Whenever Flynn fought against Tom, it always felt like he was trying to fight against a boulder that was always on an incline, rolling slowly towards him, constantly trying to squash him unless he managed to push it back.

He hadn't ever been able to manage to push it back yet, which is why ever spar with Tom always ended up with Flynn facedown on the floor, lying in a puddle of his own drool, sweat, and sometimes blood, but he never gave up on trying. Someday, he knew would be strong enough to push back that boulder, and while that would probably only mean that Tom would actually try, and the boulder would only get bigger and the incline would only get steeper, the task of beating Tom never seemed impossible. Just incredibly difficult.

Jones, on the other hand, was a different story. While Jones wasn't as strong or as tall as Tom, only being taller than Flynn by an inch or two, the man exuded an aura of danger that Tom couldn't hope to compete against.

If fighting Tom was like trying to push a boulder, fighting Jones was like being a dead pig on a hook, trying to fight back against its butcher.

Like Tom had said, many times before, Marcus Jones was a goddamn genius.

Flynn stayed standing, trying and failing to dodge every punch. Whenever he tried to attack back, Jones either reached over and casually pushed Flynn's fist to the side, before he could even throw the punch.

The taste of blood flooded Flynn's mouth, and when he could barely see from how badly his eyes were swelling, he focused on Jones's feet, listening to the squeak of his soles as he slid across the ring.

It didn't work of course.

When Flynn was barely standing, he felt Jones wrapping his arms around the back of his neck. Flynn couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort at the hug, but not enough to ignore the sudden advantage that Jones had given him. Now that he knew where Jones was, he swung his arm back to give the old man an uppercut.

But before he could even move his arm, he felt Jones's arms tighten around his neck, before he felt his body being yanked down and a hard knee sunk itself deep into his gut.

Flynn fell to the ground, and almost immediately heard the sound of a metal bucket being placed down beside his head. Flynn quickly scrambled for the bucket, propping up his body high enough that he could place his head inside.

The sound of vomit hitting the bottom of the bucket echoed across the gym. Flynn didn't have much to throw up, not having had anything to eat since the previous night's dinner, but it still took a few minutes for Flynn to be certain he was finished.

When he looked up, Jones was gone.

Taking off his gloves, he dragged himself to the side of the ring before pulling himself to his feet with the ropes. Though he felt a little unsteady, he managed not to fall as he made his way to the back door.

Jones was waiting for him outside, sucking on an already lit cigarette.

"Got any questions for me?" he asked.

"I already know who you are," Flynn replied, finding a wall and using it to slide down to sit on the rough gravel. "I got everything I needed during our conversation."

Jones stayed silent for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out another cigarette. He squatted down and pushed the cigarette in between Flynn's lips.

"If I ever catch you smoking another one, I'll beat your ass," he said.

"Fuck you, old man," Flynn said, his voice a little muffled by the cigarette in his mouth. "I ain't stupid enough to poison myself like you."

"Good to hear," Jones said, before pulling out his lighter and creating a flame on the first try.

He held it there until the end of Flynn's cigarette turned red, and stood back up, turning himself so he was standing by Flynn's side.

Flynn coughed almost instantly, but bit down on the cigarette before he could accidentally spit it out.

"What the fuck?" he said. "How the fuck do you like these things?"

"I don't," Jones said.

"Then why the fuck do you smoke them?" Flynn asked.

"It's a memory," Jones replied, tossing his finished cigarette into the metal bucket beside him, and taking out another from his pocket. "I'm not sure why I still do it though. I've pretty much forgotten the bastard's face."

Flynn rolled his eyes before bracing himself and inhaling more smoke from the cigarette. He managed to hold his breath for a few seconds before coughing again.

"You're not as cool as you think you are, Jones," Flynn said. "Trying to be a cryptic old man isn't your thing."

Jones shrugged. "Fair enough," he said. "Elizabeth's father. Strongest man I ever knew. Even with most of his organs spilling out of his stomach, he still managed to punch me in the face and drag me down so I could listen to his final words over the sound of gunfire and mortar."

There was a long stretch of silence before Flynn spoke.

"You're a vet."

"World War Two."

"You're pretty young."

"Enlisted when I was twelve. I was big for my age and the army was desperate enough to pretend like they couldn't tell."

"Just like how Hogwarts is desperate?"

Jones sighed. "Probably not as bad, but whenever the government's desperate, it's a sign of bad things to come."

"You don't want me to go," Flynn said.

"I got no say in what you choose to do, brat," Jones said.

"You're right," Flynn said. "You don't."

There was a long silence before Jones sighed, and flicked his cigarette into the metal bucket, having finished his second one before Flynn was even halfway done with his first.

Flynn flinched slightly when he felt a hand on his head, and glared up at Jones. The old man withdrew his hand, pretending like he hadn't just tousled Flynn's hair, and walked to the back door of the gym.

"Spit that out if you don't like it," Jones said. "You're ruining my memories."

