Written for QLFC, Season 6, Round 10

Team: Wigtown Wanderers Position: Seeker

Prompt: Write about a character winning the lottery and changing their identity because of it.

Written for The Houses Competition

Slytherin, Year 4

Prompt: [Action] Changing your appearance

Beta(s): Dina, Aya, Lynne, Daronwyk Words: 2872 per GDocs

Dean Thomas was frozen on the edge of his hand-me-down floral couch, clutching the little paper ticket in his clammy palm. His eyes stayed glued to the television where the pretty blonde evening news anchor was pointing a string of numbers.

4-8-15-16-23... 42

Dean's heart leapt, and his stomach dropped to his shoes. His eyes flicked down to his ticket with the same numbers printed on it. Playing the lottery was just supposed to be a silly game that you could always count on losing. Until… you didn't.

He rose and stumbled back to his dresser on shaky legs. He shoved the ticket in the back corner of his sock drawer; the cramped studio apartment didn't offer many hiding places for lotto tickets worth up to eleven million pounds. He cast as many wards around it as he could without disturbing the Muggle electric circuits. Dazedly sliding into bed, Dean couldn't help but wonder just how much his life was about to change.

The next morning, Dean called in sick to work, cast several glamour charms on himself, and promptly took his ticket to the proper authorities to claim the prize. By the time he walked out as the sole winner of eleven million pounds, reporters and television crews were swarming the building; Dean had to change his glamour again to get through the crowds. He rounded a corner and, seeing no one, popped home. He really wasn't sure what all the fuss was about.

With the necessary business taken care of, Dean called his parents, all his younger sisters, all of his friends from Hogwarts that he wanted to tell. Everyone was excited for him, but Seamus gave him a warning about just how much this was going to change his life. Wasn't that the whole point?

Dean's parents insisted on having a few guests over to celebrate — who was he to deny them? A little party never killed anybody. And as it was barely a year after the final battle, Dean was willing to take any reason to celebrate everyone being alive and doing so well. With that settled, he went about his usual evening routine.

The next morning, Dean woke with a smile. Still filled with the excitement of his good fortune, he poured himself a bowl of cereal and turned on the television. He flipped past a soap opera, a game show, a home buying network, and stopped on the local news. There were tons of vans and reporters flocked to some dingy block of apartments in a seemingly run-down area. He dropped his spoon with a loud clink as he realized it was his neighborhood. They were parked outside his flat.

Dean sat down as the man in front of the camera began talking about Britain's newest lottery winner. They talked about his time in primary school and even interviewed his old playmates. Then, they brought up his mysterious disappearance and questioned his cover story of being away at a private school. To make matters worse, no one had seen him come back to his flat after turning in the winning ticket. "Where could he be?" — they were asking — "Hiding? Missing? Kidnapped?"

With a groan, he flipped off the television and tossed the remote across the room. Since the war and spending a year on the run, Dean had come to truly value his privacy; not even Seamus had a key to the door, and his mother and stepfather rarely visited. And rather than exit through the door, walk through the hall and down the stairs to leave, Dean just Apparated out of his flat to wherever he needed to go. As a result, he knew nothing of his neighbors. He was sure he gave the impression of being a recluse, which simply made him an even more interesting news story. Heaving a sigh, Dean turned off the television and tried to go about his day normally.

Before he knew it, it was time to Apparate to his parents' house for the party. He was excited to see everyone and share his bewilderment in this stroke of good luck. His family was ecstatic, his friends were thrilled, his… Seamus was just happy that Dean was happy. It started out as a lovely little get together. But 'a few people' quickly turned into the whole neighborhood, and then nearly the entire village was cramming into Dean's childhood home. He handled it all very well, he thought, until some prick called the news station and reporters were storming the street. Feeling more than a bit overwhelmed, Dean slipped into his old bedroom and Apparated back to his flat shortly before dinner. Exhausted, he flopped onto his bed and slept.

Things only got worse from there. Dean, being a wizard, rarely left his flat via the front door; he just Apparated or Flooed everywhere. He also valued his privacy, especially after the war. He lived in a Muggle building because he knew no one in the area, and his neighbors didn't know him or particularly care to. They never asked questions, and that's how he liked it. So when reporters went door to door asking about Dean, the other tenants had nothing to share other than he seemed to live alone, rarely left the apartment, and seemed like a nice enough young man. The lack of sightings, interviews, and reliable information about him whipped the media into a frenzy.

