Author's Note: For Butter! I'm your Secret Santa! Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas! I thought I would write you something angsty for the holiday.
PROMPTS: "you're not who i thought you were", "i once loved you. now i'm not sure", "please. just leave", "I love you"/"you should have thought of that before you did this, then"
Dean had always known he was a wizard, there was never a doubt in his mind. His father had told him stories about the Dark Lord when he was younger, stories about bravery and the triumph that had stretched through the decades. There was never a doubt that he would be a Squib, either. His father professed that he had been displaying magic since he was born, and Dean had believed him.
He believed most of what his father told him; there was no reason not to. Albert Thomas knew a lot about the world, and he raised Dean on his own when his wife was killed. There was no reason for Dean to ever doubt his father, not when he had made a name for himself- a name out of nothing.
They lived in a strange, mixed up world. He knew that his father didn't quite believe what the Dark Lord preached, but that was the only way for them to survive. He had been approached right after Dean was born, told that he needed to join the Death Eaters. But Albert had a Muggle wife, there was no way that he was going to join them.
He was smart, though. It was join or die, and he wasn't about to die. He had a son to raise, he had a wife that depended on him. He said that he would join, that he would be branded… He was never as good at Occlumency as Severus Snape was, but he was good, stronger than the typical person.
He made sure that his son was good at it, too, and he pushed into Dean's head stories about a freer world, a world where good could beat evil. And he sent his son off to school with Slytherin qualities and a Gryffindor best friend- Seamus Finnegan.
And then the Chamber of Secrets had opened in Dean's second year, it had claimed the lives of Ginny Weasley, Seamus, and Hannah Abbott. The basilisk had taken away those that had hope for a better life, those that didn't quite believe that the Dark Lord knew exactly what he was doing when he killed Harry Potter all those years ago.
There was nobody that Dean could trust at Hogwarts, not anymore. He was seventeen, now, and it was years after Seamus had died… But he still heard the words echoing in his head. He still heard the Sorting Hat claiming that he would be happier in Gryffindor, that Slytherin was just a way for him to hide.
Dean was brave and bold and daring, but he needed to hide. He needed to keep away from people, he needed to follow in his father's footsteps and pretend that he believed all the stories that they heard.
He had been doing great at it, for a while. He had been good at the lying and sneaking, he had made an ally in Professor Yaxley and had kept from getting on Professor Amycus Carrow's bad side. He had won Theodore Nott over in their third year and maintained a strangled relationship with Adrian Pucey. But then he had started noticing things, noticing people…
Dean had known that he liked boys. He had known that he was gay for a while, probably since he had seen Marcus Flint shirtless in his third year. He realized that he had had a crush on Seamus, at least for a bit, at least two years after his friend had died.
But it was his crush on Blaise Zabini that was doing him in.
Blaise Zabini was arrogant, almost as bad as Malfoy. He was from a good family, he had strong breeding, and he was certainly going to end up engaged to some dressed up witch by the end of the year.
And he barely even realized that Dean existed.
Sure, they had classes together. They were partners in Potions more often than not, and they did well together. But they barely spoke more than a few sentences towards each other unless prompted, and Dean couldn't tell if he was drawn more to the careful way that he spoke or to the mystery that surrounded Blaise.
Maybe it was both. Maybe it was neither. But there was something drawing him towards Blaise each time they were in the common room, something that caused his fingers to curl and his brows to furrow whenever they passed in the hallway.
He started sitting next to him in class more, just to get rid of the constant shouting in his head. He tried to get over his ridiculous crush- he tried flirting with Rhys Harper when he had time and snogged Cormac McLaggen when he that didn't work. But it didn't help; it only seemed to drive Blaise closer to him.
"Alright, Thomas?" turned into actual conversations, actual questions about his dad and what he wanted to do after graduation.
They talked about where they were going over break, what their parents were doing, if they had been told about any engagements. Dean thought that he was over the crush now that he knew Blaise's quirks (he never ate any fruit, he hated sweets, he stumbled over slurs), but he found it all more endearing.
