He looked at the newspaper, and knew what he had to do. Really, he’d known this was coming when Dumbledore had announced that Voldemort had come back, but he had hoped not. He wanted to put it off, to stay home with his mother and father and sisters, where he was sheltered and loved. He’d wished for that chance many times before, when he was swept off to Hogwarts for the first time, before his fifth year when the wizarding world was split over Voldemort’s return, last year, when the only thing that made him want to go and leave his family unprotected was Ginny, and now. Now that he had to leave them for good.

There was no excuse to stay. The Death Eaters were hunting Muggle-borns, and Muggles, and Dean was of age, so they couldn’t stop him. He wished they could. He wished that his mother could keep him from going.

Dean briefly wondered what he should take with him, then decided to take nothing but a change of clothes and his wand. He wasn’t sure where he was going, if he was going anywhere but an early grave, but he was sure it would be rough, and he had to pack lightly. He threw a few clothes into a backpack, and gripped his wand tightly. He knew that once he left, there was no coming back.

He headed downstairs, intending to write a note and then leave without having to face saying goodbye. He wanted to leave quickly, without three young sisters crying over him and his mother treating him like a small child running away from home and his father trying to talk him out of it, because he knew that they’d be right. He knew that if he said goodbye and saw their tears and heard their pleas, he wouldn’t go. He’d yield to them, even if it meant that they’d all be killed... no, he wouldn’t speak to them.

At least, that’s what he intended to do. He reached the bottom of the stairs, went into the kitchen, and began looking for a quill, ink and parchment to write the letter explaining what he’d done.

Unfortunately, there were no writing utensils immediately available, and in searching for them, the eldest of Dean’s younger sisters heard him, and came in to investigate.

“What are you looking for?” Margo asked. She was fifteen, and a Muggle like the rest of the family. Dean wasn’t entirely sure how he was the only wizard in the house.

“Paper,” Dean answered casually, hoping she wouldn’t ask too many questions.

“What for?” she asked.

“To write a letter.”

“To whom?”

Merlin, Margo, Dean thought. Why do you have to ask? “Mum and Dad,” Dean answered.

“Why don’t you just go talk to them?”

“Because...” Dean gave up. “I’m leaving, Margo.”

Her face was shocked. “Why?”

“Because it’s too dangerous to stay. Because there are people who want us all dead, and if I leave, maybe they won’t hurt you.”

“MUM!” Margo called. “DAD! JESSIE! LAUREN!”

Before Dean could stop her, Margo had managed to make the entire household converge on him for the scene he’d desperately wanted to avoid.

“What is it, Margo?” Lauren, the youngest of the children asked. She was ten.

“Dean’s saying he’s going to leave!” Margo wailed, already reduced to tears.

“What?” their mother asked. “Oh, Dean, don’t be silly.”

“I am, Mum,” Dean said quietly. “I can’t stay here. We’ll get hurt if I do. I don’t want any of you to die for me.”

“Stop being melodramatic,” twelve-year-old Jessie said. “No one’s going to die.”

“People have already died,” Dean said. “I don’t want you all to be next. I’ll come back when it’s over.”

“When will that be?” his mother asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. He looked at his family. “I love you all, and that’s why I have to leave.”

His father looked at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Dean said bravely, although he really wasn’t. He wanted to stay. He wanted to love them longer.

“Then good luck,” his father said, holding out his hand to Dean.

The moment the handshake was broken, his mother threw herself on him, weeping and sobbing as much as the three girls behind her.

“Be careful out there,” she said. “Do you have what you need?”

“Yes, Mum,” Dean said quietly, embracing her. “I’ll be fine.”

She let go, and Margo, Jessie, and Lauren pounced, all three in tears, begging him not to go. Dean could feel his resolve crumbling, but couldn’t back down as he hugged his sisters.

He finally managed to pull away and headed out the door. He’d barely left the house when his mother called him back.

He turned.

“You’re just like your father,” she said tearfully. “He left the same way.”

“But he came back,” Dean said, thinking of the man still in the house.

“No,” she said. “Your real father, years ago. He wouldn’t say why, just that it was safer for the two of us if he left. I never understood, but... I think he was a wizard.”

Dean stared at her, his sense of hope renewed. One close wizarding relative... “Can you prove it?” he asked desperately.

She shook her head. “I only thought... when you got the letter...”

Dean turned away, feeling his own eyes begin to tear up. “I’m sorry, Mum,” he said, and Disapparated to the first place he thought of. Where he’d go beyond there, when he could come home, he didn’t know. He only knew it was going to be dangerous. Thank goodness he was a Gryffindor.