Flynn sucked in harder, just to spite him. He managed not to cough this time, even if the taste was somehow worse than when he first started. He forced his face into a glare, just so it wouldn't turn into a grimace.

Jones sighed and shook his head, before pushing the door open and heading inside.

"What was his name?" Flynn asked.

Jones paused for a moment.

"Jones," he said, before disappearing through the door.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Flynn leaned back and stared up at the sky, cursing Jones's stupid war buddy with each inhale he took for having such a shit taste in bad habits. Once he was done with the cigarette, he spat it out into the bucket and stood up, stretching out his sore muscles one last time before walking back into the gym.

If Jones was even more quiet than usual, Flynn didn't mention it.

When Tom came in to teach his classes later that day, he raised an eyebrow at Flynn's bruises but said nothing about them other than to give Jones a questioning look. When the old man said nothing, he turned his gaze to Flynn, to which Flynn immediately responded with a middle finger.

He seemed to accept that his help wasn't wanted and shrugged, before going to the back office and working on the gym's finances.

Flynn saw the old man disappear out of the back of the shop, and considered following him for a moment, but decided against it, choosing to stay behind and clean up. While he was still battered and bruised, he'd gotten used to the pain enough to move properly again.

When Tom came out a bit later, he raised an eyebrow and walked towards him.

"Mr. Jones sure didn't take it easy on you, did he?" Tom asked. "Honestly, I'm kind of jealous."

"Go run into traffic then," Flynn said. "I'm sure you'd get similar results."

"Har har," Tom said. "I saw some fancy looking clothes in the office. Did you steal them?"

"Fuck you, Tom," Flynn said, glaring at the older man. "I got them fair and square."

"I believe you," he said, holding his hands up defensively. "Just making sure I don't have to beat you up too. Why did Mr. Jones fight you, then?"

Tom seemed to genuinely believe him, so Flynn dropped his glare and shrugged. "He wanted to talk."

Tom rolled his eyes. "Of course. Peas in a pod, the two of you."

"Fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"You're a smart kid, Flynn. Figure it out."

Flynn flipped the middle finger to Tom once more, making the older man laugh, before he turned his attention back to cleaning. Once Tom's brats started to file in for their boxing class, Flynn made himself scarce and retreated through the back door.

The back was empty, and Jones hadn't been spitting his cigarette butts on the floor like he usually did, so Flynn suddenly found himself with nothing to do.

Sitting down on the floor, still sore from the fight with Jones, he drew his wand from his waistband and inspected it.

It didn't look like anything special. From the few wands he'd seen on the streets of Diagon Alley, and from the ones that the old man in the wand shop had shown him, he knew that most wands seemed to have some flourishes and designs to them. But his wand looked like any old stick that he could find on the ground.

One end was pointed, while the other ended in a gnarled knot of wood. He imagined that the pointed end was where magic came out of, and that the other end was where he should hold it. He tried holding it both ways and immediately decided that his initial hunch had been correct. Trying to hold it the other felt wrong, not in the sense that it didn't feel comfortable in his grip, but it felt like the wand itself was subtly protesting against being mishandled, even if he didn't understand how.

He was busy trying to understand how the wand worked, before he noticed movement.

Looking up, he saw a woman who always seemed to stand out violently against the dreary setting they were in. Being a smartly dressed, rich looking, blonde middle-aged white lady, already made her the complete opposite of most of the people who hung out in the general area, but what set her apart even more was the way that her smile lit up at the sight of him.

The woman waved at him from across the parking lot. Flynn sighed when he saw her, but waved back.

"Hey Flynn!" she shouted, uncaring about how loud she was being.

Not wanting to shout back, he waited for her to get a little closer before he responded. "Hi Liz," he said.

Elizabeth Lewis skipped forward, in a bouncy way that might've better suited a woman about fourty years younger than she was, but immediately stopped when she got closer. Her smile dropped into a horrified frown before she ran forward, making Flynn flinch back away from her before she got to him.

It was no use. Using a level of speed that he'd only ever seen from Jones himself, she lunged forward at him and quickly had him in a gentle grasp as she inspected his bruises.

"Oh my god, Flynn!" she said. "You're hurt!"

"Oh really? I wasn't aware," Flynn said, rolling his eyes and letting himself get manhandled by the older woman. Though he didn't like it, he knew she would be insufferable if he didn't let her.

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of comedy, young man," Liz grumbled, before she lifted his shirt to inspect his stomach. Flynn hissed in annoyance and forced his shirt down.

Thankfully, she didn't seem insistent on pulling it back up. "Who did this to you?" she asked, with a glare. "Was it Tom? I know I've told that boy to go easy on you."

"He knows I'll shank him if he tries," Flynn grumbled, ignoring the way that Liz clicked her tongue at him.

"I wish you wouldn't say such horrifying things, Flynn," she said.

"Well, tough luck," Flynn said. "What are you doing here, Liz?"