"You're not who I thought you were," Blaise said one evening, lifting his chin loftily. Dean always felt rough in comparison, never as refined. He might have been brought up to be as delicate but there was no way that he could replicate the sharpness of Blaise's jaw, the nobility of his forehead or frown.
Dean never knew what to say when Blaise spoke to him, and he floundered and slipped over his words. But he was brave and bold and nervous, and most of all, gentle. "What do you mean?"
"You really don't belong with us," he said casually. His fingers were toying with his tie, neither nervous nor concerned. "You're a lot more of a Gryffindor than a Slytherin."
"Is that bad?"
He thought of all the ways it could be, the moments where he had cost his house points out of chivalry and bravery. He thought of how he had ruined the cup in their second year out of some need for Gryffindor to have a win.
"It's different," Blaise murmured, testing the waters. He didn't say whether or not he liked the different, and Dean nodded. He tried to smile, but it was hard, sometimes. In his head he kept hearing his father's stories and the words that had placed him away from where he ought to be, he heard Seamus's laugh and Ginny Weasley's shriek right before she died.
"Oh." Unrefined and unhewn. He wasn't a diamond, not like Blaise. He was red and gold wrapped up in a green bow, he was out of his place and awkward.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the water as it shone a murky green. Dean loved and hated his common room. All he wanted was a home, and there were times where it just felt distant.
"It's refreshing, most of the time."
Dean let out a half-sigh, the rest of his words strangled in his throat. He had passed muster; they were speaking as friends and he thought that the mystery was slowly being unveiled. He could move on, now.
"Now I'm not so sure."
It broke the silence worse than a pin. It was a shattered wine glass, the broken stem sticking into his side as the other boy wandered off, moving towards their dormitory. Dean swallowed roughly and looked around the common room, catching the eye of the younger Higgs boy and Harper.
They don't have a conversation like that again, not for a while. They pass the rest of the semester the same as before, barely passing the line of friendship before they end up together again at the Yule Ball. Dean had gone with Tracey Davis again- it was the safest bet. He was a no name halfblood, so was she. They were outsiders together, a bookish girl and sporty, happy Dean. Bumbling Dean. Fun Dean.
"I'll be engaged to Astoria by the end of the year," Blaise told him, smoothing down the sides of his expensive dress robes. Dean's eyes moved to watch how his lips formed the words, only dragged away when he thought it had been too long.
"Congratulations," Dean said, trying to smile. It didn't matter; it wasn't meant to be. They were too different.
"It means that I have one month to be reckless," he said decisively. Blaise almost looked hesitant to continue. Dean, who had never seen him look anywhere close to nervous, almost held his breath.
"One month," Dean repeated lamely. He wasn't sure what else he was supposed to do, but he was trying. He looked over to where Tracey was talking to Pansy, trying to get her attention, and then back at Blaise. "What are you going to do? Drink?"
Blaise offered an elegant shrug, drawing his glass of punch to his lips. "Someone spiked it," he responded, wrinkling his nose. "A pity. But, no, I wasn't planning on getting drunk. That's more of Malfoy's thing."
"What'll you do, then?" he asked. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know, but this was different than their normal conversations. Dean just wanted to keep it alive, wanted to pump air into a discussion that was close to ending.
There was another silence, and Dean tried not to cringe. "I might go on a date," Blaise finally said, slowly. "Or do… something."
Dean blinked, unsure as to why he was being told this. They weren't that close. Then again, Blaise wasn't that close with many people. He had acquaintances, but he didn't seem to cling to people like Draco did, and his relationship with Theodore Nott seemed to be one of convenience. "That sounds fun."
"You're lucky you don't have to deal with things like this," Blaise said, looking over to where Astoria Greengrass was standing, talking to her sister. "And I'm glad that it's Astoria and not the Fawley girl."
He nodded, completely understanding. Louise Fawley was the rudest witch he had ever met, and she seemed to be the oddest girl in the entire school. It was only her family name that kept her from constantly being hexed. "Yeah, I s'pose I am," Dean said awkwardly. "Not sure my dad would really care about who I came home with, in the end."
"Not even to keep on the line?" Blaise questioned. He arched a perfectly manicured brow, and Dean felt his cheeks darken.
"I'm a halfblood. What line would he be concerned about?"
