“If you don't, then you won’t be able to find the platform.” He recalls what his mother's response the night before.
If he doesn’t have one. Cool. But he found himself standing and waiting for the train to arrive on platform 9 ¾.
He thought that the rivalry with his teammate was the plot twist of his year but apparently not.
The letter in his hands and a quick talk with his parents has finally given him his answers.
His mother, who claimed to be a sorcerer, gave him enough knowledge about everything.
The nagging feeling never left his mind. He wanted to ask someone, he wanted to understand something but who would even take him seriously?
Perhaps the owl knocking on his window might?
Maybe.
Dean stood up abruptly and stared at the owl with wide eyes.
Like how he swore his pen jiggled when he absentmindedly wished his pen could write on its own so his fingers wouldn’t hurt. The window of his room was suddenly open when he was taking a nap when he wished he could feel any air because it was hot.
The athletes never suspected a thing but Dean? His mind was filled with questions as he walked back to his dorm. He’s certain that the ball will hit the floor, just beside his bald senior. The ball’s trajectory couldn’t even change that much unless he did a float serve.
Safe to say that the practice ended with a heated argument. The bald boy blamed him for obviously targeting him because he was being petty but Dean only smirked and told him that he should be ready at all times instead.
The ball, which its trajectory initially predicted to hit on the corner of the court, slightly shifted in the air.
With the blink of their eye, the ball was in front of the other man’s face and he was a second late in lifting his arms, the ball would’ve dent his face.