The Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

Dean didn’t return to the Boy’s Dormitory for longer than five minutes for several days.

He’d moved semi-permanently into the Head Boy and Head Girl Office, a corridor across from McGonagall’s Office. It wasn’t anything fantastic. It had a table and two chairs, a series of portraits hanging from the walls, a chalkboard and a chest of drawers (which Dean had stuffed full of clothes). That didn’t matter to Dean. He’d told Bela Talbot he’d need the room on a near-permanent basis for a while, “to study”. She hadn’t believed him. But even she’d probably picked up on Dean’s don’t-push-me mood and had acquiesced without a fight.

The Office door was closed. Open meant come in. Closed meant bugger off. Dean hadn’t been bothered for days. He’d missed three lots of Quidditch practice, and all of his classes. He didn’t want to be seen or found. His Office was probably the last place Benny and Charlie would think to look - if they were even looking.

At night he would sneak into the kitchens and eat leftover pies with the House Elves. He’d sleep in his office, curled up awkwardly on the uncomfortable chairs. Over the course of three nights, he’d developed the world’s worst crick in his neck.

On the fourth morning, Dean woke to the sound of a knock on his office door. He ignored it and closed his eyes again. The knock persisted. And then, the door creaked open.

‘You look like shit,’ said a voice.

Dean looked over, his legs propped up on his desk and his robes wrapped around himself like a blanket. And there stood Sam, with a flask and sandwich in his hands, dressed and ready for his classes. Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean sniffed, sitting up properly and correcting himself. He rubbed his face, exhausted.

‘What’re you doing here?’ he mumbled groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Sam sat down in the chair opposite and pressed his mouth into a small line, corners dimpling in a familiar look of judgment. ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ he said quietly. He pushed the flask and sandwich across the table. ‘Eat. You look like a dead person.’

‘What time is it?’ Dean poked at the sausage sandwich in disdain.

‘It’s just gone eight o’clock.’ Sam shuffled in his seat and crossed his arms on the table, looking at Dean through the ends of his fringe. ‘What’s going on? Nobody’s seen you for days. You’ve been skipping practice, skipping classes… you know you need a good attendance record if you’re gonna make it into Mad-Eye Moody’s course.’

Dean sipped at the flask. It was coffee. Black. Just how he liked it. He wrinkled his nose anyway. ‘Yeah, well. Maybe I don’t care.’

‘What d’you mean you don’t care?’

‘I mean, I don’t care, Sam. I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t care anymore. Being an Auror ain’t gonna bring Mom and Dad back - hell, it can’t even make Mom proud because she’s dead. And Dad probably didn’t even know what an Auror was when he was alive.’ He shrugged, trying to act nonchalant, as though he hadn’t spent the days wallowing by himself, losing the ability to believe in anything at all. ‘I wanted to be an Auror because I wanted to go get the bad guys - but now I don’t see what the point is anymore. There’s too many bad guys, all the time, and we can kill some of ‘em, but we can’t kill an idea. Like Nicodemus. He’s gone dark, and for what? Good people go dark. It’s neverending. What’s one guy against all that?’

‘That’s quitter talk.’

‘Yeah, well I quit.’

‘You don’t get to quit,’ Sam said vehemently. ‘You’ve got one term left, Dean. One term. Don’t throw it all away now. What the hell’s gotten into you? Why are you locked away in here, burying your head in the sand, when you should be out there focusing on your life?’

Dean groaned. ‘Jesus, Sammy. Spare me the lecture - I’m done with it.’

He looked at Sam, his brother glaring at him adamantly from across the table. He was just a kid. He didn’t understand. He was fourteen, had his whole life ahead of him. Dean was eighteen, and his life was over.

‘This year,’ Dean said slowly, ‘has been total crap. I feel like it’s the beginning of what the rest of my life is gonna be like, and I’m not happy with it.’

‘What’s happened?’

They stared at each other in silence for some time. Dean wanted to get everything off his chest, explain all of it. Explain how shit it was that his best friend’s brother was evil, and how shit it would be to become an Auror and have to fight against people he knew. They’re not nameless figures. Nicodemus was a boy Dean went to school with. If he was an Auror, he’d personally know the biggest criminal on the planet.

