“MY BROTHER IS A MUGGLE!”
“DEAN!”
Harry screamed his brother’s name just louder than someone else was screaming “STOP! STOP!”
Harry crawled forward on his stomach, staying low, and hurried to shake Dean’s shoulder. He was only stupefied, Harry knew that. Harry knew that.
Dean was fine. Harry knew that.
Bodies laying under rubble, their screams dead in their throats… smoke… fire… “HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”
It was just that Dean had rolled his eyes back in his head and hit the ground in a dead slump and Harry couldn’t breathe. Harry shook Dean’s shoulder and he didn’t move, was he even breathing?
“YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!” Harry screamed, throat ripping with the force. He aimed the pistol at one of the wizards that just - just —
“Move! That’s my son!”
Harry very nearly pulled the trigger when someone broke through the wall of wizards, it was only Hermione flattening Harry’s arm with her entire body that kept him from accidentally shooting Mr Weasley.
“Harry…? Hermione…?” Mr Weasley only spared a quick and confused look at where Hermione had Harry’s right arm squished beneath her torso before he focused on Dean.
Harry didn’t even realize he was still screaming until Mr Weasley answered his furious thoughts outloud with a level of calm that Harry couldn’t find if he tried.
“Dean’s not dead, only stunned,” Mr Weasley said. He kneeled beside Dean and had his wand on his chest that had been bared since they left the tent. “I can revive him, he’ll be okay.”
“HE IS A SUSPECT!” someone roared from the wizards.
Harry put a renewed effort in freeing his arm because whoever just said that was going to get hurt.
“MY BROTHER ISN’T A BLOODY SUSPECT FOR ANYTHING!” Harry screamed, eyes searching until he found the wizard who said it. It was the wizard he met before the match, Percy’s boss, Mr Crouch. Mr Crouch looked insane, almost as crazy as Harry felt.
“YOUR BROTHER WAS FOUND AT THE SCENE OF A CRIME!” Crouch screamed. Many of the wizards beside him seemed to cringe away from him, one even covered his face in embarrassment.
“MY BROTHER IS A MUGGLE, YOU IDIOTIC DICK BAG!”
“Harry, please,” Hermione moaned, yanking on Harry’s hand to keep him from aiming the pistol at Crouch. “Dean’s fine, he’s fine.”
“I’ve got a nasty fuckin headache though.”
Harry went still and risked a quick glance away from Crouch - the only wizard with his wand still aimed at their group - and saw that Dean was awake and alert. Dean was frowning, rubbing the back of his head with his open hand, and Harry tried to look him over to see if he had any injuries.
“Get off me,” Harry told Hermione absently, sitting up and yanking his arm free. As furious as Harry had been, it leaked away when Dean stood up and offered Harry a hand to stand as well.
“You’re fine?” Harry checked while Mr Weasley helped Ron and Hermione to their feet.
Dean flashed a smile, just an amused and crooked flash of white.
“Takes more than some DOUCHEBAGS WITH WANDS to take me down, little bro.”
Harry raised an eyebrow, silently letting Dean know that ‘douchebags with wands’ had literally just knocked him flat on the ground, but a quiet groan from Hermione distracted him.
“It’s genetic,” she said, sounding miserable and mysterious.
Harry blinked at her curiously, looking past her at Ron, but was just as bemused by the wide grin Ron wore.
Harry would have to ask later, the wizards were screaming at them again.
“If he —” Crouch pointed his wand at Dean and Hermione couldn’t have stopped Harry from aiming Dean’s gun at Crouch in retaliation if she tried. “— didn’t cast the Dark Mark, which one of you did?!”
“Crouch, Merlin…” Another wizard stepped forward and put his hand on Crouch’s arm, trying to lower it. It was Cedric’s dad, Mr Diggory, and even from where Harry stood he could see the man looked humiliated. “Look at who you’re accusing. A muggle, a Weasley, a muggleborn, and Harry Potter.”
Hermione made a scathing sound, probably offended that she had been reduced to her blood status as a defense of her innocence.
“No, I’m sure that we’re definitely the ones casting dark marks and torturing muggles,” Harry snarled, catching Crouch’s eyes and holding them. “Go on, blame my brother for something else.”
