Dean was restless.
A week had passed since the Battle, and he had done nothing. He wasn’t sure how long he could stand it. Everyone else seemed so busy. They all had a purpose. There were funerals to be attended, relationships to be reformed, relatives to be found and a whole world to rebuild.
So why did Dean feel so detached from it all? Why hadn’t he begun to do any of the things that he had dreamt of while he had been running? Why had his own sense of purpose”the determination to stay alive, to keep running”vanished the night Voldemort died?
He had returned to his family home hours after the battle. They were not there, of course. As soon as he had made his decision to run rather than facing the Ministry, he had forced them to go abroad. Following them hadn’t been an option. He didn’t know how far the Ministry would be able to track him, or if they would be watching the Muggle transportation. He would never have been to relax at the thought of putting his family in danger had he gone with them.
Dean did have a fairly good idea where they were. They had relatives in France and his mother had spoken of going to them. But even with this knowledge, he had made no steps to find them. It would be so easy to call and to tell them that everything was okay, but there was something stopping him from picking up the telephone and he had no idea what it was. Time and time again he told himself that they deserved to know that he was safe, and that it was selfish to keep the news from them.
Every night, while he had been on the run, he had thought of them and what they were doing and he had longed to join them. They had been everything to him; his step-dad had looked after him after his prat of a father left and he had shown Dean and his mum that they were important to someone. Even though Dean had his ‘other world’ as they referred to it, and even though his Mum and her new husband had had children of their own, he had always felt like a Thomas. But he didn’t anymore.
He was completely alone.
He hadn’t seen anyone from the wizarding world since the Battle, but he didn’t really know who he wanted to see. He thought of the boys in the Gryffindor Tower, but they had all fought such different wars that he wasn’t sure any of them could understand how he was feeling. Besides, they had their own pain to deal with. None of them had been able to escape Voldemort and each of them had their own pieces to pick up. It was only Dean’s that seemed to remain shattered and splintered on the floor.
There was only one person whose company he wanted. But he hadn’t even been to see to her yet. At night, however, when he struggled to sleep, he would long for her and her calming voice. She had been through so much and yet, when they had spent those precious few weeks together, she had always been there for him.
Returning home after another afternoon wandering around Muggle London, Dean grabbed a packet of crisps from the kitchen and flopped in to a sofa in the living room. He turned on the TV to provide some noise, but the garish pop song it blared out was out of place in the empty house and Dean quickly turned it off. He saw the phone sitting, as it always had done, on the little table by the window, and found himself gravitating towards it. He already knew the number. He had thought about ringing them so many times before that he had memorised it. This time, perhaps, he might actually succeed in dialling.
The phone shook in his hand as he picked it up, but he did manage to punch in the numbers to his aunt’s house in France. There was a series of clicks and then he could hear the shrill ring travelling down the line.
“'Allo?”
She may have issued the greeting in French but there was no mistaking his mother’s voice. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he simply sat, staring at the handset.
“'Allo? 'Allo?”
It was no use. He replaced the handset with a click, and slumped back on to the sofa.
At least they’re alive, he told himself. He didn’t get to them.
It did little to comfort Dean though, and the overwhelming anger that he had been feeling for a week bubbled inside of him. He hated Voldemort for what he had done, for what he had turned Dean into. The person he had become during his year on the run was not the person he wanted to be. He wanted to be a child again, playing with his mum and step-dad or back in Hogwarts with Seamus, comparing Quidditch and football or moaning about homework.
But you’re not, the voice in his head snapped. It’s time to move on with the life you have got, instead of wishing for one that you haven’t. You have to do something other than sitting here day after day.
He knew it was true. He couldn’t continue like this. And there was only one thing he could imagine doing”he had to see Luna.
Dean Apparated a short distance away from the Lovegood house and made his way up towards the striking rounded building. He liked the isolation. At his parents’ home in London, he felt like he could never be alone. He was always aware of the neighbours’ activities behind the shared walls either side, or the people walking past on the street and casually glancing in the window as they went.