"What? Do I need a reason to visit my surrogate father?" she asked, trying to sound offended, but failing miserably. "Not to mention my favourite little boy in the world?"

Even if he knew she was just teasing him, Flynn couldn't stop the blush from rising to his face. "Fuck you, you old bitch," he said, hating how easily she affected him like this. "You sound like a pedophile."

Liz laughed and tousled his hair, pulling her hand away before he could slap it off.

"I'm sorry for not visiting more often, Flynn," she said. "I know it's no excuse, but it's been very busy at the clinic recently. I even have to go back once Marcus tells me what he wanted from me. Is he inside?"

Flynn shrugged as he looked away from her, refusing to meet her eyes. "I haven't seen him in a while," he said. "Do you want to wait inside?"

Liz frowned, but nodded. "I hope he won't be long," she said. "I do need to go back to the clinic soon, but he said it was important."

Flynn wondered for a moment whether it was about his magic, but he quickly decided that there was no point in guessing. Jones would be here soon.

"We can wait in the kitchen," Flynn said. "Just be quiet. Tom's teaching a class right now."

"Sure thing, mister man," she said, giving Flynn a mock salute that he ignored.

"You should really act your age," Flynn said.

"Said the kettle," Liz replied.

Flynn stopped himself from responding, knowing that that was exactly what she wanted.

"Help yourself to whatever's around," he said, taking a chair and sitting down.

"I'll take a tea, if you would be so kind," she replied, pulling up a chair of her own and sitting down with her arms folded neatly in front of her.

"We've got a water boiler and some weeds growing through the cracks in the concrete outside," Flynn said. "Go nuts."

"On second thought, tea sounds lovely, but I'll pass," Liz said, with a full smile on her face.

Flynn scoffed, and pointedly looked away from her.

"Soo... How was your day?" Liz asked.

"It was alright," Flynn replied.

"Anything interesting happen?"

"Nope."

Liz sighed as she hung her head. "Why must you always be so mean to me, Flynnie?" she said, wiping at her eyes. "I've gone through two teenagers already. Can't you just take pity on me and at least pretend to be nice?"

When Liz let out an obviously fake sob, Flynn glared at her.

"Shut the fuck up," he said. "Don't try that shit with me."

Liz grinned and lowered her hands from her completely dry eyes. "It was worth a shot," she said.

"It really wasn't," Flynn said. "You're a shit liar."

"That's not the insult you think it is, Flynn," she said. "It means you know I'm being honest with you when I say you're my favourite little boy in the whole world."

Flynn considered glaring at the old bitch, but he knew that would only make her laugh, so he stared at the wall, taking his annoyance out on it instead.

Thankfully, it didn't take long for Jones to come back from whatever errand he had been on. He nodded at the both of them when he entered.

"Took you long enough," Liz said, standing up and hugging the old man. Though Jones didn't hug her back, he didn't do anything to stop her either, taking the hug with the same stone-faced expression he always wore. "Sorry I haven't been by recently. Dr. Phillips retired and I've been taking on his patients while we search for a replacement."

"It's no problem," he said. "I ain't old enough that you gotta fuss over me."

"It's not fussing, Marcus. We're family," Liz said, with a huff, though she was still smiling as she let go of him. "So? What'd you call me out here for?"

Jones grunted, and reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden cube. He walked over and set the cube on the table in front of Flynn.

"Brat," he said. "Tap this."

Flynn raised an eyebrow, but complied, tapping the box with his finger.

When nothing happened, Jones shook his head. "Use your wand."

Flynn raised his eyebrow higher, realizing that the box was probably magical in nature, if Jones made a request like that. Trusting it was nothing dangerous, since Liz was in the room, Flynn took out his wand and tapped the box.

The effect was immediate, if slow. The box started to creak quietly as it morphed and shifted in front of his eyes, with no joints or visible mechanisms that would allow it to unfold like that, though he supposed magic could ignore the rules. Slowly, the wooden box transformed into a bird, moving in a distinctly animal-like way that would've made it impossible to distinguish from the real thing, if it weren't patterned like it was.

It opened its mouth, but made no sound as it hopped around on the table.

"As you can see, the brat's magic," Jones said. "He'll be going to a boarding school to learn how to use it. I just wanted you to know, so you don't freak out when he goes missing for a year. You'll be able to write letters, but you won't be able to visit or call him."

Flynn glanced behind him to see Liz staring with her mouth gaping open as her eyes tracked the bird's movements across the table.

"Magic is real?" she half squeaked, half whispered.

Flynn wasn't sure whether he was surprised or not at the fact that Jones had never mentioned magic to Liz. From what he knew of him, it was less likely that he was keeping it a secret, and more likely that he just didn't see the point.

"Yeah," Jones said, reaching out to the bird with his index finger. The bird cocked its head at the extended appendage, but hopped on after a moment of thought.

"You knew?" Liz asked, the betrayal obvious in her voice. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Jones shrugged. "Didn't see the point."

Ah. So his hunch had been correct.