“YOU CALLED MY MUM A WHORE?!”
“Harry!”
Harry only dropped the handle of his trunk before he was being grabbed in a tight hug from one of his best friends, Hermione. Harry laughed as he swatted at her frizzy hair, trying to see through it to see that Ron was beaming at him just behind Hermione.
“Good to see you, mate,” Ron said cheerfully. “I thought—”
“What the fuck was that?”
Harry had moved out from in front of the fireplace so Dean could come through, but he forgot to move his trunk and so Dean’s first impression of Ron’s house was the floor after tripping over Harry’s trunk and hitting the ground.
“Oh.” Hermione released Harry and was quick to offer Dean a hand. “Are you - you…”
Dean had jumped nimbly to his feet and Harry could see his hand twitching - probably for his gun - while his eyes quickly took in the room, bypassing where Hermione was uncharacteristically stammering and pink-cheeked. Harry looked around too and saw that the rest of Ron’s family was gathered, scattered around various pieces of furniture.
Mrs Weasley was there, already stalking toward Harry with a warm smile and arms outstretched. Harry accepted the hug, melting in it some, and saw the twins exchanging grins after noticing Dean’s very tense posture. There was Percy, sitting by Mr Weasley, peering curiously at Dean. Ginny gave Harry a very shy smile when he saw her, sandwiched between the only two people he didn’t know.
Harry assumed they were Ron’s oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie. They had both graduated before Harry started, so they never met. Harry also assumed, based on the burns on the arms of the shorter one with the close-cropped hair and thickset body, that he was Charlie. Which meant the taller one, with the long ponytail, fang earring, and leather jacket was Bill.
Bill who Ron had said had once been prefect, the Head Boy, and had eight owls to boot. Harry sort of expected an older version of Percy, with wire-rimmed glasses and an air of distaste when fun was happening… but Bill looked cool.
Like Dean, who was standing beside Harry in the suddenly quiet room.
“Er…” Harry nervously thrummed his fingers on the leg of his jeans. Harry had explained to Ron in his letters about his brothers, Ron had taken it in stride. But Ron was Harry’s best mate and the rest of Ron’s family was staring at Dean with various expressions on their faces.
“This is my brother, Dean,” Harry said.
“Dean! Welcome!” Mrs Weasley was the first one to break the silence as she grabbed Dean in a hug. Harry saw his startled expression and he smirked just a bit, those hugs startled Harry at first too, but then Ron was introducing his older brothers to Harry and the room became a flurry of handshakes and hugs and greetings.
Harry was more relaxed then than he had been in a while. It was familiar and welcoming and felt a lot like home.
Then Percy ruined it with a comment that Harry overheard him say to Dean.
“You have green eyes, like Harry’s,” he said, shaking Dean’s hand pompously. “I didn’t notice that in the picture.”
“Picture?”
Every red-head in the room, plus Hermione, went still at Harry’s question. Percy actually went red in the face and Harry saw Dean tense up once more as the room itself became rather tense. The easy air of reunion and low buzz of excitement for the match had disappeared and even Mr Weasley, who was always so easy-going and comfortable, adjusted his glasses in a show of awkwardness.
What picture of Dean? Who had a picture of Dean?
Harry looked around the room before settling his gaze on Hermione, the only person to meet his eyes.
“What picture?” Harry asked her, puzzled by everyone’s behavior.
“Um… well… there was a newspaper article, actually,” Hermione said nervously, twisting her hands in front of her. “I think - I think they got it from the States first…”
“What article?” Dean asked, voice hard.
“For the… interview you gave?” Hermione said, practically squeaking under the force of Dean’s glare.
“The… interview… you gave…” Harry said the words slowly, willing them to make sense as he turned a furious glower of betrayal toward his brother. To Dean’s credit, he seemed confused.
“Maybe we can just sit down and have supper,” Mrs Weasley suggested with a forced tone of brightness. Harry ignored her, pointedly looking at Hermione when it was Bill who got him what he wanted.