As he walked, he could hear voices carrying on the light breeze towards him. The first he instantly recognised as Luna’s. He would know her gentle melodic voice anywhere. The second, however, he couldn’t immediately place. It was male and had a deep, serious quality to it. Dean wondered if it could possibly be Mr Lovegood. As he reach the gate to the garden, the voices became clearer. Luna and her companion were sitting out of sight in the small garden to the side the house, and to Dean’s surprise he realised that the second voice belonged to Neville”a more mature Neville than the one Dean had last properly spoken to, almost a year ago.
Suddenly Dean felt awkward. He had assumed Luna would be alone, like he had been. He had expected her to be feeling the same; he thought she would understand. But seemingly, she was perfectly happy in the company of others. He froze on the spot, unable to decide whether to stay go, when suddenly he heard his own name carried on the wind, and strained harder to listen.
“I’m glad you came,” Luna was saying.
“I wasn’t sure.” Neville’s voice was hesitant. “I thought perhaps Dean. . . .”
There was a long silence. Dean felt his heart creep up into his throat while he waited for Luna’s response. Neville’s sentence seemed to hang unfinished in the air, and for a moment, Dean wondered if Luna was going to reply at all.
In the pause, Dean moved closer to the source of the voices, so close that he could peer round the side of the house and see them. Luna sat on the grass, leaning back on her hands and staring at some unknown shape on the horizon. Neville sat on a bench slightly further back, looking down at her. He had a strange expression on his face, one that was somehow familiar to Dean, but he couldn’t put a finger on it.
While he watched, Luna sat up and turned to look at Neville. “Dean was very kind to me,” she said slowly, “and he’s a good friend. But he wasn’t there for all of it.”
“Neither was I.”
“No . . . but things happened at Hogwarts that I think only we will ever be able to talk about. I hate the thought of what would have happened to us, Neville, if we hadn’t had each other.”
“I didn’t know how we would keep going after you left. And then Ginny . . . .”
They were almost whispering, but every word seemed so loud and clear to Dean, and it felt like he was being stabbed as he heard them. It suddenly dawned on him where he had seen the look on Neville’s face before; it was the look his mum gave his step-dad, that Harry gave Ginny and that Hermione would give Ron, no matter how hard she tried to mask it with annoyance.
It was love.
Dean knew what was about to happen, and he couldn’t watch or listen anymore. Even as he saw Neville’s mouth open and imagined three words forming there, he was turning and running, not caring for the noise he made or the fact that the garden gate clanged shut behind with him so much force that it disturbed the couple and brought them running into view, their wands out.
He ran the path he had walked up only minutes before. He could still hear her voice; she was calling after him, but he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
It seemed however, that she was quicker, or at least more skilled as a witch, because suddenly she had Apparated in front of him, and he was forced to skid to a halt to avoid falling over her.
“Dean! What were you doing?”
Her voice was calm, but looking into her eyes, Dean could see everything. She was upset, but she was also angry. His guilt at interrupting their moment was instantly replaced by the terrible burning anger that had returned to him as he heard Neville tell Luna he loved her. “I came to see you,” he replied defiantly.
“And you heard?”
“I didn’t mean to. I just . . .did.” He glanced away. Over the last few months, Luna was the one person he could talk to, and be completely honest with. Now he could hardly look at her. What had happened to him?
“I’m sorry, Dean. You weren’t meant to hear, not like that.”
He lifted his eyes. “Do you love him too?”
She looked taken aback at the bluntness of his question. “I don’t know,” she replied at last. “So much has happened that it is easy to confuse feelings of friendship with those of love.” She spoke pointedly, but Dean ignored the tone; he wasn’t interested in her lectures.
“Dean, we shared a special time together, but it was so short, so rushed. With Neville, we were at Hogwarts “ we had our own fight there.”
“And you don’t think I would have joined if I could? Do you think I wanted to be constantly running, always fearing that we were about to be caught and killed, sleeping wherever we could find shelter, hardly eating?”
