The Letters from A
September slipped away in near no time at all. In that time, Dean had visited McGonagall’s office twice a week with updates about things he had achieved and wanted to achieve further as Head Boy - and also to pester her into giving him further life advice for beyond school.
It was the first of October, and Dean was sat in McGonagall's office at nine o’clock in the morning, parchment on the table and quill in hand.
‘Dear Sir or Madam, I am a passionate, talented individual, who is keen on becoming an Auror for my…’ he slowed down, squinting as he tried to re-read what he had written, the words a blot of ink on the page. ‘For my career.’
‘A personal statement needs to be personal, Winchester,’ McGonagall said tersely from across the room where she was organizing her files. ‘They will receive a hundred applicants a year from people across the country whose dream it is to become an Auror. Tell them why it has to be you.’
Dean pressed his lips together. ‘How do I do that?’
McGonagall looked at him pointedly. ‘Start from the beginning,’ she instructed.
With a sigh, Dean crumpled his parchment and threw it in the bin. He checked the clock. Ten past nine. ‘I had better go,’ he muttered, ‘I’ve left my notes from this week on the table, Professor. Seems like the Third Years are anxious about their new classes. I’ll catch you in Transfiguration after lunch.’
He stood up to leave, but McGonagall cleared her throat. Dean looked over. She looked… concerned. ‘Winchester,’ she started quietly. ‘You have very personal reasons for becoming an Auror. Think of your past - your history. Your parents. You were raised by Bobby Singer, lifelong Dark Objects Identifier and Destroyer - that alone gives you a lifetime of knowledge and skills enough to make it in the Ministry as an Auror. Do not overthink this. Write with honesty and clarity and I have every faith you’ll have heard back from Alasdair Moody this side of Christmas.’ She paused. ‘Address it to Professor Moody,’ she added then. ‘Not sir or madam. Head Auror Moody.’
Dean swallowed and nodded. ‘Thank you, Professor,’ he said quietly, hand hovering on the doorknob. ‘Thank you.’ And with that - he left.
Dean reunited with Charlie in the Common Room half an hour later. They had the same schedule, having taken all the same classes - they were, after all, on the same path in life. ‘What have you written for your personal statement?’ Dean asked casually, throwing himself onto one of the Gryffindor sofas, his legs hanging over the arm.
Charlie didn’t look up from the book she was flicking through. She shrugged. ‘Oh, you know. I wrote about how Death Eaters killed my Muggle mother when I was seven, as a punishment for my dad not joining them. Said I wanted justice. Talked about how I wanted a world in which half-bloods like me wouldn’t have to have a tragic backstory. Like me.’ She looked up then, shooting Dean a smile. ‘What’ve you written?’
Dean swallowed. ‘You wrote all that? Doesn’t it feel a little - you know - personal?’
‘It’s a personal statement,’ Charlie said. She closed her book. ‘You should write about - you know. Your parents.’
Dean chewed his lip, looking over at the fire. It didn’t feel right. Using his parents like that - the story of what had happened. ‘I’ll think about it,’ he mumbled, picking at a loose thread on the sofa.
It was then that Castiel appeared at the bottom of the Boy’s Dormitory staircase. His hair was stuck up at the back and he looked, for all intents and purposes, like the living dead. ‘Mornin’ sunshine,’ Dean drawled, making room for Castiel to join him on the sofa. ‘Aren’t you late for Alchemy?’
Castiel just groaned, sinking into the seat. He slouched down, pressing a hand to his head. Dean frowned, sitting up and swinging his legs onto the floor. It wasn’t like Castiel to oversleep - or to miss classes. ‘You still having nightmares?’ Dean asked quietly.
‘I have a headache, that’s all,’ Castiel mumbled. He was still in his pyjamas, tartan pants and his ratty jumper. He looked… cuddly. Dean wasn’t sure why he thought that. But he thought it nonetheless. It was then that Castiel pulled out a tiny letter and held it up between two fingers, exhausted. ‘Woke up to this,’ he said then, ‘an owl was quite adamant I take it.’
Dean took the letter and smoothed it out. He scanned the words before handing it over to Charlie with a derisive huff.
Castiel.
Did you work out over summer? Surprised you didn’t try for the Quidditch team with those thighs of yours.
A x
‘Who is this?’ Charlie breathed with a laugh. ‘They’re obsessed with you. What is this - the third letter in how many days, two?’