Not only was Dean having trouble with the Muggle news, but the Daily Prophet had also picked up his story. The attention was so overwhelming that he'd refused to go back to work. He was receiving dozens of owls from old schoolmates reminding him of "that one time," people from work hinting at favors, random strangers claiming to be hard up. Muggles wanted his privacy and wizards wanted his money. All Dean wanted to was to live his life normally, just with a little extra cash. But all of that had gone up in flames when he bought that little pink ticket.

What was Dean to do now? He had made the singular mistake of becoming a reclusive millionaire, the one that didn't give interviews, the moment he walked out of the lottery office. And he didn't intend to ever give one, if he got his way. Settling at his kitchen table with a notebook and pen — so much better than parchment and a quill — and began plotting.

Over the next few days, Dean popped in and out of his flat, using his parents' backyard as an Apparition point. He made the rounds at the various government offices, collected the necessary forms, and spoke to all the right people to make his plan a reality.

Early Friday morning, a yawning Dean Thomas exited his flat for the last time. He quietly popped into his parents' backyard and knocked on the back door. Though surprised to find their only son standing on their doorstep, his parents invited him in for a quick breakfast over which he explained his plans.

"So you're no longer going to be Dean Thomas, then?" his mother asked sadly.

Dean reached across the kitchen table to hold her hand. "I know, Mum. I love that I'm named after Grandpa Martin, but I'm afraid that if I keep any part of my name I'll get recognized."

"But won't people from school recognize you in that Alley place?" his stepfather interjected.

"First, I'm planning on using Muggle ways of changing my appearance. Hair dye, a different hair style, colored contacts or maybe glasses — you know, all the stuff from those spy movies you love," Dean smiled. But at his next thought, his face dimmed. "And no one will recognize me in Diagon Alley because I'm never going back there. I'm leaving Britain."

Dean's mother looked ready to cry, but his stepfather was unsurprised.

"Any chance you'll tell us where you're headed?" he grimaced.

The young wizard shook his head. "I'm not telling anyone. I can't trust anyone from the Prophet or the Ministry to illegally pick it out of your heads. I'm hoping to come back in a few years, once everything has died down a bit, but until then we'll just have to keep in touch with email. And I want you to know that I am so sorry," Dean lamented. "When I bought the ticket, I never expected to win the bloody lottery. And I certainly didn't mean for it to come to all this."

His mother nodded, wiping away her tears, and his stepfather clasped his shoulder, saying, "You do what you need to son. We'll always be here to support you, whether that's standing by your side or letting you go. We love you, Dean-o."

Dean blinked away tears and pulled them into a tight hug. Merlin, this was going to be harder than he thought. It had nearly killed him to be on the run for an entire year, and here he was doing it again voluntarily. Dean sighed. Sometimes life gives you no good choices.

Will Bonds, formerly known as Dean Thomas, stepped off his flight from Birmingham to Christchurch, New Zealand only slightly jet-lagged; it was amazing what you could do with the right potions. He collected his luggage and made a quick trip to the airport restroom. As he washed his hands, he looked in the mirror and had to do a double take. His close cropped hair had grown several inches for his transformation, and it was now sticking up wildly from his nap on the plane. His formerly dark chocolate eyes were now more of a murky hazel and hiding behind a pair of non-prescription glasses. Most notable, though, was his now much deeper skin tone; that had been a difficult spell to get right because it actually altered his genetic material. With a sigh, Dean gathered his magically enhanced luggage and made his way outside to hail a cab.

Dean—Will—climbed out of the cab, noting the beautiful sunset behind his new apartment block. He had chosen a flat not unlike his old one in London, only this time it was in a much nicer neighborhood. Once inside, Dean pulled his wand from his trunk and got his bedframe and mattress unshrunk and positioned the way he wanted. Despite being hungry, excited, and a little scared, Dean was able to fall into bed and go to sleep, thanking Merlin for Dreamless Sleep potions.

Over the next few months, Dean settled into a nice routine in Christchurch. With his knowledge of Muggle athletics, especially football, he easily got a job at a sporting goods store. He didn't need the money, but he wanted to keep up appearances, plus it gave him something to do. In his free time, Dean began to explore all the South Island had to offer — hiking Milford Sound, whale watching, Marlborough wine tasting, touring a glacier. All in all, it was a pleasant introduction to Kiwi life.

But Dean really found his new home in New Zealand when football season kicked off. In Wellington, just across the Cook Strait, he found a giant West Ham United supporters club. Dean found instant friends amongst the other Hammer fans, and he enjoyed spending his weekends in various pubs watching his favorite team with other "properly minded" individuals.