And Nicodemus was worse than a criminal in Dean’s eyes. He was the reason Castiel had cut Dean out of his life. And Dean had ruined everything over and over and over again.

‘It’s Castiel, isn’t it,’ Sam said eventually. His words soft into the static of the room.

Dean swallowed, looking up at Sam from where he was sat, dejected and small. He tried to seem confused, unbothered.

‘What’s Cas got to do with it?’

Sam shook his head, thoughtful. ‘I don’t know. You tell me. Did something happen with you guys?’

‘Dude. It’s been pretty obvious that we’ve not been friends for a while.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I mean - did something else happen? Recently.’ He shrugged. ‘You’ve been missing, completely dropped off the face of the earth, and Cas has gone gray and not spoken a word to anyone about anything. First I thought it was a style choice, but now…’

Dean pulled a face. ‘He’s not gone gray.’

‘He has,’ Sam insisted. His blue eyes were big and owlish as they blinked at Dean, sincere. Imploring. ‘What happened?’

Dean just shook his head, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He let out a shaky breath and reached for the sausage sandwich, picking idly at the crusts. He couldn’t discuss this with Sam. He couldn’t discuss it with anyone.

‘Sorry for disappearing,’ he mumbled eventually. ‘Just… needed some space. For a while.’

Sam’s eyes scanned his face for a moment, silent. Dean felt overwhelmingly aware of the fact he really did look like shit. His skin was greasy but dry, with fresh zits from his stressing, his hair needed washing, his lips were chewed within an inch of their life. He looked like the worst version of himself.

‘You got an Owl, by the way,’ Sam said, as though just to say something. Maybe in an attempt to not push Dean too much. ‘At breakfast yesterday.’ He reached into his robes and pulled out a letter, sliding it over to Dean across the desk.

‘Charlie’s worried sick about you, you know. Benny, too. He’s not even been mad that you’ve missed training. He’s been real quiet about it all.’

Dean rolled his eyes. ‘Yeah.’ He sniffed and rubbed his nose, turning the letter over in his hands idly.

‘I’ve missed you,’ Sam added quietly. ‘You’re my brother, Dean. Don’t run away from me, alright? You can talk to me about anything. About stupid stuff like - like those Muggle bands you like listening to - and what flavor pie is your favorite right now… and you can talk to me about school when it’s stressing you. And about Cas. If you ever want to. You can talk to me about all of it.’

Dean met Sam’s eyes. He had a lost, puppy-dog look on his face. His mouth was tiny and his eyes wide, his eyebrows drawn together as though by a thread. Dean wanted to apologize for everything, but it felt redundant. Instead, he just nodded. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to overlook Sam during all of this. He should’ve been talking to him the whole time.

‘Thanks, Sammy,’ Dean mumbled after a moment. He picked up the sandwich, taking a bite from the corner.

Maybe it’d be nice to sit and talk to someone about everything he felt every once in a while, but Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that being open was the same as being pathetic. He wished he could say that when Cas looked at him everything felt easy. Or that he’d even started missing Castiel poking about in his brain. There was a gaping hole in the surface of his mind where he used to hear Castiel’s voice, gentle, teasing, kind. He hadn’t felt that presence in months.

‘I should probably go shower,’ he said at last. ‘I stink.’

Sam grinned. ‘Yeah, you do. And classes start in half an hour.’ He nodded at the letter on the table, discarded. ‘You gonna open that?’

Dean had forgotten about it. At the prompting, however, he picked up the letter and gently peeled back the seal. He unfurled the parchment that came out, his lips parting in surprise when he scanned the page. ‘Holy shit,’ he breathed. ‘Holy shit.’

Dear Mr Winchester,

I am delighted to give you a conditional offer for our Auror Recruitment Programme (Aurorial Appraisal), commencing this coming Academic year. This is provided you attain a minimum of 3 Outstandings and 2 Exceeds Expectations in your N.E.W.T.s, along with a clean record and a high attendance rate.

Please confirm whether you accept this conditional offer by Owl no later than May 31st.