“You might wanna sit,” Bill suggested, guiding Harry to the sofa by his shoulder. Harry shook him off, irritated, and unfolded the newspaper that he had been handed.
There in bold headlines…
POTTER FAMILY SCANDAL SHARED BY HALF-BROTHER
Harry’s hands were shaking when just below the headline was a photograph of Dean… in a pub. When Harry took his time to study the picture, he thought it might have been the day that they went to Texiagon Trail.
“You unforgivable moron,” Harry breathed, his eyes only taking in a few bits and pieces of the horrible article. Dean stood just behind Harry, reading the same thing, and Harry very briefly considered trying to repay the black eye Dean gave him with one of his own.
Whoever Dean talked to had taken - taken —
“YOU CALLED MY MUM A WHORE?!”
Harry’s voice was loud enough to wake the ghoul in the attic, causing a series of banging and clattering that Harry couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in his ears.
“Hey, no!” Dean held his hands up when Harry turned fully to give his brother a loathing expression. “I never called your mom a - a—”
“‘Promiscuous and improper young woman’,” George supplied helpfully, quoting the paper.
“Harry, I never said that,” Dean swore, staring directly at Harry while Mrs Weasley tried to usher the twins and Ginny toward their dining room. Dean looked honest, but it was his bloody face grinning in the photograph and his name being quoted.
Just below Harry’s mum being horribly insulted, it stung to see Harry quoted as Dean’s ‘half-brother’.
Not quite just brother, not like Sam.
Half.
“Why were you even talking about my mum to anyone?” Harry demanded, eyes watering with what he hoped was interpreted as anger.
Harry was angry, but he was hurt too. Not that Harry would admit that. Harry was Dean’s half-brother, that was a fact.
Dean just didn’t have to say so.
“I swear on - on my freaking car I never talked about your mom,” Dean said, making Harry blink.
That was a rather serious swear from Dean.
“That chick I was with? With the?” Dean made a few hand gestures, indicating curly hair and something with his ches—
Bloody hell.
“Harley,” Harry reminded him through grit teeth, ignoring the grins being passed by the two older Weasley brothers and the snickers from his left that Ron was spilling.
“Yes! Her!” Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up. “She asked how we were related, I just… I just told her.”
“Well she made it sound like my mum was having an affair,” Harry said angrily, smacking Dean in the chest with the paper. “Why couldn’t you just keep your mouth shut?”
Harry gave Dean one more withering glare before he turned and let the tilt of Ron’s head lead him up familiar stairs. Hermione followed the boys, the three of them staying quiet until Ron led them in his bedroom.
The room hadn’t changed from the last time Harry had been there, not really. It was still decorated in posters for the Canons, Ron’s favorite quidditch team. There were a few Gryffindor flags that Harry thought were new, but he hardly paid them attention as he flopped on Ron’s bed with a huff.
Hermione settled beside Harry, Ron sat on the floor in front of them.
It was so much like how their entire friendship had been, with a few minor bumps. It was comfortable and welcoming and when Hermione grabbed Harry’s hand and Ron nudged Harry’s ankle with his foot, Harry decided to tell them that he missed them.
When Harry opened his mouth to say that - it wasn’t what came out.
“Half brother,” he said tonelessly, trying to swallow the hard lump that had appeared in his throat the moment he read the qualifier.
Sam and Dean were brothers. Harry was half a brother to them.
“Oh, Harry.”
Harry didn’t mean to cry when Hermione hugged him from the side, it just happened. Honestly, how embarrassing.
It was a culmination of everything that had happened since Harry had last seen his friends. When the dam broke, Harry just started blubbering and couldn’t stop.
“Sirius is mental, he doesn’t even know —”
“ — THREW A BULLET AT ME!”
“ — they were all screaming and there was so much blood —”
“ — hunt witches, and they kill werewolves!”
“I HAVE TERRIBLE AIM WITH A GLOCK!”
“ — never had a party, you know?”