As much as he loved his new country, his new friends, and his new life, Dean couldn't help but feel a bit homesick. He kept up with his parents and sisters through email, but it wasn't the same as seeing them face to face, being able to hug them and laugh with them. And then there was Seamus.

Dean had felt some form of attraction toward Seamus since third year, and by the time he left Hogwarts for the last time, Dean knew that it was more than just curiosity or a crush. When he made the decision to leave Britain, Dean had seriously considered asking Seamus to come with him, but he hadn't wanted the Irishman to feel obligated to uproot his entire life. They weren't together, he had reasoned, and he had no reason to believe they ever would be. Instead, he'd taken the easy way — the coward's way, Dean thought to himself — and left Seamus a letter explaining everything he'd done.

So it was that on a warm spring day in October, Dean found himself sitting in another pub with the Wellington West Ham club watching DiCanio score the first goal when he felt a prickle of magic in the air. In Wellington, it wasn't uncommon for magical people to be out and about in the Muggle world, so he thought nothing of it. During the halftime break, Dean left the group to grab another drink at the bar. As he approached, the wizened bartender silently poured and then handed him a pint of Guinness, even though he'd been drinking Foster's.

Before Dean could correct the old man, he thrust a gnarled thumb toward a patron shrouded in a haze of smoke at the end of the bar. "Came from him," he grunted. "Said you'd know what it meant."

Dean went back to his new friends and begged off, feigning a stomach ache; they didn't argue with Will, too engrossed in the game to worry much. He then took the bar stool next to the shadowy figure. "I'll be honest, you're the last person I expected to see here."

"And who the hell were you expecting?" Seamus asked. "Certainly not anyone else that cares about you. You left us all high and dry in England with nary a way to find you."

Dean cocked his head. "How did you find me?"

Seamus snorted, "Face it, mate, I know you better than anyone. You don't speak any other languages, so the place had to speak mainly English. You detest North American soccer, Apartheid only recently ended in South Africa, and you think that Australian wildlife is designed to kill people. That really only left New Zealand. And I knew that where there is West Ham, Dean Thomas would follow. Just had to call up the president and find out where you were watching the game. I did ask about a British bloke moving in, just to check. Really, mate? Billy Bonds?"

"I go by Will, you prat," Dean growled, paying their tabs. They made their way out into the southern sunshine, and he tilted his face up to greet it. "How did you recognize me too? I put in a lot of work to make sure that I wouldn't be identified."

"I keep telling you, I just know you. You can change your hair, your skin, your eyes, your clothes, whatever. I'd still know you by the way you bounce when you rock back in a chair, or the way you always scratch your nose before you disagree with someone, or the way you always miss that little patch of beard on your left cheek," Seamus murmured, suddenly intent on studying his shoes. "You can change everything about you, but I still know you. And I know that you're missing home, whether you'll admit it or not," he finished defiantly.

Despite his bravado, Dean had rarely seen his best friend look so nervous, as though he was afraid of being sent away. As if that would happen. "As much as I hate to say it, you're right — I'm pretty homesick for my family and friends. But I can't go back now, Shay. I've changed my name, my face, my very identity to finally get some peace."

Seamus sagged in relief. "I'm not here to bring you home. I'm here to stay with you."

Dean's stomach somersaulted. "You don't have to—"

"I know I don't have you, you great prick. I miss you too, you know," Seamus snapped. "So don't even think of sending me away."

Looking down into the other boy's eyes, Dean saw indignation, slight fear, and… something that made Dean's stomach continue its internal acrobatics. "Wh-Where are you planning on staying?" he stammered.

"With you, I figured."

"I live in a studio, and there's not enough room for another bed."

"Same bed you had in London?"

"Yeah…"

"Then we know it's big enough for the two of us for a bit. Wouldn't be the first time Ogden's got the best of us and landed us there for a night and half the next day. We'll figure out the rest as we go."

Dean thought on this for a moment. Seamus was right — they'd both be able to sleep in the California King just fine, but he could have just suggested transfiguring it into a couple of bunks. Unless… Maybe staying together in such close quarters would be a good opportunity to get a better feel for how Seamus felt about him, especially with all these changes. "You're right, mate. Here, let me pop you in through the wards."

Dean grabbed Seamus's hand in preparation for their travel, and he had every intention of holding onto it just a little too long when they got back to his flat. He may have won eleven million pounds in Britain, but he might just hit the jackpot in New Zealand.