Regards,
Gawain Robards,
Secretary to Head Auror,
Alasdair Moody

Dean felt the world come back into focus after he’d finished reading. He became vaguely aware of Sam asking what was wrong, and what the letter said.

‘I got in,’ Dean said, voice sounding far away. He turned the letter around and pushed it to Sam. ‘Dude. I actually got in.’

Sam scrambled to pick up the letter, reading it ten times over before he leapt out of his chair. ‘Dude!’ he cried, knocking over his chair in the haste to climb around the table. Dean met him halfway, Sam jumping into his arms. ‘YOU GOT IN!’ Sam yelled as Dean laughed, picking Sam up into a hug that sent him staggering backwards.

‘I GOT IN!’ he yelled back. He bounced, Sam bouncing with him, the two of them circling around the room with giddy laughs and whoops of joy. Dean scooped Sam over his shoulder entirely, his little brother hammering his back manically. ‘I GOT IN!’ Dean boomed again.

They stayed, clinging to each other like kids on a playground, as they bounded around the Office, knocking into the table and chairs, Sam cheering and Dean grinning ear to ear. The clearing of a throat was the only thing that caused them to freeze.

At the interruption, they stopped, Dean looking straight to the door. McGonagall was stood there, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Her lips were pressed into a small, barely-there line, and her eyes were piercing under her raised brow. Dean swallowed, dropping Sam onto the floor and awkwardly smoothing out his shirt whilst Sam sucked in a breath and fixed his hair. It was the first time his Office door had been open in days - and the sight of McGonagall in the doorway made him want to shut the door again immediately.

‘Professor,’ Dean greeted with a terse nod.

‘Good morning, Professor,’ Sam added politely.

McGonagall was about to say something, but Dean interrupted. He grabbed the letter off the desk and stepped forward. ‘Professor, I got in,’ he said quickly. He held out the letter so McGonagall could read. ‘Moody - I mean, Professor Moody - he accepted me onto the course. I’m in.’

McGonagall accepted the letter, reading it carefully. She folded it neatly and handed it back to Dean.

‘Congratulations, Winchester,’ she said. ‘But you’re not in yet. You still have top grades to achieve - and a compelling attendance streak to maintain.’ She tilted her head, folding her hands at her front. ‘Unless you plan on skipping more classes this week?’

Dean flushed. ‘No,’ he mumbled, stepping back. He bumped into Sam as he did so. ‘No, Professor. I’m sorry. I’ve been…’ he gestured at the room behind him, voice fading away before he shook his head, as though shaking off the excuses themselves. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m back on track, I promise.’

At this, McGonagall managed a fine smile. She nodded curtly. ‘Brilliant news. I’ll see you in half an hour for class, then. And Winchester?’ Both Sam and Dean jumped to attention. She looked between the two of them, eyes settling on Dean. ‘Do make sure you shower before class, hm?’

Dean flushed even deeper. ‘Yes, Professor. Of course. Of course.’

Of course.

He turned around slowly to Sam when McGonagall disappeared, his expression pulled into an excited grimace. Fuck yes.

‘So, I take it you still wanna be an Auror?’ Sam grinned.

‘Shut up.’ Dean knew it was pathetic, how he’d flip-flopped instantly - but getting that acceptance letter had been the best thing that happened all week. Maybe all term. Probably even all year. He’d have to go tell Bobby instantly.

Reintroducing himself to society was stressful after three days of being off-grid, but Dean was impressed he’d managed to stop attending anything and hadn’t gotten a Detention for it. He showered when Sam left, in the Prefect’s Bathroom, and lined up for his first class. Potions.

‘Dude, you’re alive,’ Charlie gasped when she saw him. She threw herself at him without preamble, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. ‘Where the fuck have you been, you asshole? Me and Benny were gonna report you missing.’

Dean shook his head, guilt curling at the bottom of his stomach. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Got caught up in… Head Boy stuff…’

His voice trailed off, however, when his eyes landed on a boy who joined the end of the queue outside the Potions room. He was slim, robes hanging off him, face gaunt, bags under his eyes - hair gray.