“I thought it was okay, but half-brother —”
Harry spent the better part of two hours telling Hermione and Ron every single thing that had happened so far that summer. Harry edited some bits, like his certainty that he was the cause of the airplane crash, but all the other things, the things he never could have put in a letter, he told them it all.
At one point, Hedwig flew over and landed right on top of Harry’s head, a comforting weight. Sometime around Harry telling them about Andy and Ansem, someone knocked on Ron’s door and he went to shoo them away and returned with a tray full of food that Mrs Weasley sent up for them.
Harry just talked and cried and they listened.
By the time Harry finished, his throat was dry and he was dead grateful for the glass of water that Ron gave him. Hermione looked a little weepy, which was very Hermione, and Ron seemed thoughtful, which was also very Ron.
“And,” Harry voice was a little croaked from talking more in one go than he usually did for an entire day, but he still made an effort to grin at both of them, “I missed you.”
“I dunno how you had time to miss us,” Ron said. He whistled and shook his head, grinning up at Harry from where he was sprawled on the floor. “You’ve just been traveling and getting fit. I swear you’re almost as tall as I am now.”
“And he’s meeting girls,” Hermione teased, sniffing some, but still smiling at Harry. “Michaela and Jo and pretty witches from Texas.”
“Quit it.” Harry laughed and snatched a roll off the tray Ron put on the bed so he could pinch pieces off to throw at them both. Hedwig thought it was a game for her though and hooted with delight as she swooped to catch the bread pieces in her beak.
“It does sound like you’ve been very stressed though,” Hermione said, much more sympathetically then. She had a grip on Harry’s forearm and she squeezed gently. “Goodness though, Harry, it’s sort of exciting, isn’t it? I mean… you have brothers!”
“Oi! He’s always had brothers!” Ron scowled, kicking Hermione’s foot with a haughty sniff.
“Harry has biological siblings,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at Ron. “Are you happy?”
“Not if they’re making him more miserable than brothers are meant to,” Ron shot right back at her. “They’re supposed to, I dunno, break your stuff and give you their old clothes.”
“No. They’re supposed to love and support you.”
“Oh, what would you know? You don’t have any brothers.”
“Well I’ve read all about them!”
Harry sank down in the bed, grinning, and let his friends bicker. That was familiar too, the back and forth between Ron and Hermione as they debated sentiments and statistics.
Hedwig finished the bread she had been nibbling on and hopped down to Harry’s shoulder and pecked him once on the head before flying away to the cage she shared with Ron’s owl. It was both the sight of the owl that Sirius replaced Ron’s rat with and the newspapers that lined the bottom of the cage that made Harry’s stomach twist unpleasantly.
It had been foul, the way that the paper had made Harry’s mum sound. It also made Harry feel rather guilty, as that had been his first thought as well. Except Harry thought he had the excuse of being Lily Potter’s son and not wanting to consider his mum’s name in the same sentence as ‘open marriage’ though, that reporter didn’t have a similar excuse.
“Reckon Sirius has seen that yet?” Harry asked abruptly, ending the playful fighting happening. Hermione looked where Harry did and must have pieced his nonsensical question with what he was looking at, otherwise she was just a mind-reader.
“Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “It was published last week, rewritten from an article that some gossip rag in the States published.”
“Mm,” Harry hummed. He didn’t really want to call Sirius just then, but he didn’t want Sirius to blow up about it like Harry had. Dean probably hadn’t meant any harm, he had just been chatting with a pretty witch in a pub.
Harry probably should have warned him beforehand to not talk about his parents, but the damage was done.
It was just horrible that Harry’s mum, the woman who died for him when she didn’t have to, the woman whose screams he heard when he was around a dementor… she was being talked about when she wasn’t there to… to…
“Oi.” Harry’s eyes started roaming Ron’s room, searching for a bit of parchment and ink. “Who wrote the article?”
“Rita Skeeter,” Hermione answered immediately. “Why?”
Harry crawled across the bed to grab the parchment lying on Ron’s dresser. It was clean and good enough for what Harry wanted.
