A/N: Prompt from the tumblr of severus-snape-is-a-butt-trumpet: "You walked in on me practicing for datda in an empty classroom, and have now inadvertently discovered that my boggart takes the form of a butterfly, please stop laughing"

Butterfly

"Riddik… Rid… Ri… Oh fuck."

Dean stopped as the scrape of desks and soft swearing filtered out from the closed door of the corridor. It was Professor Singer's room, but his class had been out for at least an hour. No one should be in there.

Judging by the sounds he heard, it looked like someone was trying to practice degrading a boggart. Dean was about to keep walking, it was none of his business, but he heard a thump and a whisper-yelled, "Get away!"

He sighed and opened the door. Dean didn't know what he expected, probably some kid terrorized by ghosts, but he was definitely not expecting a teenage Ravenclaw on his ass, backing away from a pink butterfly.

"Dude," Dean deadpanned before he could help himself.

"Shut up!" the boy gritted his teeth and raised his wand. "Riddic—aah!" He crawled away before the butterfly could land on his nose.

With a chuckle, Dean made his way through the desks and put himself in the boggart's line of sight. It changed immediately, cycling violently through Dean's fears in staticky waves, but Dean didn't give it the chance to form.

"Riddiculus," Dean said confidently, like he had a million times before, and the swirling mass changed. There appeared a thirteen-year-old Sammy, shaving cream all over his face and hand.

"Seriously, Dean?" Boggart-Sam said exasperatedly, and Dean couldn't help but laugh.

"It's always funny, kid." Dean wordlessly pushed the boggart back into the wardrobe in the corner of the room, and with a flick of his wand, the lock clicked.

The Ravenclaw stood and brushed himself off, scowling first at the floor, then at Dean. The Winchester opened his mouth to make a sassy comment, but the blue-eyed boy held up a hand.

"Don't say it," he warned.

"How can I not?" Dean grinned. "Your biggest fear is—"

"Is a fucking butterfly, I'm aware." The blue-eyed boy snatched up his black robes and stomped towards the door.

"Hey, wait, I'm sorry," Dean caught his arm and the boy's head whipped around. Those blue eyes were… real fucking blue. Even if the eyebrows above were pinched in annoyance. "Let me help you. With the spell."

"I don't need help," he jerked his arm away.

"Right, Ravenclaws don't ask for help," Dean raised an eyebrow, and the boy raised one back.

"Says the mighty Gryffindor with no fears," the Ravenclaw put his hands on his hips.

Dean felt his teasing mood drop. "Too many fears, actually." They were quiet for a long moment, just staring at each other. Without the sneer on his face, Dean could see the cupid's bow of the boy's slightly chapped lips. They looked nice. Dean cleared his throat and held out his hand. "I'm Dean."

"I know," the boy said, but there was no annoyance in his voice. "Gryffindor's star Keeper three years in a row. I'm Castiel." He took Dean's hand. It was cold, and Dean held it maybe a little longer than necessary.

"Castiel," he said. It was a mouthful. "I haven't heard of you. Not in like a rude way or anything, I just haven't—"

"I get it," Castiel gave him a little smile. "I fly under the radar on purpose."

There was another moment of silence, this one much less tense, but not as warm as Dean wanted it to be. This guy—Castiel—was intriguing.

"I should go," the blue-eyed boy said.

"Wait!" Dean said, maybe too loudly. "Did you, uh, want any help with the spell?"

Castiel looked like he was silently arguing with himself, but relented.

"Fine." He dropped his robes and stepped back into the center of the room. "Share your secrets."

Dean grinned. "It's not really secret. It's hard for people to separate the feeling of fear from what you see in front of you. If you can hold in your mind that it's just a boggart and not really what you're seeing, it gets easier." He pushed up the sleeves of his sweater and stretched his arms up. "Also getting out the full word helps."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, but his lips curved up just a little bit. "Asshole."

Dean's grin widened. Jeez, he wouldn't even need the image of pranking Sammy to degrade the boggart with Castiel around. And wow, that was an intense thought for a guy that he met only minutes ago.

"Seriously," Dean picked up his wand and stood next to Castiel. "Hold your wand up high, you'll drop your hand naturally when you see something you're scared of." Dean held his wand up and Castiel nodded, holding his own high.

"Try to say 'riddikulus' real loud. You just wanna get the whole word out, even if it's not strong, something will happen." Castiel nodded and tensed up as Dean went to the wardrobe. "Remember—wand high, say it loud. It's a boggart, not a butterfly."

