For Whom the Bell Tolls

By WazupRose

Dean Thomas: Forged in Flames

Disclaimer- I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any profit from writing this story. JK Rowling owns all, she's just nice enough to let me play in her sandbox.

AN: I've been reading fanfiction for years, but a few months ago I finally made my own account and decided that as long as I have an account, I might as well try writing something. This story will be a series of mostly one-shots that focuses on the minor characters during the Second War against Voldemort (Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows), since they don't get expanded upon much in the books. Hopefully it doesn't suck.

Dean cursed as more mud leeched through his trainers. He and his companions had been trudging through this swampy land for nearly three hours, and he hadn't been able to get new trainers since he left his family's house. The ones he wore were battered, worn down, and on the edge of breaking. Dean could sympathize; he felt the same way. It was only the stubborn Gryffindor courage and a determination to eventually see his family again that kept him from giving up.

"Come on Dean, keep up. We're sure to find a good spot to camp before dark. Just a bit longer" Ted Tonks whispered encouragingly. A fellow muggleborn on the run, Ted and Dean had agreed to travel together when Ted had helped Dean escape a group of second-rate snatchers. Dean had desperately needed someone with more magical experience, and Ted could not in good conscience leave the seventeen-year-old to fend for himself. Dean knew he could handle it, but the company was nice, and Ted missed his family as well. Traveling with someone was better than traveling alone. 'Though some of his current companions were unexpected' Dean thought with a chuckle.

"What are you laughing about?" muttered Gornuk. The goblin was having even more trouble with the swampland than Dean was. As a goblin, his much smaller height meant reeds smacked at his face and he was near knee deep in muck at times. Gornuk didn't seem quite as bothered by the mud as he did, but Dean couldn't be sure; despite having traveled with Gornuk and his fellow Goblin Griphook for several weeks now, he still wasn't very good at reading the Goblin's expressions.

"I was just thinking of how you tricked Snape about the Sword of Gryffindor. Serves the stupid git and his Death Eater pals right." Both Gornuk and Griphook had both done something against members of the new pure blood regime that put them on the Death Eater's kill list. Though they insisted that this was a wizard's war and they took no side, their pride would not let them submit to some of the more discriminatory demands of the now-ruling pureblood maniacs.

"I didn't trick him, I just didn't correct his mistake. And don't assume I did that as some political statement. I simply wanted revenge against the insolent wizard for his insult to the goblin nation" There was that pride again. Dean wondered if it was universal to Goblins or just a trait of the two he had gotten to know over the past few weeks. He suspected the former. "I would gladly leave with my life on the line than submit to such an indignancy."

"I don't suppose you'll tell us exactly what the Death Eaters did to force you to leave Gringotts, would you, Griphook?" Dirk Cresswell called from behind. The fifth and final member of their little caravan, Dirk had escaped capture halfway to Azkaban. A few days later he met up with Griphook, and then Gornuk. As the former Head of Goblin Liaison Office, the Goblins knew of him and had some respect for him that they seemed to lack for most other wizards and witches. They didn't seem to like Dirk so much as not despise him, but it was better than the slight air of contempt they always appeared to regard Dean and Ted with. At least they didn't openly insult him. Well, usually.

"Bah!" Griphook spat, glaring at Dirk. He had thus far refused to explain why he had to run, but Dean assumed it must have been particularly bad since Griphook seemed to delight in expressing his dislike and distrust of wizards. Dean wished he would tell anyway, as the story might distract him from the way the mud was continuing to soak through the holes in the seams of his trainers and squelched uncomfortably beneath his toes. He grimaced as he stepped in a particularly deep patch. Ted, noticing his expression and his look of disgust toward the offending items, gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

"I'll see what I can do to fix those up when we settle for camp. For now, just soldier on, ok? We'll be there soon."

"But where is there?" Dean asked with a grunt as he climbed over a fallen tree. "We've been walking for hours, couldn't we have just apparated to the spot?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's an area my wife suggested. She had visited there as a child, and its surrounded by wards and protective enchantments. It belonged to my wife's uncle Alphard. Or was it cousin? I'm not exactly sure. The Black family tree is confusing. The point is, the Death Eaters shouldn't think to check there as it's technically a Black residence, but Alphard left it to Dromeda, so none of her psychotic family members should be there. We couldn't go there before since she had to file the paperwork that would let her claim it in secret so no one would get suspicious. Should be good now though." Ted smiled happily, as he always did when he thought of his wife. As a pure blood, she wasn't in any danger, and her help in securing a safe house was certainly appreciated.

