Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Harry Potter.

Author Note: You see any typos, let me know. Seriously, not kidding. Let me know. I'm in a haze of NaNoWriMo so I'm a little out of it to be spotting mistakes. I have the entirety-ish of Evermore planned. You have been warned. Ugh?

Evermore

Mikkal

Forevermore: IV

Harry had been angry when he first came to 12 Grimmauld Place. Even after he just shouted all of his problems there was still a little bit of anger hidden there. Hermione kept shooting him dark looked whenever she thought he was about to lose this temper in an explosion that was more than necessary and Ron didn't seem to mind, just talking aimlessly about the Cuddly Cannons and how there were so many books this year, and can you believe the Winchesters didn't assign any books?

And it took a little bit to get over his hearing. It was still unbelievable he had to go through that. The wizards and witches of the Ministry just gave him an all around horrible feeling that he still couldn't quite get rid of.

For the most part, though, he was calm, content. The mindless cleaning Mrs. Weasley set them all to kind made him blank out a little as he worked. It was boring and mind numbing, but it was better that than thinking about Voldemort and that strange man Hermione had no luck on figuring out about. Sirius helped them sometimes, but it seemed that looking at any Black family possessions just made him seethe. Fred and George continued to try and make cleaning easier, but they kept messing up the spells. He still couldn't decide whether or not they were doing it one purpose, chances are it was the former.

Remus, Mr. Weasley, Snape, Moody, Sam, and even Dean were in and out of the house. More were in that out than some, but it was obvious Dumbledore had them all doing something. Snape, Sam, and Dean were gone the most often, probably not on the same mission. The Winchesters were something of a stain to Snape, which was very noticeable. Especially since they had the job Snape wanted the most. He could almost imagine the greasy man's thought on how they were Muggles and Americans and what do they have that I don't?

Okay, maybe those thoughts were word for word, but Harry bet they were accurate in some shape.

He had figured that Dean would've taken a break, after all he was hurt and refused to be healed, even Sam was angry that his brother insisted on working missions. But the American just set his jaw and pushed through the pain. If Harry didn't dislike him so much he would've been impressed.

One day Sirius came bounding in the room they were in, already in his animagus form, tongue handing out and tail wagging so fast it as a blur. Harry laughed when he tugged on the cuff of his sleeve.

"This really necessary, Sirius?" He asked, allowing him to be all but dragged upstairs and down a long hallway. Ron and Hermione followed him despite her protests.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "I don't remember this hallway being this long."

Ron whooped in excitement. "Really, Sirius? Oh, this is bloody wicked!"

Hermione frowned. "What?"

Sirius stopped in front of door and stood on his hind legs to put his front paws on it. He looked at the three of them with wide eyes that laughed.

Harry reached out and turned the knob, feeling hums of power, then pushed it open. He and Hermione both gasped loudly when given the view of a large field, a giant oak tree in the middle with a tire swing handing from it and blowing slightly in the breeze.

"It's rare," Ron was saying. "But sometimes when a pureblood family lives in a small town like this they add field rooms to give to their children. Normally, around an older age the lock them up so the kid can focus on their studies instead of playing around." He looked at Sirius. "Why is this still open?"

Sirius gave them a wolfish grin and took off barking, picking up a rubber ball while he was at it. Hermione was the first to start laughing and run after him, shedding at least five years in her glee. She must have had a dog when she was younger.

"He probably has bad memories of this place," Harry said quietly. "Chances are he wanted us to come here with him so he didn't have to be human."

"Make new memories," Ron said in agreement, nodding.

"Are you lot coming or not?" Hermione yelled from under the tree. She was tossing something red and slightly round, but it wasn't the ball because that thing was blue. It took him a moment to realize it was an apple. "Oh," she said when they ran closer. "Don't eat the apples. Something's wrong with them." She held the apple closer to them. "It's too red. Not like any apple I've seen."