Harry had been mad before. When Malfoy called Hermione a mudblood in their second year, Harry was mad. When Snape had a go at Ron, Harry was mad. When Ginny was being tormented by Tom Riddle; when Snape tried to have Sirius kissed; when Uncle Vernon shoved him in his cupboard… Harry had been mad all of those times.
But seeing someone aim a wand at Dean? Dean who had been working his arse off trying to get Harry’s friends to safety?
No.
Harry was so far past ‘mad’. Harry felt like he could taste his own blood in his mouth and his eyes kept going blurry with what he finally understood to be ‘blind rage’.
“Calm down, pitbull,” Dean murmured, as if he wasn’t also holding his gun out in a defensive stance. “What’s the big deal anyway?” he asked loudly, scowling at the wizards. “I didn’t see you all attacking the monsters that had those people up in the air, but someone makes a sparkly skull and it’s attack?”
“We thought the ring-leader would be the one beneath the Mark,” Mr Diggory said.
What Harry heard was: the Ministry made bad decisions all the time.
“We sent over a dozen stunners in this area, perhaps they still are,” a witch offered. Judging by the way Crouch’s eyes were bulging as he looked at Dean, Harry swore the man was still trying to find a way to blame a muggle for shooting up the mark. “Come, let’s search.”
Mr Weasley shuffled them all to the side, fussing over Ron and murmuring to them all the while.
“Bill and Charlie are back at camp with your brothers and sister,” he told Ron. “They’re all fine. Your mother will be beside herself, it might be best if we go home once this is all cleared up, beat the news…”
Harry stood with his entire body locked in place, glaring at anyone who looked his way, while a few of the Ministry workers searched the area of the woods where they heard someone cast the spell.
When Mr Diggory found Crouch’s house-elf, Winky, with a wand in the bush, Harry almost felt vindicated. It wasn’t Harry’s brother, it was…
Well, it probably wasn’t Winky either, truthfully. Winky did have Harry’s wand though, and Harry was relieved when Mr Diggory had them return it to him even while Crouch snarled about ‘protocol’.
“Oh, there’s no protocol for this,” the witch from before scoffed. She gave Harry back his wand and winked at Dean. “Sorry about this, death eaters get us all worked up.”
“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” Dean said, sounding rather sarcastic. “No harm, no foul, right?”
Mr Weasley didn’t seem to agree at all, neither did Harry. After they watched Crouch sack Winky for having Harry’s wand, Mr Weasley was quick to comment on his coworkers’s behavior when they trudged back to the campsite.
“Honestly, that was embarrassing,” Mr Weasley sighed. He had his hand on Ron’s shoulder, the same hold that Dean had on Harry. “I cannot apologize enough, Dean. I hope this doesn’t paint us all with the same brush in your eyes.”
“Nah, some bad apples in every bunch,” Dean said, waving away the event that Harry certainly wouldn’t be forgetting any time soon. “What was up with that - what’d you call it, Harry? House elf?”
“Slavery is what is up with Winky,” Hermione huffed, sounding as if she had been waiting for an opening. Harry and Ron exchanged tired grins, recognizing the tone.
“It’s slavery and centuries of Stockholm Syndrome!” Hermione ranted. “They tell those poor elves that they’re happy being slaves and then when any of them think for themselves - fired!”
“They’re slaves?” Dean asked. “Is that why Kreach—”
Harry elbowed Dean, hard.
“Shut up,” Harry told him quietly. Dean gave him a bewildered look and made a dramatic show of rubbing his ribs.
Harry couldn’t explain it, it was just a feeling. It was quiet in the woods while they made quick time back to the tent, nobody was near them… Harry just couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching them. And since Sirius was a wanted criminal, Harry didn’t fancy anyone hearing him or Dean talk about Kreacher.
Hermione furrowed her brows at Harry and he only shook his head. He was tired, it had been a horrible night to a brilliant day. All Harry wanted was to go back to sleep and then go home to get to his other brother.
“Oh.” Hermione had looked at Dean and she suddenly made a squeaking sound while even in the dark Harry could see her blush. “Um… Dean? You have a - well, a bug, just…”
Dean looked down at his chest and saw that there was a little bug clinging to his collarbone. He chuckled when he swiped it away and Harry was suddenly irritated by his shirtless state and the way it kept making Hermione act not like Hermione.
“Why don’t you have a shirt on?” Harry asked, scowling at his brother when not even an hour ago he’d been prepared to kill a bloke for him.