"Still doesn't explain why we're not there yet. There can't be three hours of walking worth of wards surrounding it." Dean had to work to keep the whine from his voice. He was seventeen and not in a situation where he could afford to do so.

"Yes, it's a bit strange," Ted muttered, "Andy's instructions should put us around here. Granted, it's been a long time since she was there. She might have gotten the directions a bit off. I was in a hurry to leave when she gave them to me, the Death Eater were all but going door to door looking for unregistered muggleborns."

"Oi, Ted! Are we nearly there or not? If we have to walk any more the mud will become a permanent part of my feet." Apparently Dirk was just as annoyed with the swampy environment as Dean was if his irritated comment was anything to judge by.

"It will be dark soon too. Best not to capture attention with lights at night" Griphook muttered. The crotchety goblin was right, the sky had turned pink and orange and his tattered trainers were getting increasingly hard to see. Soon the first stars would appear and with that night being a new moon, travel would become impossible without detection.

"How about we just find the driest patch we can manage for tonight, and set out in the morning when we can see better" Dean suggested.

"Sounds good to me." Dirk replied. Glancing around with a raised eyebrow he snorted softly "No dry patches around here though, so just pick a spot and we'll dry it the best we can."

"Here," Gornuk said, pointing to an area near a cluster of swamp trees, "best spot there is in this environment." Dean could see what he meant; the roots of the trees would mean less muddy water, and the overhang of the branches would help block the view of the tent were their protective spells to fail.

Dirk waved his wand and the tent sprang up, fully prepared for the fugitives to use. Dean felt a pang of jealousy- that spell never worked that well for him. All five of the exhausted humans and goblins worked in silence to finish the rest of the chores for the night, including the warding and dinner. It wasn't until the sun had set and stars littered the sky that Dean finally had enough energy to look at his dirty trainers.

"Let me see them" Ted muttered quietly from the other armchair in the living room of their magically expanded tent. The tent was one Ted had taken with him on the run, and for Dean was a welcome change in comparison to the crummy motels and occasionally alleyways he had been sleeping in before.

"Shouldn't be too hard to fix. Just some repairing charms, if I can get them right. Dromeda's better at them" Ted said after giving the trainers a glance over. He began fixing them with some reparo's and a few other spells Dean didn't know. As Ted worked, Dean stared at the lamp on the table. Being in a tent, a fireplace wasn't practical, and could attract too much attention. Dean missed the blazing fireplace of the Gryffindor common room, where he would fool around with Seamus or watch Harry lose to Ron at wizards' chess for the one-hundredth time. He missed the smaller but no less warm fireplace of his home, with his parents and sisters. Dean clenched his jaw and swallowed back tears. He suddenly hated this lantern and its sorry imitation of a fireplace.

"You know, Dromeda and I bought this tent for our retirement. I love camping, though Dromeda's a bit less enthusiastic. We hoped that we might be able to camp sometimes with our daughter, Dora. She's pregnant, you know? I'm going to be a grandfather. We'd bring the grandkid too when he or she is old enough. We wanted it to be a bonding thing we could all do together." Ted muttered in a quiet voice. "We never really saw it being used this way. On the run from our own government for the crime of being born."

There was sad, slightly bitter look on Ted's face as he too looked at the flickering lamp. He let out a deep sigh, and his eyes slipped close in weariness. Dean could sympathize, as he too felt the bone-deep exhaustion that came with being on the run. With Snatchers all over and Death Eaters raiding villages, Dean had to constantly look over his shoulder, always tense and alert for a threat. Even in times of relative safety, hidden behind wards in the enchanted tent, it was difficult to relax.

"I was supposed to go back to Hogwarts this year." Dean muttered, looking at his feet. "I was going to be a chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. It was my last year, Newt exams year. Then off into the real world. I thought I might play professionally. Or maybe I'd do something related to charms. I don't know. Won't happen now though. All I want now is to see my parents and sisters again."

Dean thought back to when he had left. How he had to explain to his parents the situation in the wizarding world. He'd tried to keep them ignorant about what was going on before then, but for their own safety, he was forced to tell them when You-Know-Who took over the ministry. His step-father's shocked eyes, and his mother's tearful horrified face flashed before him. Both were angry that he had previously kept them in the dark, and terrified for their oldest safety, especially as he explained the reasons for his fleeing. His little sisters though… they didn't understand why their big brother was leaving and why their parents were so upset. He had explained things in vague terms to twelve year old Laura, and charged her with looking out for their younger sister. Her determined face hid her confusion and fear, and his heart nearly broke as he left her. Her last words to him echoed hollowly in his ears. 'Be careful Dean. Please come back soon.'