“I’m going to ask her to fix her story,” Harry said, perfectly rationally. “My mum didn’t cheat on my dad and I’m not going to let anyone say that about her.”
“And if she won’t fix it?” Ron asked.
“Then… then…” Harry was struggling to come up with a plan b when he thought plan a sounded foolproof.
“Then we publish an independent article and mail it out as an interview from the Boy-Who-Lived,” Hermione said simply. She also took the parchment from Harry and pulled a quill from the pocket on the front of her shirt. “I’ll write this, you dictate. Um… well… how exactly..?”
Harry sighed and flipped back on the bed, preferring not to look at either of his friends in that moment.
“They had an open marriage and met John Winchester in Las Vegas on their honeymoon…”
It was a mark of loyalty that neither Ron nor Hermione so much as coughed when Harry got past the awkward bit. Harry had Hermione leave out how John was trying to kill his dad and Sirius, making it sound a little more romantic, like Sam once had.
James and Lily were married, went on a honeymoon to the States. They met John Winchester, who thought Lily was beautiful, and when he traveled to London to visit her - James fully supported Lily meeting up with him.
“She’s going to wonder how you know this if everyone in this story is dead,” Hermione pointed out, writing every word probably much more neatly than Harry would have.
“Good point,” Ron said, his voice somewhat muffled by the food he was picking at on the tray. “Tell her ‘PS: why didn’t Sirius Black get a trial?’”
Harry laughed and nodded when Hermione looked at him for confirmation.
“Hey, we tried to tell the Minster,” he reminded her. They had, at the end of last year when Harry thought Sirius was going to get the Dementor’s Kiss, Harry and Hermione pleaded with Minister Fudge to listen to them. But he didn’t.
Maybe someone else would.
In the end, Hermione wrote a very smart letter that Harry signed his name to at the bottom.
And then, figuring he had probably been more unfair to Dean by leaving him alone in a house he wasn’t familiar with and people he didn’t know for hours than Dean had been by accidentally chatting up a reporter, Harry sighed and went to find his half-brother.
*****
By eleven, Harry and Dean were the only two awake in the Burrow. The time difference had Harry wide awake, despite the early hour they would need to leave the next morning.
Mrs Weasley had tried to put Ron in the living room so Dean could have his room, but Dean had given her a charming smile and said he’d prefer the sofa. Harry wasn’t sure how he ended up downstairs with Dean, he had sort of just gravitated that way once Ron’s snores became too loud to ignore.
Dean sprawled across the sofa on his back, one arm bent under his head. Harry was curled up in the recliner, mostly picking at the threads pulling out of the blanket Mrs Weasley probably knit.
It was awkward.
“Er… I’m going to ask that reporter to write the real facts about my mum,” Harry offered when he couldn’t take the silence anymore.
“Yeah?” Dean lifted his head, looked at Harry, then dropped it back down. “Good. ‘Cause I didn’t say any of that shit.”
“None of it?” Harry pushed, not knowing why he did. It didn’t matter, half-brother was better than no brother, it was just a hurtful qualifier.
“None of that shit, no,” Dean scoffed, not quite answering Harry’s indirect question. “And if you told me a single damn thing about yourself, maybe I would have known better than to use my little brother as a topic to talk up to a chick.”
Harry picked at his nails in his lap, looking down at them instead of over at Dean.
“Would you?” Harry asked him quietly. “If you were famous for not dying when your parents were murdered, would you be rushing to tell people about it?”
Dean was quiet for so long that Harry finally looked over at him only to see that Dean was awake and staring up at the ceiling.
“Maybe not,” Dean conceded. He tilted his head down so he could see Harry and he lifted the hand on his chest to point a finger at him. “You’re lucky I got a rundown from these people though. If I don’t know what I’m working with, I can’t do shit about it. Got it?”
Harry nodded and they lapsed back into silence, minimally less awkward than before. It was cozy and warm enough in the Burrow for Harry to feel a little tired, the ticking of a clock and the sounds of a house settling in for the night had his eyelids drooping.
