A/N: Written for round 7 of the Houses Competition forum for Slytherin House as a themed story.

Prompt: 8. [pairing] Ron/Dean

Word count: 2,040

Ron glanced around the grounds of Hogwarts nervously. He was thrilled to be back for a normal year after the horrific events during the Second Wizarding War, but that didn't mean he wasn't on his toes. Especially today. Today was April Fool's day.

Besides expecting some sinister behavior from the population of You-Know-Who followers still at large, Ron had also grown up with Fred and George. He remembered (all too vividly) the pranks the two had pulled over the years, and it hurt him to think about the duo now when Fred was…

He cleared his throat. Don't cry, not now, not now, he told himself as he wiped his face. Anyway, he had nothing to worry about now — his brother was long since out of Hogwarts, and… well, depressed, to say the least. Ron could only imagine how hard the day must be for George, who still lived in the Burrow, coping as best he could.

The point was, he thought, berating himself for getting swept up in memories of the past, he really was being ridiculous. He was not going to get pranked. It wasn't happening.

Besides, he should enjoy this day. He was meeting up with Dean.

Ron and Dean's relationship had grown under… unexpected circumstances. They had both been part of the few in their year who had returned to Hogwarts after the War. People mostly kept to themselves, grieving and fighting their own lasting demons the best they could, until they were all lumped together in one common room. This had caused many unexpected friendships to develop, including Ron and Dean's.

It had been Halloween, and Harry had shut himself in his four-poster, understandably, of course. Ron had thought it best to leave him alone and had gone down to the common room to sit by the fireplace. It turned out Dean was already there. Talking to… no one.

The dark-skinned boy was sitting directly in front of the fire, curling into the warmth with his arms wrapped around his knees. He rocked back and forth with his eyes closed, and as Ron got closer, he could see beads of sweat on Dean's forehead glinting in the firelight. "I'm sorry," he kept whispering. "I am so sorry."

"Who are you apologizing to?" Ron interrupted.

His eyes snapped open, and, looking panicked, Dean whirled around. "No one," he replied quickly – a little too quickly. "There's no one here."

"I'm here," Ron said, sitting down. "Talk to me."

"You probably don't want to know," he mumbled, looking down and picking at the carpet.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do. I have known you for seven years, seven long and traumatic years, and if something is bothering you, I want to know about it."

Dean took a heavy, shuddering breath. And the story came pouring out of him. "It's been a year since I left. Hogwarts, I mean." He coughed. "They were rounding up Muggleborns. I had no way to prove there was a drop of magical blood in me, so I knew I'd have to run eventually. But I was putting it off. For Seamus.

"He didn't seem… normal. Ever since fifth year. He's a light-hearted person and not very good at dealing with emotions all the time; things like the news of You-Know-Who's return really scared him."

Ron snorted. "They scared all of us." Dean shot him a piercing glare and he quickly said, "Sorry, continue."

"It threw him for a loop. He was terrified of what would happen; he grew up in a wizarding family, so he'd heard all the horrible war stories about families like Harry's, about battles his own family members had been through. He didn't want to believe anything would change."

"Him and the rest of the world," Ron muttered.

Dean ignored him. "He… was eventually forced to admit that You-Know-Who was coming and there was nothing he could do about it. And I think he was just too stressed out, too worrisome about what-ifs and every possible catastrophe imaginable. It was stuff we were all wondering, at the time, but he let it get to him more than was healthy.

"It became my responsibility to bring him back to the real world. To remind him that we hadn't all died, that we were still at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore. He would lapse into his dark speculations for days at a time, not speaking to anyone. I think he was afraid of getting closer to people than he already was in case he lost them; he didn't want the emotional loss to be heavier than it would already be.

"Of course, once Dumbledore died, the whole world went into deep shite. You-Know-Who's goons had finally taken over the Ministry, and he had absolute power. And then the Muggleborn Registration Committee was formed by that horrible, prejudiced pink devil, and the scariest and most certain what-if had finally come upon Seamus — what if I, his anchor to the world at that point, was taken away?

"We ignored it, let it loom over our shoulders until it was absolutely unavoidable. The Carrows took over Hogwarts and a crucio became standard punishment for being late. The committee finally began raiding homes. My family could be dead at any second. I could be dead at any second. I knew I had to leave.

"We made plans for my escape. I'd go through the Room of Requirement on Halloween night, when everyone was at the feast, go through Aberforth in Hogsmeade, get my family to a safe haven, and go on the run. Seamus insisted on coming along, even though I begged him not to; his absence from the feast would be suspicious, to say the least. But he was adamant. And me, with my stupid emotions getting in the way, let him.

"I turned on the radio the next day and it was blaring loud and clear: Hogwarts student Seamus Finnigan received the most torturous punishment so far from the Carrows, including beatings, whippings, and the cruciatus curse for allegedly aiding a Muggleborn friend in their escape from the Muggleborn Registration Committee. Medics say he should recover if given proper medicine, though Headmaster Snape's notorious disciplinary standards may result in permanent damage or death." It was clear the boy had memorized the fateful report by heart." And then they continued on with the weather. The weather.