“Does it bother you?” Dean teased him. He let go of Harry’s shoulder to try and mess with his hair and Harry ducked. “If you’d quit the yoga crap then you’d be in even better shape.”
“Yoga?” Ron was laughing as he watched Harry dodge Dean’s attempts to mess with him and Dean relentlessly pursued him. “What’s yoga?”
“Nothing that’ll save your life,” Dean grinned.
“I love yoga!” Hermione said, turning a beaming smile on Harry even though he had moved beside her to use get as a human shield. “It’s very relaxing, don’t you think, Harry?”
“I don’t know because I don’t do yoga,” Harry said, only resisting the urge to flip Dean off because Mr Weasley was pretending to not watch them goof off. “I spar Sam every day. Just because he doesn’t punch me in the face doesn’t mean we’re doing yoga.”
Harry didn’t even know what yoga was, he just knew that Dean talked about it the same way that Harry might talk about dusting or potions class. Sam did actually offer to teach it to Harry, they just hadn’t worked it in Sam’s odd schedule yet.
“You punched Harry?” Hermione howled at Dean. “What is wrong with you?”
Harry gave Dean a very smug look while Hermione lectured Dean about violence and responsibility for the rest of the walk to the tent.
If Dean thought he was going to charm Hermione with his entire ‘I’m fit and charming’ thing, then he was wrong. Neither of Harry’s friends would blush and stutter at someone that gave Harry a black eye.
It might have been an accident, but Hermione’s reaction was still satisfying.
Since Percy and the twins already packed up their tent, Mr Weasley decided it would be best if they all went back to the Burrow. Harry and Dean’s portkey to go home wouldn’t set off for another twelve hours so Harry was happy to accept the invite to return to their house in the meantime.
“This has all been bloody strange, hasn’t it?” Ron asked Harry while they waited to be apparated. Mr Weasley took Ginny, Bill and Charlie took the twins, and Percy took Hermione. It left Harry, Ron, and Dean to wait for three of them to return, but Harry didn’t mind.
“Which part?” Harry asked. “The death eaters, Winky stealing my wand, or Percy’s boss trying to blame my brother for casting Voldemort’s sign?”
“I meant Hermione,” Ron said seriously. “You reckon she’s sick?”
“Oh you boys are so young, so much to learn.” Dean leaned against a tree while they were waiting and had thankfully gotten his shirt back from Bill. He grinned crookedly when Harry and Ron gave him confused looks.
“Hermione’s a chick, she’s - what? Fourteen? Teenage chicks are simple. Tell ‘em they’re pretty, hit any dude that’s mean to them.” Dean shrugged, “Easy.”
“Hermione is our friend, not a ‘chick’,” Harry said, shaking his head reproachfully. “And Hermione hits Malfoy enough for all of us.”
“And Hermione isn’t ‘pretty’, she’s smart,” Ron said factually. “Harry and I would be plant food if it wasn’t for her.”
That wasn’t necessarily true. The part about being plant food was, and so was the part about Hermione being smart, but she was pretty too. Not when she was nagging Harry and Ron about their studies or trying to have a Firebolt destroyed, but when she went back in time to help Harry save Sirius she had been pretty.
And Harry firmly blamed Dean for that thought even appearing in his head. Dean and his constant talk about ‘chicks’.
“I dare you.”
“Shut up.”
“Double dog dare you.”
“Shut up.”
“Chicken.”
Harry sighed heavily.
Everyone had returned to the Burrow and slept for a few hours after being fussed over by Mrs Weasley. Harry didn’t plan on going back to sleep, he thought he might just sit in the sitting room with Dean until it was closer to time for them to leave. He felt bad when Bill said that Dean looked exhausted and offered to let him bunk in his room together.
Harry had spent two months with Dean slowly getting to know him and didn’t even realize that he was exhausted, but Bill noticed it right away.
Harry had felt like a terrible brother until Dean started pestering him during breakfast when everyone had finally woken back up.
Mr Weasley, Percy, Bill, and Charlie left early to go help where they could at the Ministry. It was only Harry, Dean, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins in the kitchen having breakfast thankfully because Harry knew that he wasn’t going to be called a chicken over something so daft.
