"No-one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood!"

Dean stared up at the tent ceiling as sleep continued to evade him. He had overheard Malfoy sneering the words at Hermione Granger years ago, but only now had they started to haunt him, night after night.

Filthy little Mudblood. Why was somebody like he or Hermione – who was altogether a nicer person than Draco Malfoy – considered less than the rest of the Wizarding world just because of their parentage? And now it had pushed him out of Hogwarts, his second home, and away from his family. He could never tell his mother of the enormity of the danger he was in. His only option was to stay in hiding and hope that, when this terrible war was finally over, he would somehow hear about it.

The irony of the situation was that Dean actually had no idea whether he was Muggle-born or not. He hadn't seen his father since he was a baby, before anyone knew that he himself was a wizard. If Dean's father was a wizard too, how could he have run out on his son without telling him what he was? Maybe, if he had known the future, he would have stayed with them. As a rule, Dean tried not to wonder what if, but not knowing made his insides burn with anger.

His bubbling anger was such that his senses were heightened, so when the tent door started to unzip, he leapt to his feet and brandished his wand, almost poking the new arrival in the eye.

"Easy, tiger – it's only us," said Ted Tonks with a faintly amused expression, as he and companion Dirk Cresswell entered the tent. Along with the early morning sunshine, a smoky food smell that Dean couldn't quite place crept inside and immediately his stomach began to rumble.

"We brought breakfast," Dirk added, throwing down a couple of spit-roasted squirrels onto the table.

A year ago, there was no way that Dean would have even considered eating squirrel. Now, however, he was so ravenous that he grabbed one and started to devour it. He was so grateful to have come across some fellow Muggle-borns whilst on the run. Everything was so much easier when you had more than one person to share the load. The only problem Dean had was the goblins.

"Griphook, yours is to go," Ted told him as the goblin rose from his bed. "It's your turn to keep watch."

Griphook said nothing but narrowed his eyes at Ted and took his portion of squirrel outside with him. His fellow goblin, Gornuk, followed suit; the two tended to stick together. While Dean had nothing against them, they weren't the most welcoming of creatures, and it made him feel uneasy.

"Are you sure we can trust them?" Dean asked in a hushed tone; with those huge ears, he was sure that the goblins' hearing was rather good.

"No," replied Ted, straightforward as always, "but we can't afford not to either."

"They have some useful contacts," said Dirk reasonably, "and put it this way: they're in the same danger that we are."

"Right you are," Dean agreed, but he was exceedingly grateful for his human companions.

Dean sighed as the second hour of his watch duty became the third. All was quiet and peaceful. One could be fooled into thinking that they weren't in any danger at all. The only sound to be heard was the slightest of breezes that grazed the leaves in the moonlight.

He looked up at the night sky. Trelawney always said that the stars were all-knowing, that they reflected all happenings on Earth – past, present and future. Dean snorted. The stars were ignorant, then, and Trelawney was a fool. They looked the same as always to him: beautiful, innocent, untouchable. In no way did that reflect the destruction that was going on in the Wizarding world at that moment.

Turning his mind away from Trelawney, he thought of all the other people that could be looking up at the same stars with him. His mother, who had no idea that Dean was experiencing anything other than a normal year at Hogwarts? Seamus, Neville, Luna and Ginny, coming to terms with a Hogwarts run by Death Eaters? Harry, Ron and Hermione, rumoured to be undertaking some sort of quest to save the Wizarding world? Voldemort himself? That was an odd thought – Dean had never really thought of him as a human being before. But he supposed that once upon a time, before any of this happened, Lord Voldemort must have been just like everybody else.

A new sound brought Dean back to his senses, but it was only Ted again.

"Thought you might appreciate this," he said, bringing out a welcome cup of tea. Dean cradled it, looking back up at the stars; the sight was becoming a comfort to him. The two sat in companionable silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, but each appreciating the company of the other.

"How are you holding up?" Ted asked gently.

The question was painful to answer. "I just… wish I could do something," Dean burst out eventually. "Fight this. Something other than just waiting. This is bullshit."

