Fandoms: Harry Potter, Supernatural
Rating: PG-13 (for language)
Warnings: Spoilers for all Harry Potter books, spoilers for Supernatural until 5x10.
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work of fiction for entertainment purposes only.
AN: Sequel to Damned Demented Demons and Bobby and Hermione - An Epistolary Fic . Updates every Wednesday (PST).
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
Summary: In which Ginny and Dean have a chat
For dinner Ginny cooked something that would taste just as good cold as it did warm. She made up two plates and put them in the fridge. She wondered if Sam or Dean would notice that the fridge was just an insulated cupboard with several permanent cooling charms. She knew that Muggle fridges tended to hum quietly like most of their machines.
She and Harry fed the children, then chased them around for a bit trying to remind them to be quiet because Sam was sleeping. She could tell that for all Harry’s bravado, he was worried. The amount of times he glanced at the clock, or found a reason to go over to the front window gave him away. Ginny had to admit that she too was glancing out the front window as often as she could. By Sam’s reaction, it seemed that as long as Dean didn’t take the car, they didn’t have any reason to worry. So, naturally, Ginny breathed a sigh of relief whenever she confirmed that the car was still there.
Ginny put Lily to sleep, as Harry played with the boys. Then they shepherded the boys up the three flights of stairs to their rooms, making a game of taking the stairs as quietly as possible. Harry read to Albus, while Ginny read to James, and Ginny knew that they were both keeping an ear out for either of their houseguests moving about.
Once the boys were asleep, they made their way down to their bedroom. Ginny didn’t comment on the fact that Harry immediately flew to the window to look down at the street below. He didn’t say anything though, so Ginny assumed the car must still be there. They talked a little about the Winchesters - what time Harry thought they should leave in the morning for sightseeing, in what order they should see the sights of Muggle London – mundane things. Underneath all of it, Ginny knew Harry was really asking himself what he would do if Dean wasn’t there when they woke up. He was wondering how he could make things right again. He was worried because he also hadn’t told them about the prophecy.
“At least Sam’s sleeping,” Harry was saying. “They look so tired, Ginny. Even more tired than last year. I didn’t think it was possible for Dean to sleep less, but apparently I was wrong. Two days? If Sam sleeps while Dean is driving, when does Dean sleep?”
“Maybe we should drug him,” Ginny suggested. “A sleep-draught.”
“He’d kill us,” Harry replied. “Sleep-draughts lock you in. If it’s bad dreams...if it’s Hell...”
“Mm,” Ginny agreed, remembering her own attempts at self-medication after the war – after the Carrows. There were dreamless potions, but there was always the chance of becoming addicted.
As Ginny went to pull the curtains closed, she couldn’t help but glance down at the car again, now covered in a light layer of snow. It was only because of the snow that she saw the footprints.
“I’ll be right back,” Ginny said casually.
“Where are you going?” Harry asked, already in bed, and looking quite disappointed.
“I should have left instructions in the kitchen, in case Dean comes back hungry and doesn’t want to wake Sam.” Ginny said, slipping her wand into her pocket as she left the room. Harry seemed to be considering her answer, but Ginny didn’t wait around to find out if he realized she was lying.
Ginny silenced the creaky steps as she made her way quickly down the stairs. She slipped her bare feet into her winter boots, and grabbed Harry’s warmer coat out of the cupboard. She was relieved to see the car was still there when she opened the front door.
Ginny walked slowly up the walkway to the gate. At first she thought she had been wrong, that Dean may have just opened one of the car doors to get something and then gone away again – though, there hadn’t been a set of footprints leading away – but then she saw his head, slumped over and resting on the driver’s window.
Relieved, Ginny realized that he wasn’t about to drive off, as part of her feared he might – still, there was no reason for him to sleep in the car, when there was a perfectly nice warm bed waiting for him inside. He didn’t stir as the snow crunched under her feet as she walked around the back of the car, so that she could approach him from the passenger’s side.
As she moved around the old black car, she couldn’t help but run her hand along it, dislodging the light layer of snow. The metal was cold to the touch, cold and smooth, and lifeless. Ginny had to wonder if maybe her father had been right all these years with his fascination and admiration of these Muggle contraptions, because Ginny knew – Harry had told her, and she had borrowed the books from Hermione – she knew how this car had sheltered a family for over 30 years, how it crisscrossed the vastness of North America, held bleeding bodies, provided escape and refuge. She couldn’t fathom how something could be used to such extreme limits, but could still seem so solid and strong under the streetlights, without having any sort of special magic in it.
She pulled Harry’s coat closed over her nightgown, and bent to peer into the window. Dean wasn’t asleep, he was just staring at his hand where it rested at the bottom of the steering wheel. Ginny knocked on the glass softly, and nearly jumped when Dean did. She took it as a good sign when there wasn’t a moment of hesitation before Dean was reaching across the wide front seat and opening the passenger door from the inside for her. The door gave a distinctive creak, as Ginny opened it wider and slipped into the car – the leather beneath her cold.
“Nice car,” Ginny said, deciding it was as good an opening line as any.
“Thanks,” Dean answered, stroking a hand over the steering wheel. “She’s getting old.”
