaperone seemed to overpower any negative emotions that the tiny man might've had otherwise.

"Of course!" he said. "If you could both come here and place your hands on my shoulders, we can go to the Leaky Cauldron immediately! Though I would appreciate if you could drop the knife, Mr. Fredericton."

Flynn considered the request before putting the knife in his back pocket, angling it in a way that he wouldn't accidentally stab himself.

"I don't want my fucking kitchen knives out on the streets, brat," Jones growled, before turning to Flitwick. "And before we go, Mr. Flitwick. I'd appreciate it if you cleaned your mess up first."

Flitwick blinked a few times in confusion before seeming to realize that everything inside the gym was soaked, including himself.

"Of course, Mr. Zabini," he said. "But if you would allow me to catch my breath first, I would greatly appreciate it. My previous spell did take some effort on my part, and cleaning the aftereffects of it will no doubt prove to be similarly difficult."

"As long as you clean it up before we go," Jones said, before turning to Flynn.

He motioned with his head to the back of the gym, towards the kitchen. Though Flynn's nerves were still high enough that the idea of being in an enclosed space like that wasn't a comfortable one, he couldn't logically think of a reason to refuse Jones's silent request. If he backed down here, it would just seem like he was being a little bitch.

Flynn walked back into the kitchen and tossed his knife in the sink. By the time Jones walked through the door he had already cleaned the knife of his blood and had it drying on the rack.

"So," Jones said. "I assume you have questions."

"Nah, I'm just fucking dandy, Jones. This wasn't a total mindfuck that you sprung on me with no warning. Why in the fuck would I ever have a single fucking question about what just happened?"

Jones simply raised an eyebrow and reached into his pocket for the pack of cigarettes he kept there. He frowned when he saw they were wet, and tossed them to the side, into the garbage.

"Why didn't you just magic those up to be dry?" Flynn asked.

"Because I can't," Jones said, unfolding one of the steel chairs they had used during last night's dinner and sitting down at the table with his back to Flynn. He took the lighter from his pocket and tried to light it, frowning when only sparks came out. "I'm what's known as a Squib."

"Sounds like something you'd catch from a back alley hooker," Flynn said.

"That it does," Jones said, with no humour in his voice. "It's what the magics call a person who was born into a magical family, but doesn't have any magic of their own. That'll be the first lesson you learn, brat. The magics have a dogshit sense for naming things."

"I could tell," Flynn said. "Muggles are what they call us normal people?"

"No," Jones said. "Not us normal people. You don't get to call yourself that anymore."

"Just one more reason to call myself a freak, then?"

"Seems like it."

Flynn glared at the back of Jones's head for a moment before groaning and grabbing one of the folded chairs that leaned against the wall. Although the temptation was there to knock it against Jones's head a little as he passed, he resisted the urge and sat down at the other side of the table.

"So," Flynn said. "I'm magic."

"Yeah."

"You knew?"

"Not for sure, but I suspected. Weird shit happens around magic kids, but I was willing to write it off as just you being weird."

"Fair enough," Flynn said. "What now?"

The simple question made Jones raise an eyebrow.

"The fuck are you asking me for?" Jones asked. "Make your own fucking decisions."

Flynn stared at Jones for a moment before shrugging.

"Fair enough," he said again.

They sat in silence for a long moment, before Flynn sighed.

"Fucking hell," he said. "I guess I'm gonna be a fucking wizard."

"Congratulations," Jones said, though his voice was monotone. "By the way, Hogwarts is a boarding school, last time I checked."

Flynn's jaw slackened slightly. A private school AND a boarding school? His reputation would be absolutely tanked once he came back.

"Fucking hell," he muttered into the air.

"That change your mind at all?" Jones asked.

"Fuck no," Flynn responded, though he did so almost begrudgingly.

A few minutes of silence later, and Jones got up, evidently deciding that he had given Flitwick enough time to clean up, and though he didn't seem to be quite done, Flynn had to admit that the process was quite impressive.

Flitwick had been busy, apparently using his magic to suck the moisture from everything in the room, and gathering it up into a large orb of water that simply floated in the middle of the air. When he heard the kitchen food opening, Flitwick turned his head towards the source of the sound, though he kept his stick aloft and pointed at the orb of water.

"Ah, perfect timing, Mr. Zabini," he said, sounding much calmer than he did just a few minutes before. "I'm nearly done here, and I was hoping you could direct me to the nearest drain where I could dump all this water into?"

"Kitchen's back here," he said, pointing with his thumb. "And it's Jones now."

"Ah yes, of course. I apologize. I won't make the mistake again," Flitwick said, before waving his wand.

Though the orb of water remained mostly intact, a long tendril of water extended from it, snaking into the open door and down the drain, even if Flitwick couldn't possibly see where it was from where he was standing. The process was slow, as the water seemed to flow out of the orb at a steady rate, so it wouldn't risk overflowing the sink, but Flynn didn't mind. He reached out to touch the tendril of water that floated in front of him, marvelling when his hand entered the stream with no resistance.

If he was being honest with himself, even after Flitwick had conjured up a literal tornado in front of him, he'd had his doubts that magic existed. But now, he truly believed it. It wasn't so much the impossibility of what he was looking at that convinced him that magic existed, but the feeling that coursed through him as he touched the magic that infected the water.

"Fucking hell," he muttered under his breath.