Ted sighed, and the moonlight illuminated the lines on his face. For the first time, he looked old. "I know, and it was just like this last time. But right now, it's not about fighting."

"But – "

"There are people better placed than us to work out what the other side are planning, what You-Know-Who is up to," Ted interrupted. "Then, the time will come for us to fight. And don't worry," he added with a tiny smile. "We won't miss out. Dromeda knows how much trouble she'll be in if she doesn't get a message to me."

Dean caressed the fake Galleon that he had kept in his pocket since the old DA days, and for a split second, it made him feel connected to his old friends. He yearned for that familiar feeling of the the coin growing hot in his pocket, and the accompanying elation that they were doing something, right under Umbridge's nose, to defy her.

One day, the time would come and he would join them. One day, he would fight.

As quickly as the hope had come into his life, it was destroyed.

They had Apparated to set up camp somewhere new, as they did weekly. But this time, something was wrong.

"…can't believe Malfoy's even still alive after what happened at the Ministry," the voice came from the distance. Dean's heart leapt into his throat.

"Snatchers!" Dirk hissed and seized Dean and Ted by their shirts. "Stay down!"

None of them dared to move. They were too far apart for Side-Along Apparition. Dean's brain whirred; did he risk Disapparating alone and losing the protection of his companions? No, the noise would give them away, and Dean couldn't do that to his friends. The Snatchers hadn't seen them yet – surely they would just be on their way and Dean and his companions could arrange where they would set up camp next.

"That snake can worm his way out of anything," a second voice agreed.

But the first Snatcher was no longer listening. "Hang on," he said. "I think I saw something." Dean didn't even dare to breathe.

"Scabior, wait!" the second man shouted after him. "That was probably just a fox or something. We should stick to the plan, get back to the Manor before dark."

Dean prayed that Scabior would heed the other man's words, but it was in vain. There were yelps of joy from the gang of men as they sighted their bounty: Dean and his companions.

"Well, what have we got here?" Scabior said, grinning nastily as he Disarmed all three wizards. "Look, Greyback! Mudbloods, I bet! You look school-aged," he said, rounding on Dean.

"No!" said Dean hastily; admitting that he was a Hogwarts student was sure to mean trouble. "My name is, er, Lee Jordan! Half-blood. Finished my NEWTs last year." He had no idea of Lee's real blood status, but he hoped to high heaven that he was right.

"Well, we can check that," another man said gleefully, waving a heavy black record book at them and throwing it towards Scabior.

"What about you, then?" Greyback said, leering at Ted.

"Excuse me, I'm a Pureblood!" Ted objected, almost convincing in the way he squared up to Greyback. Even as a Gryffindor, Dean had no idea how Ted found the courage.

"Really? What's his name, then?" Greyback demanded of Dirk, smirking. Oh no.

"Er, his name is…" Dirk began, clearly panicking. "Arthur Weasley. Works for the Ministry."

Dean's heart sank: the Weasleys were bound to be on the Snatchers' radar.

"Oh, forget about this!" Scabior snapped, throwing the record book aside and drawing his wand. "Now we know they're liars. The Weasleys are all ginger as anything, everyone knows that."

"No! No!" Dean interjected in a last hope of escaping; Ted shook his head urgently but Dean ignored him. "This is Arthur!"

"I don't have the time for this," said Greyback, yawning dramatically. "What do you say we just kill them all?"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Dean didn't even know who was responsible; it was like time had stopped. Three flashes of green light cascaded past him and collided with his three companions – no, friends. Ted, Dirk and Gornuk tumbled to the ground and the terror crashed through Dean's body. He was going to die. His life flashed before his eyes – how would his mother find out?

Then –

"Stop! Stop!" shrieked Scabior. "You fucking idiots! Now they're dead! We won't get paid for those ones now!"

"Oh," said Greyback stupidly, but Dean wasn't listening anymore – he was alive.

"We'll take these to the Manor," said Scabior, gesticulating towards Dean and Griphook and shaking his head. "A goblin and a filthy Mudblood's got to be worth something, I suppose."