It had been a long day and Harry didn’t want to be yawning when the snitch was caught the next day… he let his eyes stay closed and rested his head on the cushioned armrest. A few hours of sleep in the Burrow that always smelled like cinnamon to Harry and then…
Then the Quidditch World Cup.
Just as Harry was drifting off… thoughts of a professional quidditch match making his mind peaceful… Harry thought he heard someone whisper something to him.
“You’re not my half anything, either. You’re a Winchester, you’re my brother.”
And so Harry fell asleep with a small smile curling his lips up in contentment.
*****
If Harry had been worried about how everyone would treat Dean, it had been for nothing.
The Weasleys all accepted Dean just as easily as they had Harry and he was pestered with questions the next morning while their group - minus the three oldest Weasley boys who would be apparating later - walked to the portkey location.
“You know it’s madness to go hunting vampires without a wand, right?” Fred asked Dean.
Dean shrugged. “I like my odds with a machete better than a wooden stick.”
“What if it were a dragon?” George asked. “You really think a knife can kill a dragon?”
“How would you do it then, smart guy?”
That silenced the twins for a moment, giving Harry and Ron a chance to exchange grins. The twins weren’t being rude, and Dean didn’t seem offended, so Harry just let them go on.
“We wouldn’t,” Fred finally said, smirking at Dean with a glimmer in his eyes. “Why would we kill a dragon when our new brother’s brother could do it for us?”
“Yep, we’ll need your number, Dean,” George added seriously, his eyes sparkling as much as his twin’s did. “For protection purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Dean agreed with a nod. “How old are you?”
“Nearly seventeen,” they replied in tangent.
“Call someone else.”
Hermione and Ginny giggled then and Harry was disturbed by the sound of Hermione giggling. Hermione didn’t giggle. Dean winked at them and Harry was further disturbed to see Hermione duck her head and blush.
“Ah… Dean…” Mr Weasley had been peppering his own questions to Dean in during their hike, a hike that Harry was pleased to note didn’t even have him sweating thanks to Sam, but they were nearing the top of the hill and Mr Weasley suddenly seemed uneasy.
“I want you to know that any brother of Harry’s is certainly like family to us, but it would be neglectful of me to not mention that… Well… that you might not get the friendliest reception from others today,” Mr Weasley said in a whispered rush. “It’s silly, but—”
“But I’m the freak with no magic?” Dean asked, grinning crookedly. “Don’t worry about it, man. Nobody’s going to hurt my feelings.”
Mr Weasley seemed relieved with Dean’s nonchalance, Harry wasn’t.
“You’re not a freak,” Harry frowned. “Don’t say that.”
Dean raised an eyebrow when he looked at Harry, as if he were somehow surprised that Harry wouldn’t want him to insult himself like that.
‘Freak’.
It was a horrible word.
Even if it was Harry’s own hang up, one he would never say aloud considering the stigmas and wars caused over blood status, Harry really thought it was just as bad as ‘mudblood’.
It certainly made Harry want to hex someone when he pictured anyone calling Dean a freak.
“Give me that.” Dean snatched Harry’s backpack he had dangling off one shoulder and had it slung over his own shoulder before Harry could protest. “I’ll carry it.”
When Harry couldn’t see any logical explanation for why Dean would think he needed to carry Harry’s bag that only held his wand, cloak, and mirror… he just assumed that was Dean’s peculiar way of thanking Harry for saying he wasn’t a freak.
Their group that had started the trip rather quiet and sleepy had perked up considerably by the time they reached the top of the hill. The twins and Ginny were debating which team might win while Ron filled Harry and Hermione in on which teams nearly made the final match.
Dean talked cars with Mr Weasley, both of them completely at ease while Dean explained how engines worked and Mr Weasley told him about the enchantments he put on his old car.
It was brilliant, really. Harry wished that Sam could have came with them to meet all of Harry’s friends, but he was hoping there would be loads of chances. Especially since Harry would be returning to Hogwarts in a week…
A thought that usually made him happy and instead had him feeling rather gloomy.