"I knew it was my fault. I tried to be logical, telling myself I'd had no other options, but… I knew the truth. I'd brought this upon my friend."

"It wasn't your fault–" Ron started, but Dean held up his hand.

"Let me finish.

"During the Final Battle, I'd only caught glimpses of him, but at least I knew he was alive. Then, he just disappeared. No one could find him, even though we all saw him when we entered the Room of Requirement before the Battle. He'd vanished.

"I put it out of my mind, concentrated on rebuilding the castle. But they still hadn't found him. And I haven't looked. Because I'm a coward. Because I fear the worst."

Ron looked at the fire, trying to fight the burning sensation in his eyes after Dean's tale when he saw drops falling onto the carpet. Dean had begun to sob, and he couldn't stop. He visibly began to collapse: he buried his head, curled into a ball, and eventually crumpled to the floor. Ron immediately moved beside the boy and held him, and Dean wept into his shoulder.

"You're not a coward," Ron whispered. "You did the best you could in a horrible situation, and so did Seamus. People react in different ways to things; you couldn't control how Seamus reacted. You're a good friend, Dean. It is not your fault."

Dean pulled away and hiccuped. "Thanks," he whispered. "Means a lot." He mopped his face with his pajama sleeve and took long, wavering breaths until he was calmer. "You're a good friend too, Ron," he said quietly. "And a… really great person to talk to."

"Glad I could help." The red-head smiled gently. "If you ever need anything, let me know."

And Dean had needed him. And Ron needed the other boy, in a way, as well. The boys were hurt, deeper than even they themselves knew, but over the months, Ron had helped Dean come to terms with what had happened and accept that the past was the past. In turn, Dean provided Ron with someone with a bit of an outside perspective on his demons and was always a willing ear for topics from vampires to Muggle food to sports. In other words, they were each other's anchors; each other's friends.

Neither Dean nor Ron was whole, nor was anyone who'd lived through the war, but on the clear, crisp April day, Ron could realize that they were all healing.

"Boo."

Ron whirled, hand in his pocket and closed around his wand before he could think. But as soon as he saw who had scared him, he relaxed. Dean had finally arrived.

"Merlin, don't do that, man," Ron breathed, replacing his wand in his pocket.

"Sorry, you're right. So, ready to go to Hogsmeade. I hear Honeydukes has a new sugar quill that's double the size and lasts twice as long. Wanna see?"

"You know it." One of the things that had brought the boys closer was that each was the other's only match in appetite.

They strolled through the chilly grounds and into the small village, and Dean regaled Ron in a story about a hag that met Merlin and helped him on a journey into Gringotts to liberate a dragon there. They then stepped into Honeydukes and were engulfed in warm, sweet-smelling air. They loaded their bags with as many Sugar Quills, chocolate frogs, every flavor beans, cauldron cakes, and Drooble's gum as they could afford. The boys met up with Harry, Hermione and Neville at the Three Broomsticks for a pint of butterbeer. After, the five of them went to gaze at the Shrieking Shack. Harry, Ron, and Hermione gave each other knowing looks before Harry, Neville's and surprisingly Hermione got into a debate about Quidditch. Ron and Dean shifted away from those three and gazed at the run-down hut that had provided refuge for Remus Lupin all those years, sucking on Sugar Quills.

"This was Seamus's favorite spot," Dean said abruptly, his fond and far-away voice tinged with longing. "We would come here and speculate about what haunted the Shack while we ate our lot from Honeydukes. I thought ghosts; he thought a werewolf. Can you imagine that?" Ron hid a smirk. "Then we'd go and skip stones across the Black Lake, hoping the Giant Squid would steal one of them. It never did, though I think we caught sight of a tentacle once." He sighed.

"I wish he'd come back too, you know," Ron said.

"I know. The three of us could have been such great friends."

"The three of us?"

"Yeah? Why so surprised?"

"Oh, I don't know. You guys just always seemed like such an inseparable lair all the time, you know? Like you had some kind of special bond that couldn't be replicated."

"That's funny; I saw you, Harry, and Hermione the same way." Dean shook his head. "But of course you'd've been our friend. You're a kind, loyal person who knows how to have fun; you're a great friend."

Ron's ears turned pink. "Oh, well… thanks. Means a lot, I guess."

"I want to thank you," Dean said. "For being such a good friend to me and for being there for me, especially that Halloween. Thanks for being… my anchor."

"Of course," Ron said roughly. "I'd do anything to help you."

"Will you help me throw mud at those guys' heads?" Dean grinned.

"Would I?"

A full-blown prank war later, the five Gryffindors stumbled up the stairs to the tower, giggling and laughing and flinging the mud that still clung to their clothes at each other. After Hermione cleaned the mud off (or most of it, rather, but no one was really paying attention), they all collapsed in the common room, sweaty and tired but invigorated and, for the first time in three years, happy.