Dean's elation at his survival was rapidly diminishing. He wasn't even afraid about what was going to happen to him next; he felt numb. So what if he died? Why did he deserve to live if Ted and Dirk didn't?

"Let's have some fun with the bastards first, though!" one of the other Snatchers cried, to general approval, and they gathered around and started kicking Dean and his goblin companion with all their might.

Dean curled up and took it. He didn't even cry out – the physical pain was unbearable but it wasn't as bad as the pain he felt inside. He just wanted it to end. And if that meant his life ending, that was worth it.

Then, redemption.

"STOP!" screeched Scabior for the second time, but this time his voice was elated. "We've got a Taboo! We'll have to take these with us," he said, and Dean barely felt a thing as a man grabbed his arm and Disapparated them.

"Guard them," Scabior snapped at the man who had brought Dean and Griphook with them. The man grunted in acknowledgement and shoved his prisoners onto the ground.

Dean didn't even bother to sit up. There was no point in trying to run away; even if the man hadn't been guarding him, his body ached all over. He didn't think he was physically capable of that much voluntary movement. He was vaguely aware of some commotion a short distance away, and of the words 'Mudblood', 'Hogwarts' and 'Harry Potter'. Surely not. Harry wasn't like him. Harry would never have got caught.

The Snatcher had his nose back in the record book. "What's your name, boy?" he demanded, and Dean didn't see the point in lying this time.

"D – Dean Th – Th – Thomas."

The Snatcher continued searching the book and then grinned evilly. "Ah yes, you're in here alright. You're going to make us rich, you are."

Lying back, Dean let the pain wash over him. He didn't know what was going to happen after the Snatchers had received their payment. Hopefully he'd be allowed to disappear into the Muggle world and find his mother. If she was even still alive… those awful what if questions had started creeping in again, and they were only quelled by the darkness spreading across his vision as he blacked out from the pain…

Next thing he knew, he was being pulled into an upright position and tied roughly back-to-back with whoever these new prisoners were.

"Oi, come here!" Scabior called to the man who had been guarding Dean, laughing manically. "You'll never guess who we've found…"

"Anyone still got a wand?" came a whisper from one of the other prisoners. The voice sounded familiar but in the state he was in, Dean couldn't quite place it.

"No," came two other voices. Dean didn't bother to respond.

"This is all my fault. I said the name, I'm sorry – "

But Dean had finally managed to work out who his fellow prisoners were. "Harry?"

"Dean?"

Hope suddenly began to course through Dean's veins. This was Harry Potter. He always managed to get himself out of these situations. Didn't he?

Everything happened so quickly after that. And then, just as suddenly, everything stopped. Dean found himself able to think about what had happened for the first time.

He had seen four innocent people die in the last twenty-four hours. Ted. Dirk. Gornuk. Dobby. The names circled around in his head with each wave that lapped onto the sand in front of Shell Cottage. In. Out. In. Out. Ted. Dirk. Gornuk. Dobby…

As a child, his mother had always told him that death was natural. That people died when their time on Earth had come to an end. He had a good run, she had told Dean when his grandfather passed away.

This kind of death – murder – was not natural.

The green light flashed across his vision every time he closed his eyes; he replayed the bloody dagger protruding from Dobby's chest over and over again. Ted. Dirk. Gornuk. Dobby… What if… what if there was something he could have done to save them?

A dreamy voice came from behind him, bringing him back to reality. "Fleur says dinner is nearly ready," Luna told him, hair billowing out behind her in the coastal wind.

"Thanks. I just… need a minute."

Luna simply laid a hand on Dean's shoulder. It said much more than words ever could. Each of them understood what the other had been through, and that neither were yet ready to talk about it.

Dean took the time to regard Luna's appearance properly. She had always seemed so innocent and pure, beyond anything that Dark magic had the power to touch. And yet there she was, her face gaunt, dark circles under her eyes, her limbs dangerously thin.

"How come you were in there?" Dean couldn't help but ask. "You're not Muggle-born."