“No, I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean it like that.”
Dean could no longer hear her words, or see her calming, comforting eyes. “I thought you understood!” he shouted. He towered over her small frame, and, for a moment, he felt a rush of adrenaline at how weak and scared she looked. Finally, he had some power, some control over what he could do. Almost without thinking, he raised his hand above her and brought it sharply down.
Just as he was about to make contact with her skin, there was a flash of light, and he was thrown forcibly backwards. He looked up to see Neville, his eyes blazing and a fierce look on his face. With a lump in his throat, Dean realised that this was the same boy that had confronted Voldemort, and that was about to protect the girl he loved, no matter what the cost.
Dean was shocked at himself. He turned to Luna, and instead of seeing fear in her eyes, he could see only sadness. “I’m” ” he choked, but he couldn’t finish. He could feel them both watching”Neville so angry, Luna so hurt”but both of them showing that same sense of pity for what he had become.
He couldn’t stand being near them anymore. Turning sharply on the spot, he Apparated to the first place, and the first person he could think of: Harry.
He landed unsteadily in the garden of The Burrow. His instinct told him that this was where Harry would be, and Harry was the person who could help him.
“Dean?”
It was not Harry’s but Ginny’s voice that greeted Dean as he attempted to focus on his surroundings. She had obviously been sitting in the garden and had been startled by his sudden arrival. In his haste, he had paid no thought to the exact location of his Apparation, and this was not the most appropriate place.
“Dean? Is everything okay? Talk to me!” Ginny spoke again, her voice urgent and scared.
Without thinking, he put out his arms and pulled her into a hug. She hugged him back without question. It was soft and comforting. He might never have been her Harry, but the care between them had been real, and he knew that she would look after him.
“I need help, Ginny,” he croaked as he pulled back. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”
“Ginny?” A third voice had joined the conversation. Dean saw Harry standing there; the expression on his face revealed that he had seen their previous embrace. He was about to run again, when Ginny spoke.
“Harry, it’s okay. Dean”he needs us.”
Harry instantly relaxed and looked over at his former roommate. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” Dean shrugged helplessly. “I feel so . . . angry. I don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing or how to feel or react or anything. I”I nearly did a terrible thing.”
Neither of them asked the question, and Dean wasn’t ready to tell them about the scene on the hill. Instead Ginny put her arm around him. “Dean, it’s hard, and there’s no way of pretending to be over it. But there are people who will listen and help if you let them.”
The comfort of her arm on his shoulders brought back memories of childhood, of nightmares dispelled by his mum’s hug and her soft voice asking, “Do you want to tell me about it?” The emptiness inside Dean began to dissipate. He knew the next time he tried to call his mum he wouldn’t hang up. He would tell her what had happened. Things weren’t instantly better, but he found comfort that in time they could be. “Thanks,” he said. He glanced toward the house. “I don’t suppose they have a telephone.”
Harry laughed. “Arthur might have one in his shed but I doubt it works. However, I think I heard Molly saying something about it being almost dinner time. Why don’t you come and join us?"
“I don’t want to impose,” Dean replied, suddenly feeling a little awkward.
“Don’t be stupid! Mum will take any opportunity to fuss over someone!” Ginny insisted. “Come and have something to eat. She’ll have made plenty.”
Dean smiled, suddenly enticed by the idea of a home-cooked meal and the company of people who did understand, after all. He was stupid to think he was the only person still hurting - they all were. But Harry and Ginny knew there was no point living in the past, when there was so much future to look forward to. And hopefully, with their help, Dean knew he would be able to think like that as well.
Leaving Yesterday by coolh5000
Story Notes:
Much thanks to Paige/Kerichi for her beta job.
This was originally written for the SPEW Spooky Swap 2009, for the wonderful Shar (Hermoine Jean Granger) *hugs*
The warning is there for caution but very mild.
Also, I don't like my title so it may be liable to change.
Chapter Endnotes: All reviews, long or shot, good or bad, are much appreciated.