At the top of the hill were two people, one familiar and one not.
Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff student at Hogwarts, smiled brightly when their group joined him and the older man with him on the top of the hill. Harry returned his smile with a nod, still rather peeved about Cedric ruining his winning streak in quidditch.
Not nearly as peeved as the twins, who openly scowled at Cedric.
“Arthur! How are you?” The man with Cedric, his dad probably, bound forward and began shaking Mr Weasley’s hand with enthusiasm. “Good Lord, are these all your kids? No? Still missing one - no…”
The man’s eyes snagged on Harry, the automatic tick to Harry’s forehead saying he just realized who Harry was.
“Amos, these are my kids- Fred, George, Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Dean,” Mr Weasley said, casually mixing Harry and Dean in in a touching way. The inclusion of Dean broke Mr Diggory’s stare off with Harry’s forehead and he gawked at Dean.
“But you’re- you’re a muggle!” Mr Diggory cried. Harry bristled, but he broke into a wide smile that probably meant he didn’t mean to be offensive. “This is exciting! Smuggling a muggle in to a Quidditch match! Arthur, you scoundrel!”
Mr Weasley was flustered and fidgeted with his glasses while he mumbled something about Dean being related to a wizard so really no laws against it.
“Right-o!” Mr Diggory agreed, still beaming. “Oh! And you all know my son, right? Cedric? I think he’s in the same year as your twins?”
“Hello.” Cedric offered Mr Weasley a hand, then Dean. “I thought your interview was incredibly appalling,” he told Dean pleasantly. When he winked at Harry after saying it, Harry grinned back.
Honestly though, it wasn’t as if it were Cedric’s fault that the dementors attacked during the game. And really, Cedric wasn’t that bad of a bloke. Harry could see why people called him ‘Pretty Boy’ too, he was rather good looking and polite.
“It wasn’t an interview,” Dean said gruffly, sticking his hands in his jacket pocket after briefly shaking Cedric’s hand. “I didn’t say any of that shit.”
“So you and Harry aren’t related?” Mr Diggory asked, scrunching his forehead up when he looked from Dean to Harry. “You certainly look something alike.”
“I said we were brothers, that was it,” Dean said firmly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. His challenging glare must have been enough to remind everyone they had other things to discuss, because Mr Weasley cleared his throat.
“Yes, so, is it just us?” Mr Weasley asked Mr Diggory. “I thought the Lovegoods might be coming?”
“Xeno traded his tickets for some sort of potion, don’t ask because I didn’t understand a lick of it!” Mr Diggory laughed. He pulled an empty glass bottle from inside his jacket and offered it to everyone. “We’ve got about twenty seconds before it takes off.”
“Gather round,” Mr Weasley said, ushering them all to stand in a crowded and awkward circle. With all of them standing smushed together, a finger from each on the bottle, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw Dean looked as amused as he was.
“I bet we look weird,” Harry told him.
“Kid, that’s the freaking understatement of the century,” Dean agreed.
Harry and Dean split off from the Weasleys when they arrived at the forest that had been cleared out and set up for the match. The Weasley family and Hermione set off to their campsite to set up their tent and Harry and Dean went to office where Harry was told he could pick up his tickets at.
There was quite a line ahead of them when they found the right place and Harry was content to people watch with his brother while they waited. It seemed as if most of the older witches and wizards had tried - and failed - to dress as muggles. Harry wasn’t sure why they had bothered, why not just give the muggle staff that ran the forest the weekend off and then not worry about anyone breaking the Statute of Secrecy? But it certainly led to some interesting results.
There were two men walking around in fancy dresses with lace and ribbons, arguing about how to best bleed a salamander. There was an old woman using a cane to hobble around with who wore winter coveralls and a toupee on top of her own grey hair. Dean started laughing immediately when they saw a man proudly waltzing around in a woman’s one-piece swimsuit.