"They took me," she said quietly, looking at the floor. "They didn't like what Daddy was writing in The Quibbler."

Wordlessly, Dean took Luna's hand. They gazed out to sea together, basking in the temporary peacefulness of their surroundings and trying not to think about what had happened, or what could have been different.

Ted. Dirk. Gornuk. Dobby…

There was nourishing food and comfortable bedding at Shell Cottage, but after a few days, Dean almost wished he was back in the tent. Although they got snippets of information from Bill about what was going on in the war, they were equally useless here. Not only was Dean still recovering from his injuries, but there was nothing he could have helped with anyway. It was almost better to know nothing, so that he didn't have that desperate itch to intervene.

There was nothing to distract Dean from his grief.

"Does it ever just make you angry?" Dean demanded of Luna one day. They had taken to sitting by Dobby's grave and just listening to the waves, like they had on that first evening, but Dean had lost his patience.

"What makes you angry?" Luna asked him, calm as ever.

For some reason, her composure made Dean's frustration boil over. "The fact that we can't do anything except wait for other people to do it for us! The fact that other people died but we were spared, and yet all we do is just sit here, day after day!"

Luna just sat and listened as he poured out his anger. Then, when she was sure that he had finished, she spoke. "Daddy always says that anger is a wasteful emotion," she explained. "It takes up all sorts of energy that is better channelled into other things."

Somehow, the words of Xenophilius Lovegood didn't provide Dean with much comfort. "But that's just the thing, there isn't anything to channel – "

"What are you interested in?" Luna interrupted.

"Huh?"

Luna picked up a book from beside her. "I want to be a Magizoologist," she told him, showing him the cover: it was Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. "Whenever I think I'm going to get sad, I read up on all my favourite creatures. Then I plan where I'm going to go travelling after all of this is over to discover even more of them. I'd love to find a Blibbering Humdinger." Dean didn't bother to ask what one of these was; he was so caught up in just listening to her talk about something that clearly thrilled her so much. "So what are you interested in?" Luna continued.

Dean considered this; it did seem a good distraction, but he didn't have the same kind of passion for anything like Luna had. "Er, well, I've always loved Muggle football," he said doubtfully. "And Quidditch, more recently."

"I'm sure Bill will have some Quidditch books around somewhere," Luna said, her eyes lighting up at the chance to help. "I could ask him – "

"No," Dean interrupted. "I mean, thank you, but I'm not really such a bookish person. I've always preferred doing things."

"You're an artist, aren't you?" Luna said suddenly.

Dean was taken aback. "How did you – I guess, yeah, I'm good with a quill," he admitted.

"I remember those banners you painted for the Triwizard Tournament," Luna explained. "They were beautiful."

The Triwizard Tournament… Dean looked back on the memory of his fourth year with a sad fondness. Everything seemed so insignificant now – at the time, it had seemed like the worst thing that could ever happen to someone would be to turn up to the Yule Ball without a date. Little did they know that in a few short months, something would unimaginable would happen and change their lives completely.

He gazed over at Dobby's gravestone, painstakingly carved by Harry, and knew what he had to do. He knew how to channel his feelings.

"Luna, I need three big slabs of stone."

Ted. Dirk. Gornuk. Dobby…

He felt slightly guilty that the garden of Shell Cottage had been transformed into a mini-graveyard, but Dean was happy with his handiwork. There may not have been any bodies, but the headstones, carefully carved and illustrated, memorialised the sacrifices of Ted, Dirk and Gornuk, right next to where Dobby lay.

Slowly, by spending time in the peaceful place dedicated to their memory, Dean started to come to terms with the death of his friends. He realised that Ted would not have wanted the anger to take over his life. He made the most of the peaceful atmosphere, accompanied by Luna, Fantastic Beasts and his new easel and paints, sourced by Fleur.

What he painted depended on the day. Sometimes, the longing for the simplicity of his early years at Hogwarts made it onto paper in the form of Gryffindor lions or depictions of memorable Quidditch matches. Sometimes, he captured the beauty of their surrounding landscape. Other times, painting was his way of channelling his anger and grief and the uncertainty of the troubling times they lived in.