Sirius barked and they all looked at him to see him nod. And then he picked up his ball and dropped it at Ron's feet, sliming up his shoes

"Ew, Sirius," he whined. But he picked it up and threw it as hard as he could. Thanks to Quidditch it flew across the field room and hit the barrier—or it could probably be considered a wall—about thirty meters way, it bounced off and came hurtling back. Ron yelped and flattened himself on the ground quickly enough the ball only skimmed his hair. Sirius leapt over him and sprinted after the bouncing ball.

"I'd watch out for ball-returning walls," Harry warned. Hermione laughed loudly.

Ron stuck his tongue out at him. "That's for the warning, mate, means a lot to me that you care so much."

Harry put a hand over his chest. "From the bottom of my heart, Ronnie-kins. From the bottom of my heart."

Whoever had the bright idea of ever combining Fred, George, and Dean together was completely and utterly mad and should probably be locked up somewhere (preferably somewhere without dementors).

One minute Remus and Sirius were talking about something and the next colorful, dancing, vulgar puppets were following them around, singing songs at the top of their plushie lungs.

Two days after that, the silverware in the kitchen had come to life and started banging a song out on the pots and pans. It sounded vaguely familiar and Hermione agreed. Everyone else was completely lost except Sam just seemed resigned. Dean kept singing along, the words something about "back in black and "nine lives, cats eyes."

The brooms were sent to work again and yet again the spell was screwed up on purpose. They weren't dogs anymore, but, instead, they were hiding behind corners and jumping out to scare people whenever they could. Out of the twenty one brooms spelled, only seventeen were found.

If the collective house, including those who only stayed every now and then, found themselves itching in very uncomfortable places then they never told another soul, but it was still obvious that they itched terribly in places people liked to pretend they didn't have in public. This could be blamed on Dean since Harry was sure Fred and George had never heard of itching powder before. Because that was what it was, he could feel a little bit of dust in his trousers. Most wizards just went with a basic hex, but this was Muggle made, wizard distributed.

Let's just say when the day before they were off to Hogwarts he wasn't sad to be able to breath normally, even if they were having another celebration for Hermione and Ron's prefect badges. He liked to think he was over the jealousy (not that he'd admit that) and was just waiting for the cake to explode into a box of cats or something. He was perfectly capable of ignoring the little twinge in his chest thankyouverymuch.

Harry was getting tired of the good-bye party and all things. He was moving to put away his plates then there was a faint thump from above. Even thought it was a stupid idea he looked up anyway, as if he was trying to see through the ceiling at exactly what was going on.

Obviously there was nothing.

He looked around and no one else seemed to notice the noise, not even when there was another thump. Harry turned away from the sink and headed up stairs, unable to keep the curiosity at bay.

He froze at an open door. Ron laid dead, splayed out in a position of crucifixion. There was a heart shattering sob.

"R-Ridikulus."

And then, it was him.

Mrs. Weasley sobbed over Harry's pale, glassy-eyed corpse. She moaned in distress and pulled at her hair as tears ran down her face.

Harry could only stand there in surprise, not really comprehending his double.

"R-Ridikulus."

With a sharp crack the Harry double turned to Ginny, his limp hand reaching for her mother. Mrs. Weasley gasped and all but wailed.

Before Harry knew it, he was pushed aside and adults were coming in. Sirius held him back while Remus approached the redheaded woman slowly and carefully.

"It's a boggart, Dean." He heard someone whisper. Sounded like Sam.

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, I know, Sammy. But Lupin's not gonna get anything done if he shies away from her like that. As soon as he touches her it's gonna turn for him and he's gonna be a little too occupied to do anything."

"I think they know that," Sam snapped.

Harry was once again pushed away, much to his annoyance. He watched Dean saunter into the room, hands in his pockets without a care in the world.

Sam groaned in frustration. "He's going to get himself killed one day," he muttered.

"What is he doing?" Hermione whispered harshly. "Doesn't he know what a boggart does?"