“Well, you’d never tell by looking at her,” Ginny reassured him, and was rewarded with a small smile.
“Sam sleeping?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Ginny said. “Where did you go?”
“Bar,” Dean replied. Ginny turned to study him, but he didn’t appear drunk. He smiled at her, and shook his head, and Ginny knew the appraisal had been fairly obvious. “Most of our British cash is in Sam’s duffle,” Dean added in way of explanation.
“Oh,” Ginny said. She took a breath, trying to decide how to do this. Maybe she should have told Harry Dean was back, but she had thought that maybe it’d be better if whoever went to talk to him wasn’t one of the people he was currently angry with. Now though, Ginny was faced with the task of defending Harry and Hermione - against a Hunter, no less –and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t intimidated. Still, she hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor just because she was a Weasley.
“Harry tends to keep things to himself,” Ginny started to say. Dean chuckled bitterly. “No, just listen,” Ginny insisted, “I’m going somewhere with this. I’ve known Harry for a long time...I’ve loved Harry for a long time, and he’s always preferred to keep things to himself. I suppose like most of his bad habits, I could probably blame it on his horrid aunt and uncle. But my point is, Harry always kept everyone on a need to know basis, and in his opinion no one ever had to know anything.”
“Sounds like my Dad,” Dean said. “You really aren’t doing Harry any favours with this speech so far, just so you know.”
“I didn’t intend to,” Ginny replied with a smirk, though she was sure to hide her hands in the sleeves of her coat, so that her nerves didn’t show.
“Wow, with a wife like you...” Dean muttered, but left the phrase hanging. Ginny chose to ignore it.
“During the war, when Harry went off on his mission,” Ginny continued. “He refused to tell me what it was he was trying to do, where he was going, or when - or even if - he planned to return. But Ron and Hermione knew at least, I took comfort in that. How much did Harry tell you about the war, Dean?”
“Not much,” Dean said, staring blankly out the windscreen.
“Harry walked willingly to his death,” Ginny said, turning to stare out the windscreen as well. It was easier to talk about this if she didn’t look at Dean, especially since that comment made Dean look directly at her.
“He didn’t tell anyone why, or even that he planned to do it,” Ginny continued. “Not even Ron or Hermione. He told Neville to kill the snake, and then he just disappeared. It was the final battle – a battle we were waging to protect him, and he just took off in the middle of it without a word to anyone...and he walked willingly to his death. He was killing himself, and he didn’t even tell me why.”
Ginny took a moment to remember Harry’s small limp body in Hagrid’s arms – the overwhelming despair and confusion.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it,” Ginny explained. “If he hadn’t survived, if he hadn’t been given the choice to return, I never would have known why he had died. None of us would have known. Maybe...maybe we would have put it together with time...but maybe not. I still get angry when I think about the possibility.”
“He told us that he died once,” Dean admitted, and Ginny glanced at him to see a small smile. “He said that his wife still hasn’t forgiven him.”
“I haven’t,” Ginny smiled back. “But not for the dying. I haven’t forgiven him for not even leaving a note. Now I get him to tell me everything as punishment...or therapy, or whatever you want to call it.”
“Punishment,” Dean decided with a small smile, then sobered and cleared his throat. “So, he told you too...he told everyone but me.”
“Yes and no,” Ginny said. “Hermione told him, and Harry decided that you didn’t need to know right then - probably only because he really didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”
“Still should have told me,” Dean said.
“Perhaps,” Ginny allowed. “But Harry’s been in your position too. Did he tell you anything about Professor Dumbledore?”
“Um, the only dude Harry ever listened to?” Dean replied. “Named an army after him. Was like a mentor, or something?”
“Yes, also our son Albus is named after him,” Ginny said. “Though, I was the one who named Dumbledore’s Army. It was a joke at the time, but in retrospect, I suppose it was fairly apt of me. But I digress; Dumbledore knew something about Harry for a long time without ever telling him. We’re not sure exactly when he figured it out, it could have been from the beginning or it could have been just the last few years of his life. My point is Dumbledore knew the whole time that Harry had to die in order to defeat Voldemort. He knew and he never told him.”
“Isn’t that uh, need-to-know information?” Dean said.
“It was,” Ginny said. “Dumbledore explained to Harry once, when Harry accused him of withholding important information, that he knew he was wrong to do so...but, Harry was just a kid, and Dumbledore couldn’t bring himself to burden Harry with that kind of knowledge. He wanted Harry to be happy with whatever life he had available to him for as long as possible.”
“I’m not a kid, Ginny” Dean replied, a little exasperated. “That excuse isn’t going to work.”
“Like I said,” Ginny answered, “Harry tells me everything now. Like, how you and your brother had to try to stop the apocalypse all on your own, how you grew up, how you only have each other now, but how tense it was between you, how you spent forty years being tortured in hell, and what they must have done to you to make you-“
“What’s your point?” Dean cut her off.