He looked back up at the lamp and swallowed to get rid of the choking feeling in his throat. It just wasn't fair. How had the wizarding world come to this? And why did he have to wade through swamps instead of fighting back?

They sat in silence for a length of time, the atmosphere morose as each contemplated all they had lost. Ted suddenly straightened up, and taking a deep breath, looked at Dean with determined blue eyes. "But we can't give up. We can't give in. It's hard to remember sometimes, but you and I, we can remind each other. We can remember what we have to go on for. Our families, our friends, the entire wizarding world. Just by surviving, we are winning. It might not feel like it, but every day we go on is a day closer to the war being over and muggleborns like us being free to live our lives in peace."

"And when the war is over and we can come out of hiding", Dirk cut in from the doorway, "we need to be there to tell our stories. The real story of how muggleborns suffered in this war. Because people forget, and new generations don't always listen to the stories their elders tell. If we want to stop something like this from happening again, we must be able to tell our story, get it down on paper, and make sure it's out there forever, so no one will forget."

For a moment there was silence as the three wizards contemplated Dirks words. Then Dirk broke the quiet.

"It's your turn for keeping watch Ted," Dirk muttered, "Merlin knows I need the sleep."

"Go on, I'll go out in a minute" Ted replied. Dirk slipped past to the back room, where a few bunk beds stood. Ted turned back to Dean and offered a tired but warm smile.

"Well, sounds like I've got a job to do." Ted said "but first-" Ted reached down and grabbed Dean's trainers. The once wretched shoes were cleaned and repaired. They were still scuffed and worn down, but they were stronger now and would last a while longer. "They might not be new, but don't doubt them; their scars show their strength, and their ability to endure." Ted gave him a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and strode outside to take up his watch.

Dean stared at the trainers. They were just shoes, and it was silly really, but, if they could be fixed and endure running from snatchers and hiking through swamps…maybe he could to. And when the time came, maybe they could both do more. They say your shoes tell stories. The dust and dirt that cakes the underside says where the shoe has been, and the wear tells what the shoe has done. When the war was over, maybe he could tell the stories of where he had been and what he had done. As Ted had said, for his family, for his friends, and for the entire wizarding world. For now, Dean just wanted to go to bed.

Dean woke up to the sound of banging and screams.

Rolling out of bed, he cursed as the sheets tangled about his legs and sent him crashing to the floor. He quickly pulled the sheets off and leapt to his feet, grabbing his wand in the process. He tore through the living room, knocking down the table lamp in the process, and barreled out the tent door only to be stopped short by a wand to his throat. His own wand was roughly pulled from his hand.

"Well lookie here, another mudblood. A young one, by the looks of him" a sallow faced man faced him, a cruel grin adorning his face, "What's your name mudblood?"

Dean stayed silent, terror clogging his throat. He had no doubt they were Snatchers, which meant they could be very dangerous, and he had no wand. He turned his head slightly to see if the others had been captured.

A figure lay prone on the ground. Fair hair mixed with blood, the figures chest did not move. Only one member of their group was blonde. With rising horror, Dean realized he was looking at Ted Tonk's dead body. The choking feeling increased. Dean felt sick.

"I asked you a question mudblood!" the Snatcher growled, digging his wand in deeper into his jugular. "What's your name?"

"D-Dean Thomas" Dean stuttered, so shocked by Ted's death that he couldn't even think of lying. Ted, who had always comforted him when he was frustrated and angry. Ted, who had repaired his shoes without even having to be asked. Ted, who had never given up faith that the war would end and they would win. Ted, who had a wife and daughter and a grandchild on the way.

Ted, who would never get to know his grandchild's name.

"Huh" the Snatcher muttered, "Well, you're on the list of muggleborns. That's ten galleons for me."

"Ten galleons for us Scabior" a voice growled from the shadows. With a slosh of swamp water a fierce face with cold eyes appeared, holding the bloody form of Dirk. "I got another one right here. He's the one that used the name, so thanks for that vermin" the cold-eyes Snatcher said, shaking Dirk's dazed form. Dirk met Dean's eyes, and even through his obvious concussion Dean could see his horrified apology, for getting them caught. Then, Dirk's gaze moved to Ted's corpse and his eyes shut, his face twisting in grief. They may not have known each other well before the war, but spending so much time evading capture had made all three wizards fond of one another, and it was painful to see Ted gone.

"Any others?" the Cold-eyed Snatcher asked the other Snatcher, Scabior, as he eyed Dean with a harsh glare.

"Two goblins- one's dead, got in the way of a cutting curse. The other one's bound over there." Dean saw Griphook lying sideways, swamp water no doubt getting in his eyes, and hands bound behind his back. That meant that Gornuk was dead. Dean wasn't as close to the Goblins as he was his human friends, but they were still traveling companions and sort of allies, so it pained Dean to know Gornuk was gone.