Cas.

Dean stomach bottomed out, his mouth running dry when Castiel’s eyes met his. Pale blue eyes, filled with sadness. A hundred million words unsaid.

Beside Dean, Charlie followed his gaze, looking between the two of them.

‘What happened?’ she whispered, looking up at Dean with deep-set concern.

Dean tore his eyes from Castiel and cleared his throat, pulling his bag up his shoulder before shaking his head. ‘Nothing,’ he said firmly. ‘We’re not friends, that’s all.’

He could feel Castiel’s gaze watching him as he spoke, he knew Castiel had probably heard him. Good, Dean thought. Let him know. It’s his fault anyway. All of it.

He could hear Castiel’s words replaying on repeat in his head. The last thing he’d said to Dean. I can’t. It was bullshit. All of it was bullshit. Can’t, or won’t? Was Dean really that hard to love, that Castiel couldn't bring himself to do it, to put it above everything else, the way Dean would do for him?

With a heaviness to his step, Dean followed Charlie into the Potions classroom, taking up a seat beside her - as far from Castiel as he could.

‘I got in, by the way,’ he whispered over his cauldron, leaning into Charlie’s space. He had the tiniest of smiles. ‘To the Auror scheme.’

Charlie’s mouth dropped. ‘Oh my god,’ she breathed, a wide smile breaking across her face. She reached under the table and squeezed Dean’s knee excitedly. ‘Fuck yes, Dean! We’re going to be on the same course!’

He grinned back, but it didn’t feel like a real smile. He didn’t want to tell Charlie about all the bad thoughts he’d had during his few days of not talking to anyone - he didn’t want to tell her about the doubts that had crept into the corners of his mind. All he’d ever wanted and planned for himself was to be an Auror, but suddenly everything felt wrong. He couldn’t imagine the end of this year and leaving Hogwarts, maybe because he’d never imagined it would be under any circumstance where Castiel would not have been at his side. Now nothing felt real. It all felt pointless.

When Dean returned to the Boy’s Dormitory later that day, he was surprised to find something on his bed. It was wrapped up in brown paper, tied with worn string.

Dean picked it up. Turned it over in his hand, assessing the weight. With a frown, he tore the paper away and felt doubly confused at the sight of the book that was revealed beneath the wrapping. It was a brand new Advanced Potions book. Exactly what Dean had needed all year.

A note fell from the front pages.

Happy birthday. I’m sorry it’s late.

He swallowed, running his thumb across the words as a hot itch started to play at the corners of his eyes. It was Castiel’s writing. The y’s were sloped beautifully, curling across the paper with practiced beauty. Advanced Potions.

It hurt, holding something in his hands that Castiel had held once, had bought specifically for him. But it was too late, surely, for Castiel to give him a gift and think that everything could be okay. It only hurt all the more.

And so, Dean did what was best for him in that moment. He tossed the book in the bin at the end of his bed, his heart heavy as he did so. Because he needed to get a grip - he needed to stop tearing himself apart, like Benny said. And he’d rather use an old burned-up Advanced Potions book than one that was given to him out of guilt than love.

Dean tried to focus his energy away from Castiel for the rest of February, distracting himself by actually agreeing to Benny’s six AM Quidditch practices and late-night training sessions in the fields. The air was cold, icy enough that each breath felt like swallowing knives, and the rain kept coming and coming and coming.

‘You’re doing better, y’know?’ Benny told him conversationally on the bridge one day. They were both soaked from an early morning Quidditch practice, out of breath and shivering from the cold, but Benny had wanted a cigarette and Dean hadn’t wanted to go back to the Castle, in case he saw Castiel at all.

‘Oh, right. I’ve always thought I was good enough at Quidditch already.’

‘No, not at Quidditch,’ Benny corrected. ‘I mean, in general. Better than last term, anyway.’

Dean chewed the insides of his cheeks, thinking back to last term. The way he’d hounded his friends constantly with complaints about Castiel - he’s with April, why’s he not sitting with us, why’s his hair gone purple… now, Dean wouldn’t even mention Castiel’s name. There was a hollow ache in the center of his chest, so strong he thought he might die from the pain if he dwelled on it too much.