“He also told me how it was nice to see you a little more well rested when he woke up in the farmhouse; how it seemed like you were having fun with Ron; how much he enjoyed yours and Sam’s company during the last supper you had together. My point is by the time Harry woke up in the farmhouse and Hermione told him about the first seal – well, it wasn’t something in your future. It wasn’t something you needed to know in order to win the war. It was something that had happened, that was irreversible. My point is that all Harry could see was someone who deserved some happiness and he really didn’t see any good reason to take what little you had away from you.”
“I tortured people, Ginny,” Dean replied.
“I’ve been tortured,” Ginny said, and kept her eyes on Dean as his gaze locked with hers in surprise. This was important. “I have. I’ve been tortured. I’ve been possessed. I’ve had my life slowly sucked out of me. You were in Hell...for forty years, however many of those years you managed to turn the tables a little – no one blames you. We all regret it on your behalf, but no one blames you.”
“Funny,” Dean replied, voice rough. “’s what Sam said.”
“Yes, well, obviously you should listen to your brother,” Ginny smiled. “Sounds like a smart guy.”
“He broke the final seal, you know?” Dean said. “You sure he’s that smart?”
“I haven’t spent much time with the two of you,” Ginny replied. “But from what Harry’s told me, and from what I’ve seen, I highly doubt Sam did it on purpose.”
Dean’s eyes shifted back to the steering wheel, but his smile was fond.
“Nah,” Dean said. “Tricked into it by a pretty girl – she told him he was stopping it. Had him strung along for over a year, and I never even noticed ‘til it was too late.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ginny said. “Now, I assure you my intentions are honourable – but would it be possible for this pretty girl to convince you to come back in the house? It’s rather chilly out here, and I’m not wearing nearly as many layers as you.”
“Oh Jesus,” Dean said, taking in Ginny’s bare legs. “You must be freezing. I’m sorry. Yeah, yeah...I’ll come back in. Was going to anyway...half my stuff is in there.”
“Thanks,” Ginny said, but Dean was already moving out of the car, so she followed quickly. They entered the house quietly, and slipped of their snowy boots and jackets. Ginny whispered for him to follow her to the kitchen. One of the first things she had ever learned about this house, way back when she was only thirteen, was that the heavy kitchen door was a good sound barrier.
“Are you hungry?” Ginny asked, once the door was shut. “I put aside some food for you and Sam. It can be eaten cold or I can warm it up for you if you like.”
“Uh, either way,” Dean said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
“I’ll heat it up,” Ginny decided, fetching one of the meals from the fridge. She needed a bit more time with Dean anyway. Ginny used a spell to heat the food, and then carried the plate to the table. She decided that given the circumstances, the best strategy was probably just to be forthright and honest.
“Are you still alright with staying here?” Ginny asked. “You have every reason to be angry. I think Harry might be worried that you’ll want to go home.”
Dean seemed surprised, and Ginny realized that the thought may have never crossed his mind.
“Harry still needs our help,” Dean said. “Yeah, I’m angry, but I’m a professional.”
Ginny was hit with a wave of disappointment. She was suddenly immensely glad to be alone with the Hunter for that remark.
“So, if there wasn’t a job...?” Ginny asked. Dean dropped his eyes to his plate and didn’t answer. Ginny took a breath. “Harry considers you a friend Dean. He really does regret not telling you everything he knew back then.”
Dean nodded, and ran a hand across his face. Ginny compared the exhausted man before her with the man she had seen in the mirror over a year before.
“Are you still up for sight-seeing tomorrow?” Ginny asked lightly, disguising the question as a topic change.
“Yeah, part of the reason I came,” Dean answered. “Even being in that bar was a trip. The beer was warm. London, man, you guys are messed up.”
Ginny laughed, and decided that it was probably good to end the night on this note.
“Well, I better get back to bed,” Ginny said. “I didn’t exactly tell Harry where I was going, if he’s still awake, he’s probably wondering where I am.”
“Isn’t that a bit hypocritical?” Dean smirked. “Since he has to tell you everything?”
“What do I look like, a saint?” Ginny winked. “Goodnight Dean.”
“’night,” Dean replied smiling as the door closed behind Ginny.
Harry was mostly asleep when Ginny slipped into bed, but he was aware enough to roll over and smother her in a sleepy cuddle. Harry’s legs flinched back when they came into contact with her cold feet, and Ginny cringed knowing the cold touch probably woke him up a little.
“Yer cold” Harry mumbled. “Where’d you go?”
“Dean’s back” Ginny answered.
“D’you go get him or something?” Harry asked, still obviously confused over why Ginny’s feet could possibly be that cold.
“Sort of,” Ginny said, then ran her hand through Harry’s hair. “Go back to sleep, Harry”
Harry burrowed into her side more, and Ginny had to take a second to remember the days when it was like pulling teeth to get Harry to initiate any of the contact between them. Three kids later and Ginny was starting to think Harry had more than recovered from his attention starved childhood.
“Does he hate me?” Harry asked softly.
“No,” Ginny said. “He’s just tired.”
Harry nodded into her collarbone and then finally Ginny felt his body relax again and his breath even out. Tomorrow Ron and Hermione were supposed to help Harry show the Winchesters around Muggle London, and if tonight was anything to go by, Harry was probably going to need all the sleep he could get.