Harry ducked his head when Dean’s loud laughter made the wizard peer curiously at them, but he was shaking with silent laughter as well.
“And I’m the odd one out,” Dean whispered to Harry.
Harry compared Dean - who had on his leather jacket, jeans, and boots - with his relaxed posture, the muscles probably tensed in his arms with his hand hidden in a pocket that Harry would guess had his gun, to everyone else who walked around.
“Honestly, we might be the oddest two here,” Harry said with a grin that just bordered on shy. It was easier with Sam, Harry always knew where they stood and he could ask when he didn’t, but Dean worked differently. And since it seemed as if Dean didn’t actually call Harry’s mum anything insulting and didn’t put a qualifier on their relationship… Harry could at least try and relate to Dean on Dean’s level.
Just as soon as he figured out what that level exactly was…
They did crack a few more quiet jokes about the dress choices of the others while the line slowly moved forward. Harry was impressed that Dean didnt react at all when they saw a few displays of magic, but he figured he did spend half a day at the Burrow and maybe he was becoming more immune to it all.
As long as the gun Harry knew he had stayed put away, then Harry was happy.
When they finally reached the front of the line, Harry saw that the man running the booth was a muggle, as evidenced by the strange looks he kept casting around and the slightly dazed look in his eyes.
“Hello,” Harry said politely. “I have three tickets under Harry Potter?”
“Potter… Potter…” The man held an impossibly long list and his finger trailed down it while he kept mumbling Harry’s last name. “What section?”
“Er… 142?”
“Mmm… Harry Potter, you said?” The man asked, his eyes still on the parchment. “I don’t see you…”
Harry’s heart clenched and he suddenly felt as if he were going to throw up. He bought the tickets, it had taken all the American money he had. Harry had to find a bank - that thankfully linked his vault back to Gringotts - just to purchase his school supplies.
“Can you check again?” Harry asked. “I swear I bought them.”
“Did you upgrade them perhaps?” The man peered at Harry with his glassy eyes. “I see a Harry Potter with three seats in the Top Box.”
“Er… sure,” Harry said slowly, trying to puzzle that together. Harry definitely didn’t buy tickets in the Top Box, that would be absurd. The three tickets had been expensive enough, he couldn’t imagine the fortune it would cost to upgrade them.
“Then you don’t need tickets at all,” the man said, suddenly sounding bored. “Enjoy the game. Next!”
Harry turned away so a harried seeming witch with three young kids could take his place. Dean raised his eyebrows at Harry and then punched his shoulder lightly with his fist.
“Free upgrades on seats? Nice,” Dean said, falling in step with Harry as they headed toward the campsites where the Weasleys would be. “Man, if I were you I’d be using that scar to get all sorts of free shit.”
“Targeted by a madman and murdered parents, Dean,” Harry reminded him absently, still thinking about the upgrade he didn’t ask for.
It wouldn’t have been the Weasleys, they would have told Harry when he said he had to go pick up his tickets. And the twins had even offered to swap Harry and Dean spots so they could sit in the Top Box if they wanted, so that didn’t make sense.
Sirius? Maybe? He did once send Harry an expensive racing broom as an anonymous surprise. It was worth asking him…
“I’m gonna…” Harry didn’t really finish his sentence, he just trailed off to the side of the pathway, hiding in the treeline some. Dean followed and handed Harry his backpack when Harry asked for it.
“Sirius Black,” Harry said, whispering the name while Dean kept a vigilant watch for him. There were too many Ministry officials popping around the grounds for Harry to feel very comfortable calling Sirius; but the seat upgrade wasn’t sitting right with him either.
“Harry!” Sirius always answered when Harry called and that time was no exception. Harry could see water in the distance behind Sirius, so he assumed he was on a beach again.
Sirius spent a lot of time on beaches, which made Harry oddly happy. It was as opposite as Harry imagined Azkaban had been as anything could be.
“Hey, I can’t talk long,” Harry said, proving the point by speaking quickly. “But did you upgrade my quidditch tickets?”