"Tie this one up with him" the Snatcher not holding him growled, gesturing to Dean. Scabior poked the wand to his back, obviously wanting Dean to move over to Griphook to be tied up. Dean stumbled for a moment, and his head turned slightly, putting Ted in his line of sight.

Suddenly, fury over took him. He was a Gryffindor, for Merlin's sake, and here he was being effortlessly pushed around by the enemy. He was angry at the snatchers for killing his friends, and angry at the wizarding world for letting the war happen by burying their heads in the sand. He felt guilty for not being able to do more to save Ted and Gornuk, guilty he wasn't able to do more in the war and to protect his family. Most of all, he was angry at the man who had started this nightmare, and whose very name increased the death toll every time it was uttered. Something inside him snapped, and the old Dean came back out, the Dean who had stood up to Umbridge and fought against the enemy.

He let his head snap back, hitting Scabior's face with a sickening crunch that promised a broken nose. Dean's head hurt from the blow, but he didn't let that stop him. He grabbed Scabior's fallen wand as Scabior doubled over in pain and whirled around to stun the cold-eyed snatcher, only to find the man already in front of him with his wand pointed at Dean.

"You really think you're the first one we've snatched to try to pull some kind of trick?" the man asked. With a snarl Dean thought back to DA lessons and remembered one of Harry's favorite spells.

"Expelliarmus!" the cold-eyed man's wand flew out of his hand and Dean smiled in grim triumph.

Suddenly Dean found his body frozen, and he crashed to the ground. Scabior glared at him from above, blood leaking from his now crooked nose. Despite his position in the muddy ground, Dean felt a savage satisfaction as he saw the injury. He hoped it hurt.

"Episkey" Scabior muttered as best he could, and his nose snapped back into place. "I carry two wands so that vermin like you can't get the drop on me" Scabior sneered.

The other man joined Scabior in looming over Dean, dropping the barely conscious Dirk as he did so. "Do you know who I am Mudblood? I'm Fenrir Greyback. If it was the full moon, I'd rip your miserable hide to pieces. For now I'll have to settle for this." Greyback leaned down and punched him several times in the face, hard enough to leave what Dean knew would be considerable bruises. "Maybe now you'll have learned to respect your superiors."

"Tie him up" Greyback ordered, and Scabior levitated him over to where Griphook lied. Ropes snapped around his hands. Dean tugged at the ropes, but they were tightly bound. A few feet away he heard Greyback growl furiously.

"What's wrong?" Scabior questioned, glancing over to where Greyback was leaned over Dirk's form.

"He's dead" Greyback grunted, "died from his injuries from the looks of it."

"Damn it Greyback, I said not to be so rough with them! A dead mudblood isn't worth a Knut, now is it? That's ten galleons wasted." Dirk was dead. Another of his friends was dead. And these Snatchers were just upset about how that wasted galleons. His pervious fury chilled to an icy rage.

"Don't you lecture me Scabior! Don't forget who's in charge here! We'll just have to take what we've got and keep looking tonight."

Scabior sneered, but none the less grabbed Dean and Griphook by the arm, preparing to apparate.

"One last thing." Greyback muttered. "Incendio." The flames spewed out of his wand and onto the tent. Greyback kept it up until the fireproof charms broke and the tent began to burn.

"Alright, let's go" Greyback strode over to Scabior. Dean turned for one last look at their ruined campsite. The new moon provided no light, but the burning tent, Ted's dreams for the future, crackled brightly as it burned to ashes. The flames highlighted the man's body, as well as Dirk's, both left to rot now in the mud. Dean hoped someone found them. Their families deserved to be able to bury them.

Dean thought about Ted's last words to him. About how he couldn't give up, for the sake of everyone he cared about, and so people could go on to live their lives without fearing Death Eaters were around the corner. He thought about Dirk's last words to him, about telling his story so the world would not forget about those who suffered in the war, and so that history would not repeat itself. Dean stared at the scene before him, letting the bodies and flaming tent burn the image into his memory. When the time came to fight, he would be ready. For his family. For his friends. For Ted and Dirk and Gornuk. His arm was suddenly jerked, and the image was lost in the blur of apparition.

A/N: Thoughts? Any feedback would be nice, even if its just a few words. Also, if you want to suggest any characters, I can't guarantee I'll write them, but I will try.

Also, JK has revealed on Pottermore that Dean's father was a wizard, but didn't tell his wife. He was killed in the First war when he refused to join the Death Eaters. Dean never knew the truth.