He didn’t think he was doing any better this term than the last. But he didn’t tell Benny that.

‘Yeah,’ he forced out, managing a smile. ‘Yeah, I… I’ve got my focus again. All the matters is getting the grades for this Auror course. Nothin’ else.’

Benny clapped him on the shoulder companionably, with pride. ‘You’ll be alright,’ he promised, voice reassuring. ‘I know it.’

Dean didn’t feel alright. Not any point.

The first week of March came around after weeks of numbness and refusal to meet Castiel’s eyes. They hadn’t spoken since after Slughorn’s Valentine’s Dance. Dean had barely brushed shoulders with the boy. Apparently, Castiel’s latest form of detention was to clean every single cauldron in the castle without magic, so if he wasn’t holed up in Sprout’s greenhouses, or the library, then he was in the Dungeons, tending to his detention time. The guilt Dean felt when he thought about all the hours Castiel was being punished for because of him… was unlike anything else.

But today was a Saturday. It was the third of March. Dean had a big Quidditch game ahead - Puddlemere United representatives would be present to talent scout Benny, make sure he was good enough to be contracted by the end of school. It was a lot of pressure for Benny, but also a lot of pressure for everyone else on the team.

He took a long shower that morning, the hot water smattering across his skin, soothing his aching muscles. The bathroom was steamy when he stepped out, wrapping a towel loosely around his waist, another towel around his head. He stepped back into the Dormitory, his stomach twisting itself into knots when he realized the only other person in the room was Castiel, in the middle of getting changed. The sight of Cas was disarming. Dean hadn’t mentally prepared himself for it, and now he tried not to pay any attention to the tan muscle of Castiel’s shoulders and back as he tugged his shirt over his head, oblivious to Dean’s presence.

Dean swallowed, side-stepping Castiel’s bed as he moved over to his own corner of the room and began to change into his Quidditch clothes.

He had just reached for his shirt when he realized Castiel was looking at him, his eyes serene. Heat rose at the back of Dean’s neck as he looked down at his shirt. He pulled it over his head, not returning Castiel’s gaze.

He could still feel Castiel glancing at him every so often as they both dressed in tense silence. He was the first to move toward the door, his Quidditch sweater tugged over his head and his bag of additional kit wrapped around his shoulder.

‘Good luck today.’

Castiel’s voice broke the silence. Dean hadn’t expected it either. He stuttered in his step to the door, his chest tightening at the sound of Castiel’s words, deep and familiar. Good luck today.

Dean hesitated. And then he left, not looking back in Castiel’s direction.

The game was a success. Dean played well - not the best he’d ever played in his life, because he’d been distracted by the sight of Castiel’s face amongst the crowds… but he played well enough, and that’s all that mattered. At the end, Gryffindor won, and even better than that - Benny returned to the Gryffindor Common Room that night, flushed and bright-eyed, declaring, ‘I JUST GOT SIGNED FOR PUDDLEMERE UNITED!’

The response was instantaneous. Cheers erupted through the Gryffindor Common Room, Benny was lifted into the air and propelled through the room over everyone’s heads, even though he was sweaty and dirty, and soaked still from the rain. Music played, chants were shouted, people lined up for Benny to sign their books or arms, legs, stomachs - whatever material was available to them. Benny was going to be a star. He was going to be a celebrity. He was going to be a Puddlemere United player.

Dean should be happy for his friend. He hated that he spent half the night silently hoping he might spot Castiel again somewhere, maybe behind a curtain. He didn’t know what he’d do if that did happen, though.

‘Come on,’ Charlie dragged him into the throng of people, maybe aware that he was being off-color for the night. ‘Dance, Dean!’

Dean did as he was told. He joined the celebrations, still in his own Quidditch kit as he was passed around the Common Room. Benny handed him a Butterbeer, smuggled back from Hogsmede, and the party really kicked off. Bodies pressed against Dean from all sides. Alicia sidled over at one point, flashing Dean a dangerous smile - all soft eyes and sharp lips. Or maybe, sharp eyes and soft lips. Dean couldn’t tell. He was running off of pure adrenaline as Alicia danced beside him, Benny’s name a chant in the crowd of students.