"Yeah," Harry answered. "And apparently he doesn't care." Won't Winchester be in for a rude awakening when he realizes just how cripplingly frightening a boggart really was?

And, not to mention, it would be very interesting to see just what this macho man really feared.

"Come on Mrs. Weasley, Lupin," Dean ushered softly. "Let's have Mad-Eye take care of this, huh? The man's fearless." He grinned. "The boggart's probably more afraid of him."

That earned a small smile from Remus. The two of them gripped Mrs. Weasley gently. And moved her out of the way. Remus leading in the front and Dean bringing up the back.

Completely horrible idea.

The boggart didn't change when the two men stood on either side of the woman; instead it waited for one of them to be sole object of its attention.

What appeared was strange because it was just a woman in a simple white gown. Average and blond with a sharp, but delicate nose, and a stubborn chin. Her eyes were green and there was a bright smile on her face, her eyes crinkling in the corners. It was a familiar action Harry couldn't quite place.

"Dean," Sam breathed out behind them, voice raw and broken.

Dean glanced at them (or, really, at his brother) and then looked behind him. He froze, eyes wide, hands slacking from Mrs. Weasley. The two didn't notice and kept walking.

The man swallowed hard and said, with a trembling voice, "Mom?"

Oh. The familiar crinkles were because of Dean. Dean had those crinkles…and apparently got them from his mother. Who was currently being imitated by a boggart. And, by the way the Winchesters were acting, she was probably dead.

The boggart's smile got brighter and there were tears in her eyes. "Oh Dean," she breathed. "Look how big you've gotten."

Her attention was only on Dean since this was his fear, but why did Dean fear his mother? Though he didn't look scared, he looked pained and like he was yearning for something he knew he could never have.

"Mom," he whispered again in a strangled voice and suddenly he was five years old, young and vulnerable and wishing for his mom to come back. Harry swallowed a lump that formed in his throat at the thought.

"It's been too long," she, it, said. And then, suddenly, her smile twisted into an ugly sneer, hate lighting her eyes. "Not long enough, though," she spat. "God, I can't believe I have to see you again. And here I thought I would be away from you forever."

Dean stumbled back a step, but he was unable to tear his eyes away from the boggart. Harry could feel Sam move behind, attempting to go to his brother, but someone stopped him. He, himself, couldn't look away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

The boggart looked down for a moment and then jerked her head up, her eyes covered by a yellowish gold film that stole Harry's breath. Hermione gasped and Ron let out a whimper that was cut in half. There was something evil and otherworldly about those eyes, a nagging thought in the back of his head told him there was something familiar about them too and wasn't that just great?

"First Daddy," the boggart said. "Now mommy? Boy, do you have anyone that loves you?"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, trying fruitlessly to tear his arms away from Remus. The werewolf inside the seemingly fragile man was stronger, though, and not about to let go. "It's a boggart, Dean," he said hurriedly. "It's not real. That's not mom!"

Dean swallowed thickly and shook his head like a dog with water in its ears. "But—."

"Don't you 'but' me," the woman roared, advancing on the tall man as if he was a toddler. He stepped away from her, shrinking back into himself. His shoulders curling in and his gaze dropping down to looked at the floor before flitting back up. "You're so pathetic!" She laughed, grating and piercing. "You think I killed her? I gave her a gift. All she wanted to do was get away from you. She felt bad for little Sammy." She waved her hand towards Sam. "All she wanted was Sam, thought she was in some kind of hell when she had you first.

"Suddenly the boggart lunged forward and fisted the collar of Dean's shirt, yanking him until they were nose to nose. There was too much strength in those actions. "You killed her," she hissed, that yellow gold flashing pure gold like fire for a brief moment. "Too weak, too pathetic. Everything you touch breaks. Anything you love dies. You're nothing but a living reaper, your touch is Death itself."

No one breathed, too frozen to do anything but listen to the hate spewing from the beautiful woman—no boggart. That was not Dean's mother. It wasn't. Harry felt sick but there was nothing he could do but listen. This wasn't something any of them should be hearing. They shouldn't be watching, especially when a single tear rolled down Dean's cheek.