“I…” Sirius’s smile crumpled and filled Harry with guilt. “No, I didn’t even think about doing that! I should have done it for your birthday and I didn’t. I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize, I didn’t want you to,” Harry said in a rush, his face burning. Harry hated when people spent money on him, it just made him itchy and uncomfortable. Even the clothes that Bobby bought him made Harry feel badly, like a burden to someone who wasn’t expecting him. Except when Harry offered to pay Bobby back he had been told to ‘Shut the hell up’ so he tried to be a little more helpful instead.
“It’s just - someone did, I wanted to know if it was you, that’s all,” Harry assured Sirius.
“It wasn’t,” Sirius sighed, his eyes all big and sad. “Was it a good upgrade though?”
“Either someone moved me to the Top Box or there’s another Harry Potter whose seats I’m taking,” Harry said wryly, trying to get past the sticky moment.
“The Top Box!” Sirius laughed then, his expression clearing away immediately in the way that only Sirius’s moody self could do. “That’s brilliant, Pup! Maybe someone read that article about Lily being a slag and felt bad for you?”
So he did read the article.
“That’s not funny,” Harry said flatly, tampering down on the anger that spiked when he thought of the horrible way his mum had been painted. “I’m asking for a reprint, you know.”
“Are you?” Sirius only became more excited about that. “Oh, please, please, mention the many waitresses your dad shagged after they were married. Oi! And tell them to talk about the threesome they had with the showboy in Vegas!”
“Goodbye, Sirius,” Harry said firmly, blushing while Dean chuckled.
Harry hung up before Sirius could reply and he shook his head when Dean opened his mouth.
“Don’t,” Harry told him just as firmly. Harry tucked his mirror back in his bag, checking that his cloak and wand were still there, and then slung it over his back when everything was zipped up.
“I’m with Sirius,” Dean said, a lazy and teasing smile spread across his face. “There’s worse legacies to have, kid.”
“‘There’s worse legacies to have’,” Harry mimicked him, relieved when Dean laughed loudly at it. Dean did that sometimes, mocked Sam or Harry when they said something. Harry was pretty sure it was a joke, so Dean laughing and not getting pissed was confirmation of that.
“So your parents got around, no shame in that,” Dean said, continuing his horrifying harassment of Harry even when they started back to go find the campsites. “You could too if you wanted, I think that Ginny girl likes you.”
Harry pulled a face, somehow even more disturbed by that then he had been when Sirius wanted to talk about his parents private life to his face.
“That’s gross,” Harry said, wondering how he could ever see Ginny outside of Ron’s little sister.
“Chicks don’t do it for you at all?” Dean asked, even though that wasn’t what Harry meant. “I guess that’s why you passed your chance to join the Mile High Club with that Michaela chick.”
“That’s not what I —”
“So that Cedric kid then, he was all winky and flirty with you.”
Harry’s brain sort of fizzled then and he actually stopped in the middle of the path to blink up at Dean’s face. Dean looked serious, if a little bit teasing, but that was stupid.
“You… He just… would you shut up?” Harry asked, knowing without looking that his face was bright red. “Do you ever think about things that aren’t, er… you know.”
“Sex?” Dean asked loudly. A group of witches not much older than Harry turned when they heard Dean practically shout the bloody word and they giggled before running off, blushes on all their faces.
“You are embarrassing,” Harry told him, only sort of meaning it. It was embarrassing, but a nice sort of embarrassing, like when the twins would take the mickey out of Ron in the Gryffindor common room.
It was brotherly.
“Yeah, but I’m also hungry.” Dean loped an arm on Harry’s shoulders and bumped him lightly. “So let’s find some food before I start loudly talking about every sex position I’ve ever tried.”
“Get off me.” Harry laughed as he shoved Dean’s arm off him.
It just suddenly struck Harry that he was at the Quidditch World Cup with seats in the Top Box where he would get to watch a professional match with his friends and his brother. If Sam were there, it would be just about a perfect day, but…
It was still a very-nearly perfect day without him too.