Dean frowned. ‘Wait a minute. There are more letters?’
Castiel flushed, accepting the letter back from Charlie and tucking it into his pocket. Dean scowled harder, half wishing Castiel had just thrown the letter straight onto the fire. ‘There’s been a couple,’ he said slowly, not quite looking at Dean.
‘We don’t know who it is yet,’ Charlie continued. ‘But they’re awfully bold.’
‘Who did we share Potions with last year?’ Castiel asked then, seemingly out of the blue. ‘It was Ravenclaw, wasn’t it?’ Dean and Charlie nodded. ‘And the year before that it was Hufflepuff?’
‘What’s your point, Cas?’ Dean interrupted.
‘My point is,’ Castiel said shortly, ‘is I don’t believe we’ve shared Potions with the Slytherins since Fourth Year. Until now.’
Charlie just shook her head. ‘Okay. And?’
Castiel sighed. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘I was just wondering what’s changed. I’m in the same classes as last year, with mostly the same people, except Potions, with a class of Slytherins I’ve barely interacted with since I was fourteen.’ He looked up at Dean slowly. ‘I think this is April Kelly. If my calculations are correct.’
‘Alright, Sherlock,’ Charlie laughed. The reference went over Castiel’s head, visibly. ‘April Kelly is gorgeous. If it’s her then you should definitely go for it, Cas.’
‘Woah, woah.’ Dean held up his hands. ‘Steady on, Charles. April Kelly is a Slytherin. Remember?’
Charlie rolled her eyes. ‘Yeah - and so is Bela Talbot, but that didn’t stop you two from spending half of last year fucking.’
‘Hate-fucking,’ Dean corrected. ‘Cas is an innocent, easily influenced, trusting, and-’
‘-There’s no need to baby him, Dean,’ Charlie interrupted with a huff. ‘Cas is perfectly capable of making his own decisions. He’s seventeen.’
‘And sat right here,’ Castiel pointed out, looking between the two of them on the sofa. He stood up and stretched. ‘I appreciate your concern, Dean. And your encouragement, Charlie. As it stands; I’m far too busy to engage in anything romantic any time soon-’ Dean was pleased to hear that, ‘-although, should the opportunity arise, I would not be entirely opposed.’ And then Dean’s frustration returned. He tried to bite back another cutting comment, instead just shaking his head and focusing intently on the fireplace.
‘Well. Good luck with your romance, Romeo,’ he said before he could stop himself. ‘You should probably start with a shave and shower before opening your fanmail.’
Castiel ignored him, waving at Charlie before wandering back up the Boy’s Dormitory staircase.
‘Can you lay off?’ Charlie huffed when Castiel was out of earshot. ‘Why can’t you be happy for him?’
‘Happy for him? I’m thrilled. Over the moon. He’s getting what he always wanted - attention from an untrustworthy snake.’
‘Your jealousy stinks a mile off.’
Dean didn’t get a chance to ask what Charlie meant by that, because she was standing up, gathering her belongings, and zipping out of the Common Room before Dean could press for any more information. He scowled further, trying to ignore the deepest frustration in his gut from everything that had transpired.
Dinner later that day was tense. Dean barely said a word to Castiel and Charlie, and in turn Charlie kept shooting him pointed looks of disapproval and not politely passing the salt. Benny blinked, sat beside Dean and opposite Charlie and Cas.
‘Now why do I feel like I missed something?’ he asked with an awkward laugh as he reached for the salt and looked between Dean, Charlie and Cas.
‘You didn’t miss anything,’ Dean said as Charlie muttered, ‘Nothing’s happened,’ a little too quickly. Castiel said nothing, appearing entirely neutral amidst Charlie and Dean’s spat - about him.
A few days passed, and Dean didn’t see Castiel much. He was busy with Quidditch practice and homework, and Castiel was busy with Wizard Chess and Sprout. He kept sleeping in and missing breakfast. They touched base most days over dinner, nothing else. Dean didn’t ask about the April Thing and Castiel didn’t mention it again. In fact - it was Charlie who confirmed that the letters were in fact being sent by April. And that she’d asked Castiel out on a date. And what’s worse - Castiel had said yes.
Every time Dean thought of it, he was filled with nausea, and he couldn’t quite figure out why.
God. Seventh Year was meant to be his final year at Hogwarts, with his best mates, and there Castiel was getting preyed upon by a - a girl!