And then, suddenly, she had a knife in her hand and she was pushing Dean away with a huge amount of force. She smiled once, horrible and terrible, before she slammed it into the side of her stomach, dragging it horizontally across her body until her intestines dropped out. Hermione choked and Mrs. Weasley left in a frantic hurry, muttering something under her breath.

"Dean," Sam moaned in distressed, but his arm was still gripped in Remus' fist and neither of them seemed to be able to move.

The boggart just stood there, smiling. "This is what you do," she said calmly, her eyes still yellow yet crinkling at the corners like her son, and pressing her hand to the deep, gaping wound. If she was trying to stop the flow then she wasn't doing a very good job, red spilled over and through her fingers, pouring a steady stream onto the floor. "To dear mommy and daddy. They never loved you.

"It was always about Sam, but that's the best part isn't it? You don't care that they don't love you. You love Sam more than anything and you know that's all you're good for. Loving Sam, saving Sam, loving people, saving people. You don't matter as long as other people are safe. And you know what? Everyone agrees with you. But you can't save anyone. Everyday people die because you're too slow.

"And everyday…" She trailed off and cupped his cheek. Dean flinched, but that's all he could do. He was frighteningly quite. "And everyday Sammy's coming closer to me," she said softly. "And you might need to follow daddy's orders one more time, be his blunt little instrument." She leaned over close to his ear and whispered something none of them could hear, but they did hear the choked sob that escaped from Dean.

Harry was shoved to the side and Moody came charging in. The ex-professor separated the boggart from Dean and planted himself firmly in front of the Winchester, his wand raised and ready, his electric blue eye whizzing in circles in its socket. Dean crumpled to the ground, the wall behind him keeping him from smashing the floor too hard.

The boggart began to take a new form, but Moody shouted "Ridikulus!" And it disappeared back into the cupboard.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, rushing to his brother's side.

And then everything just started up again. Like a movie that had been on pause only to be played after hours of sitting frozen. Hermione gripped his arm tight and reached for Ron's hand.

"I don't understand," Ron said, his voice a bit raspy. "What the bloody hell just happened?"

Harry had to work hard to speak around the lump that seemed to have lodged in his throat. When he could finally utter something it hurt more than he thought it would. A deep hurt that was in his heart and not his throat. "I don't know," he said quietly.

Hermione sounded close to tears—she might have already been crying for all he knew, but he was too much of a coward to turn a look. He couldn't tear his gaze from the two brothers—when she said, "How can that be his fear? His mother hating him? Blaming him for her and his father's death? Saying all he was good for was being a weapon, for saving people. That Sam didn't even love him?...How could anyone think of themselves like that? To think that everything they touch breaks, that anything they love dies. That's…That's horrible."

"Get off, Sam," came Dean's voice, raspy and hoarse, shaking Harry from his thought. He shoved his brother away and stood on shaky legs. "I'm fine," he snapped. A smirk forced its way on his his face and his eyes shut down, they were cold and dark and not saying, not revealing anything. He gave Moody a slight nod that was returned and then he stalked out of the room, pushing past the trio as if they weren't there.

Harry wouldn't blame him if that was the case to Dean. Honestly the less people who were audience to that the better. It was awful having your fears face you like that, it was even worse when there was a crowd to watch you and not do anything about it.

Sam stood stock still where Dean had left him before he shook himself and took off after his brother, anger and concern making his features twist and harden. No doubt what the concern was for. The anger was a little hard to place. Was it for Dean's cocky and smug approach to a creature he knew to be dangerous? Was it the fact the Dean seemed to think all those deaths he piled on his shoulders were really his fault? Or that Dean actually thought about himself that way? Or, even better, Sam was angry for Dean rushing out like that, like there was nothing wrong when everything could very well be shattering like a broken mirror?

There was the chance that it was all of the above.