One afternoon, Dean was painting one of his traditional beach landscapes when something else caught his eye, more than the crashing waves or the dramatic cliffs in the background.

Luna Lovegood had been a presence in his life for several years now – as members of the DA, they had seen each other weekly; they had both attended Slughorn's Christmas Party; Dean had almost exploded with laughter when Luna had made her debut as a Quidditch commentator. However, they had never been close – Dean wasn't sure if they'd even had a one-on-one conversation before. Whenever he had spared a thought for her, it was usually about how odd she was, though never in a negative way. Now, as he regarded her in the distance, she was perfection. She was selfless, quirky and compassionate, and he couldn't get her out of his head.

"Luna, can I paint you?" he asked, before he'd even made the conscious decision to.

"Me?" she asked, sounding surprised but a little pleased. "Yes, I suppose you can."

Dean got to work, grinning as he captured the sublime sight before him onto paper. He began with her pale face, gradually adding on her distinctive features. Her face was screwed up in delighted concentration as she read; every so often, she would scribble something down eagerly in her leather notebook. Then he added her streaks of sandy hair, which she brushed gracefully out of her face as it caught the sea breeze. Time was healing Luna: while her face was still thin and gaunt, her incredible strength shone through. She was at peace with her surroundings.

As he painted, there was nobody else in the world apart from the two of them. Luna was his light in the darkness, and he was beginning to realise it.

He was at the dinner table with Bill, Fleur and Luna when it happened. He felt something burn in his pocket. It was a familiar but distant feeling – so distant that he thought he must have been imagining it.

But Luna's face gave it away. He wasn't imagining anything, because she could feel it too.

"Luna?" he said tentatively, and they both removed them from their pockets: the fake galleons, given to them by Hermione all those years ago.

"Dean? Luna?" said Bill, puzzled. "What are those?"

"What does it mean?" Luna breathed, seeing that day's date inscribed around the side of the coins.

"It means we go now," Dean told them, strength gathering in his voice despite the butterflies in his stomach. After all of the agonising waiting, it was finally time. "We go to Hogwarts, and we fight."

The noise of the battle was deafening. Flashes of red and green bounced off all the walls; incantations reverberated around the castle; people shouted warnings as monuments collapsed or paintings tumbled from the walls. All anyone could do was go into survival mode, shooting hexes at those approaching and ignoring the injured or dead bodies that lined the corridors.

Dean felt in his element. Finally, he was able to make a difference, to do his part in helping fight.

"I've got these!" he shouted as another crowd of Death Eaters rounded the corner; Parvati was by his side as they aimed Stunners at the new arrivals.

"Dean, Parvati, Luna!" Lupin called, beckoning them up the spiral staircase. "We need some backup up here!"

Dean felt a thrill at being valued by his old Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher as he followed Parvati and Luna up the staircase; he sealed the doorway to avoid them being followed by any unwanted company.

But then disaster struck as a Death Eater came rocketing down towards them; a flash of green streaked past Parvati and hit the wall below her. Rubble cascaded down towards Dean and Luna and trapped them; miraculously, they avoided being hit by anything apart from tiny pebbles.

"Parvati? Are you okay?" Luna called through the rubble.

"I'm fine!" she shouted back to him. "I've Stunned that guy – you'd better go back the other way, there's no way you'll get through here now."

"Stay safe!" Dean yelled, and Luna started to make for the sealed doorway, but Dean grabbed her. "Hang on," he said, knowing they were safe at least for the time being. The thrill of the battle, and simultaneously the knowledge that they might not survive it, called Dean to action: he kissed Luna fiercely.

At first, she didn't respond, but then her lips were moving with his, she was pressing her body closer, he was running his fingers through her hair, their tongues were battling. Dean had never thought that dreamy, serene Luna and her calming presence could make him feel this kind of passion, and he could see the fire that he felt reflected in her eyes. He savoured their stolen kiss, and when it was over, they simply locked eyes, breathing heavily as their hearts raced. As always, Dean couldn't find the right words.