“Hey, Hermione?” Harry tried to smile at where Hermione sat across the table from him. It was probably more nervous than charming though, since Harry was under an incredible amount of pressure with Dean smirking beside him.
“Hm?” Hermione had been reading the paper’s report about the Quidditch World Cup age she hardly spared a quick glance at Harry. When she saw Harry was smiling at her, she lowered the paper.
Harry knew he was a dark red in the face, made worse by the snickers of the twins, but he wasn’t a chicken.
“You’re pretty,” Harry told Hermione in a rush, half-hoping nobody could even understand him.
No luck.
“Oh.” Hermione was half as red as Harry and probably twice as uncomfortable. “Thank… you.”
It went quiet for a second, then the twins burst out in peals of laughter, Ron actually doubled over on the table and pounded his fist on the wood while he laughed. Ginny was rather pink in the cheeks and Harry scowled at Dean in a pointed effort to not look at Hermione.
“Now I dare you to come fly before we have to leave,” Harry said, working very hard to avoid the inevitable teasing that would happen once everyone finished laughing.
“Fine.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and smirked. “Ten bucks says I can catch that golden ball before you.”
It was just the thing to say to get the three Weasley boys to forget entirely about Harry’s dumb comment and focus on what was important. A quick glance showed that Hermione had once again hidden her face behind the paper, though Harry noted that Ginny looked a bit glum.
“Oh, brilliant, Harry’s about to destroy Dean,” George said happily.
“I dunno, maybe Dean will be an excellent seeker,” Fred said, too thoughtful to be genuine. “Who knows? Maybe it runs in their family. Like how we’re all devilishly handsome.”
“How d’you explain Ron then?”
“Oi!”
Harry only grinned while he pompously held a hand out to Dean.
“Ten dollars to whoever catches the snitch first?” he checked.
“Game on, kid.”
Harry, because truly he was a kind brother, let Dean use his Firebolt while he used Fred’s Cleansweep. And even after Dean got a crash course in flying, Harry caught the snitch half a dozen times.
Hermione didn’t really say much to Harry for the rest of the time Harry was at the Burrow, but they’d be back at Hogwarts soon enough and he could explain that Dean was often a jerk. Honestly, if trolls and basilisks and the entirety of third year couldn’t destroy Harry’s friendship with Hermione and Ron then Dean had no chance.
*****
Harry and Dean returned to Sioux Falls, South Dakota almost exactly forty-eight hours after they left.
Harry had his trunk that had the rest of his belongings he would need to sort before the first and Dean offered to carry it upstairs for him. The house was quiet, it didn’t seem as if Sam or Bobby were home.
“Where’s Sam?” Harry asked Dean after they walked the entire house and didn’t find anyone else.
“Dunno.” They were in the bedroom that Dean and Sam shared and Dean was quick to power up his cell phone. There was something tense in Dean’s expression while he held the phone to his ear, as if he were expecting the worst.
It was sobering when Harry remembered that Dean had been attacked the night before at a Quidditch game. Sam could be hurt… or he could be at the library.
“Damn it, Sam.” Dean angrily hit a button on his phone when it seemed like Sam didn’t answer. “Where the fuck are you?” he muttered.
Harry tapped his legs with his fingers while he watched Dean run a hand through his hair and call another number.
“Bobby, hey.” Dean relaxed when that call was answered. “Where you at? Nebraska? What the hell - okay, okay, calm down, old man.”
Dean rolled his eyes at Harry, but Harry was waiting to hear if Sam was with Bobby or not.
“Hey, is Sammy with you? His phone’s going - what?” Dean stilled and Harry’s stomach sank.
Dean was attacked at a quidditch match.
Harry got on a plane and killed over one hundred people.
It wasn’t dramatic to be thinking the absolute worst when Dean began arguing in earnest with Bobby. From what Harry could gather on one side of the conversation, Sam hadn’t been home since Harry and Dean left.
So probably not the library then.
“Son of a bitch.” Dean hung up the phone and dropped to the bed so he could cradle his head in his hands while Harry watched anxiously.
“Bobby’s got no idea where Sam is, he hasn’t been here all weekend,” Dean told Harry in a flat tone. “His phone’s been off since Friday night.”
Dean went to a quidditch match and was stunned.
Harry got on a plane and crashed it.
And Sam was missing.
Maybe it wasn’t Potter luck, maybe it was Winchester luck.