He was a halfblood with Muggle in him- there shouldn't have been any concern about him. But he could see where the conversation was coming from. Blaise was from a predominant family.
"I see," Blaise responded, nodding his head. Dean wasn't quite sure what he saw, but he didn't want to object, so he just nodded as well. The conversation was going as well as his History O.W.L. did, but he was talking to Blaise.
Well, Blaise was talking to him.
Dean was about to beg his pardon and leave (he was nothing but polite) when something a bit stranger happened. "Go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"
"Me?" Dean asked, a bit taken aback. "What about being reckless? We only have one more until break."
Blaise fixated him with a rather snarky arch of his brow. "This is my reckless event, Thomas. Are you coming or not? I can always ask McLaggen."
Their date really doesn't go as well as he wanted it to go; once more Dean is stuck trying to find the perfect thing to say, the best words to fill the gaps and pauses. But it sticks, and they exchange owls over break, kisses over Valentine's… What was only supposed to be a month of recklessness keeps stretching on and on.
At one month they refuse to make eye contact in the halls, but by two they walk everywhere together. They won't play it cool. They don't have to. Blaise distanced himself from everyone after his third step-father's death and Dean is a halfblood.
They are still entwined a few days before summer break, and they were snogging in the courtyard when they get caught by Goyle.
"Oh," Goyle said, narrowing his eyes at the pair.
"Oh," Dean whispered, his entire body frozen in fear.
"Oh," Blaise said, just as loftily as he usually would. "Go find Lovegood and lock lips. We're busy."
Their last day was spent lurking around, trying not to get caught. Goyle didn't tell, but Dean still hadn't unwound himself by the end of the week, causing a decent enough fight between Blaise and him. He wanted to make up, but he knew… He knew that there time was likely coming to an end, anyway. School was almost over.
Blaise rolled his eyes at the way Dean sulked, extending a hand. "I have to wait until Astoria graduates."
"Did you decide that?" Dean wanted to know, his goofy grin back on his face. Blaise pressed a kiss to his forehead, rolling his eyes. It was gentler than they normally were, and Dean relished for a moment in how Blaise was the only person taller than him in their year.
The wizard shrugged. "I really wasn't in the mood for a child bride," he drawled. But he lingered as he looked into Dean's eyes, and Blaise almost looked sad for a moment. He didn't say anything, though.
He waited five minutes.
He really waited ten seconds, but it felt far longer.
"I didn't want to give you up quite yet."
He doesn't try to give him up until the wedding.
Dean gets to be Best Man because he knows Blaise the best, because Draco refused to take the position, because Padma Malfoy has taken over being Matron of Honor and seems to be holding a strong wand over them all.
Dean didn't want to be Best Man; he had been planning on drinking the day away, but Blaise had asked, and he would do anything that that man asked him to do. So he had agreed and he had dressed in white robes lined with gold, he had gotten a neat haircut and had talked pleasantly to the Lady Zabini and her most recent husband.
And then, on the dias, he murmured positive remarks to Blaise. "You look nice. Tori looks nice. Are you ready to do this?"
"Please," Blaise said, and Dean finally looked at him, really looked at him. He was pale and shaking, not at all keeping the cool that he generally possessed. He looked like he had been sweating for hours, days. "Please, just leave. I can't do this. Not like this, not with you here."
"I knew what this meant when I agreed," Dean insisted, trying to pretend like his heart wasn't breaking in two.
Blaise frowned. "I didn't." His voice was softer than it had been before, but Astoria was there, walking down the aisle, so Dean stood up straighter and stared stonily down the aisle.
Blaise said his vows directly to Astoria, but his head was held too rigidly, his posture too stiff. Their kiss barely grazed skin, and the witch seemed sad herself as she exchanged smiles with Flora and Hestia Carrow, her sister, and Padma.
The groom and bride sit at a table with their friends, and when the first dance is done, when everyone is eating dessert and Blaise and Dean are finally alone, they both look at each other with heavy hearts.
Dean knew what he had gotten into. Dean knew what was going to happen.
"I love you," Blaise said, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You should have thought of that before you did this, then," Dean said, turning his head.