"Come on," said Luna after an eternity, and she unsealed the door of their unlikely paradise.

It was over.

Dean sat by the lake and watched the sun rise on a new day, one without the threat of Lord Voldemort and his supporters. It was the closest thing he could get to the in-out of the sea at Shell Cottage. Maybe this would help him get used to the fact that this horrific battle was over, and he wasn't happy about it.

During the battle, he lived for the moment. He ran past those dead bodies, didn't take in those faces, didn't think about the people they were leaving behind. He even had time to steal that spectacular kiss with the girl that had been taking up more and more of his thoughts over the past few weeks.

Now, the dead had names and faces. He couldn't bring himself to feel happy about that.

He looked over at the lake but it wasn't the same; instead of the steady in-out, there were random clusters of ripples from the wind. They were too fast; they didn't have that calming rhythm.

The silhouette of a figure approached and as she got closer, the early sunlight bathed her face: Luna. She sat beside him and he revelled in her angelic glow. This was all he needed to calm him. But he could tell that there was something on Luna's mind.

"That kiss," Luna said, and Dean had a horrible feeling that he knew what she was going to say. Something wasn't right.

"Yes?"

"I think I felt some Wrackspurts in the room."

Nonplussed, Dean said nothing, hoping that she would clarify.

"I don't think we knew what we were doing," Luna said carefully.

There it was: the sting of rejection. He had seen it coming, but in no way did that dull the ache that was spreading through his body. "You think it was a mistake?" For him, more of a mistake would have been the missed opportunity, not showing Luna how he felt when he might never have had the chance again. And he had thought that she felt the same. How did he misread all the signals?

"No, not a mistake," said Luna, breaking into a dreamy smile for the first time. "It was very nice. I'd never done that before. And I like you, but… people do strange things in life-threatening situations."

"Strange things? Luna!" he said desperately, feeling like his heart was sinking right out of his body. His mind was racing as he thought of Luna, how broken she looked after Malfoy Manor, how together, they had gradually started to mend through painting, reading and stolen glances. "It's not strange when you've been the light in my darkness for all this time. It was bliss, finally kissing you. Luna, I think I'm falling in love with you."

Luna regarded him, an odd expression on her face. "No, I don't think so," she said mildly. "I think you've just needed something to keep you going through that darkness. And it was what you needed in the battle. But now that we're free, you don't need that anymore."

Dean considered her words. She had always been wise beyond her years, despite the unusual ways in which she expressed it. Maybe she was right – maybe it was the idea of Luna that he had fallen in love with. Someone so angelic and pure, so far from any of the darkness and destruction that had been dominating their lives. How did she always seem so crazy, and yet make so much sense? They had nothing in common, really. But all the same… "Why can't we just try, Luna? What's the harm in that?" he urged.

"No. I'm going away to do some research. Try and find some Crumple-Horned Snorkacks," Luna told him, and Dean couldn't help but break into a sad smile - he had no idea what that meant, and now he probably never would. "I'm not ready to share my life with someone yet," she said softly, and she took Dean's hands in hers. She kissed him on the cheek with her silky lips, and Dean hoped he would remember the sensation for years to come. "Goodbye, Dean."

A single tear fell down his cheek as she turned away from him. He didn't know if he was mourning the loss of his feelings for Luna, or if it was everything she represented to him. At least he did know that the strangest, most trying year of his life, with or without Luna, had come to a close. He shut down the what ifs that were inevitably surfacing. The dead were gone, but they had died for a worthy cause. For Dean, future was vast, unspoilt, and even without Luna, things were looking up.

"Goodbye."

A/N: So sorry I broke them up at the end! Luna took on a mind of her own while I was writing this, and it just didn't feel like she was ready for a relationship. I've always thought that Luna is very wise, but also that she knows her own mind. She would never share her life with anyone except for 'the one' and we all know that's Rolf!

I feel like Dean's story during DH is often overlooked, so I hope you enjoyed my take on his character :)