At one point, Alicia’s hand found his. Tentative. Dean swallowed, his mouth dry, so he licked his lips and looked at her.

‘You played amazing,’ she told him over the music, her voice a husk. ‘You should be celebrating. Why do you look so sad?’

Dean shook his head a little, eyebrows furrowing. ‘I’m not sad,’ he lied. ‘Maybe I’m tired.’

Alicia’s free hand reached up. Pressed against Dean’s jaw. Her thumb was cool as it swiped over Dean’s bottom lip, her eyes searching his face, holding him there carefully. It wasn’t the hands he wanted. She wasn’t the person he wanted. But at least someone was holding him, looking at him like he might mean something to them.

So when Alicia tilted forwards, Dean did what he wanted in that moment - he kissed her. He closed his eyes, and he kissed her, and he imagined that maybe he liked her the way he liked Castiel. He imagined maybe that it was Castiel’s hand that was tightening around his wrist, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away. He imagined it was Castiel who’d found him in the crowd, asked him why he was sad, and was kissing him now just so he could feel something other than that heavy emptiness in his gut.

But it wasn’t Castiel. Dean remembered that as they broke apart, both of them breathless, both surprised. Alicia looked torn.

‘Alicia, I don’t…’ Dean started. Shame flushed the back of his neck. ‘I’m not…’

‘It’s okay,’ she said, voice soft. She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, just once. The faintest of touches. ‘Just don’t be sad.’

Dean nodded. Don’t be sad. Like it was easy. But he understood what she meant, and he accepted her hug - melting against her as he squeezed his eyes shut, all the tension building at the base of his spine. He wanted to be held. That’s all he wanted.

They pulled apart from each other, the heat of bodies in the room becoming too much for Dean to bear, but his ears prickled with the feeling of being watched. He looked over, whole body stiffening again as his eyes landed on Castiel, a ghost of a figure stood on the outskirts of the crowd. Castiel swallowed visibly, tearing his gaze away when their eyes met.

The guilt was almost too much, but it was unreasonable. Dean had laid it all out on the line for Castiel, and Castiel had said no. He’d said, I can’t. So why should Dean feel guilty for having Alicia’s hands on his waist? Her lips on his?

‘I have to go,’ he mumbled, his chest tightening to a point of no return. ‘I’ll see you at practice.’

He nodded at Alicia and she nodded back, before he was untangling himself from her arms and running up the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. There was a ringing in his ears. He thought he might be sick, but his mouth was still so dry. Everything was hot and tingly, the hair stood up at the back of his neck, and his chest got tighter and tighter and tighter until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Charlie found him in the end, curled up on his bed, feeling prepared to die.

‘I saw you leave,’ she whispered, her hand smoothing through Dean’s hair, his forehead clammy. ‘Dean, you’re not alright at all.’

Dean squeezed his eyes shut. He was pathetic. He wished he wasn’t a Muggle-Born, or a Mudblood, or whatever people insisted he was or wasn’t. He wished he wasn’t anything at all.

‘Can you hold me?’ he asked, voice wrecked, his throat closing up to the point where he was sure he wouldn’t be able to breathe anymore.

‘God, Dean,’ Charlie breathed. She climbed onto the bed behind him, her arms winding around his middle.

‘It’s okay. I’ve got you,’ she said. ‘I’ve got you.’

Dean closed his eyes, his heart hammering loudly in his ears. He was a mess. A total mess. He wished he hadn’t told Castiel how he felt - more than that, he wished he didn’t feel it at all. He should’ve turned tail and ran the moment he’d stepped behind the curtain on Valentines Day.

Now though, he lay with his eyes shut and his breath coming in shaky leaps that juttered through his bones, and he held onto Charlie’s arms around him like she was the only person on the planet. Even with his eyes shut, he saw stars.

Breathe, he begged himself. Breathe.

Charlie smelled of apricot and nutmeg. An unusual combination, but the most familiar smell of all.

Breathe. Just breathe.