The Ravenclaw rolled his eyes. He eventually took a breath and nodded at Dean, who opened the wardrobe.

The little pink butterfly fluttered out, and Castiel took a step back. "It's not a butterfly, Cas, you can do this."

Castiel's eyes turned on Dean for a long second, then refocused. "R-Riddik…" He took another step back as the butterfly floated closer.

"Just get the word out," Dean came a little closer. "Hold your wand high."

"R-Riddikulus," he squeaked, and one of the butterfly's wings bent, sending it slowly to the floor.

"Loud and proud!" Dean ordered, and Castiel squared his shoulders.

"Riddikulus!" he said with conviction. The butterfly sprouted ears and a tail and after a second, a squished-face cat hopped onto the floor.

"Mrow." It rolled onto its back and began to purr.

Castiel chuckled, little lines crinkling around his eyes. "This was the goofiest little thing I had as a kid." He rubbed the cat's belly. "He tripped over his own feet and always tried to eat socks."

"He's adorable."

Castiel picked up the boggart-cat and deposited him in the wardrobe, which Dean quickly closed and locked.

"That was awesome, dude," Dean clapped Castiel on the back, and he smiled tiredly.

"Only took years," Castiel snorted and collapsed into a desk chair. "This was the first time it's worked."

Dean's eyes widened as he pulled up a chair. "The first? How did you practice?"

"With my brother Gabe, but he's at his Weasley's internship today. I don't know why I thought I could do it alone today."

"Good thing you didn't have to." Dean puffed out his chest. "You got me now."

Castiel chuckled. "My hero."

"Do you maybe want to talk about it?" Dean asked.

Castiel traced a groove of his wand. "I'm scared of butterflies, what is there to talk about?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. He may have only known the guy for twenty minutes, but he didn't seem like the type to be afraid of much of anything. "We both know there's more to it. I won't pry if you don't want me to, but…" He let the sentence hang.

Castiel turned those blue eyes on him and sighed. "When I was eight years old, I was riding my bike with my little brother perched on behind me. Mother always said it was unsafe, but Samandriel loved it. We were out riding, and a butterfly landed on my face. I didn't really like them in the first place, at least up close with their antennae and legs and stuff." His face darkened. "It startled me, and I accidentally swerved into the road. We were hit by a truck."

"Shit, Cas, I'm so sorry," Dean murmured.

"He's not dead," Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's worse. He's been brain-dead in St. Mungo's for years now. My parents won't pull him off life support because they don't want their son to be a murderer."

Dean had no idea what to say to that. Of course the butterfly would manifest as the fear—a defense mechanism so the fear wouldn't manifest as himself. Dean reached out and slid his fingers over Castiel's. The boy tensed for a second, then bent his fingers around Dean's.

"I always skip Defense Against the Dark Arts on the boggart days. My brother has to try to teach me. It's stupid, it should be easy."

"It's not easy," Dean said quickly.

"Dean, you didn't even flinch. What was that anyway?"

Fuck, now Dean had to tell him. It would be really shitty to make him spill that scarring story and then keep his own shit to himself. He looked over at Castiel, the brand-new sassy attractive Ravenclaw with his own demons. He barely knew him. What did he have to lose?

Dean stood up. "Open it."

"Really?"

"Go on, you want to know," Dean watched Castiel as he moved to the wardrobe, the apprehensive look obvious in those blue eyes. He squared his shoulders and nodded at Castiel, who looked like he wanted to say something.

The wardrobe opened. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then slowly, another Dean pushed the creaky door open and stepped out.

So, it was himself this time. Sometimes it was John, with a wrench or a belt, sometimes it was Sammy screaming about how much he hated Dean. Sometimes it was Jo's lifeless body in his arms. And sometimes, oftentimes, it was Dean.

Dean didn't raise his wand, though a cold feeling washed over him. He stayed still, letting Castiel see.

"You look awful as ever," boggart-Dean said, voice gruff. He always appeared a little older, a little thinner, gaunt. No light left in his eyes.

Boggart-Dean walked over to him, stopping a few feet away. Boggarts couldn't kill you, they could only do half of what the real thing could. His duplicate had only ever hurt him twice, both times a hard slap to the face.

"Has Sammy left you yet?" boggart-Dean asked, then gave a humorless chuckle. "It's maybe a few years away. He forces an unbreakable vow on you, never to see you again. The hate in his eyes…" It shook its head.

Dean stayed still and silent.

"Failed out of Ilvermorny," Boggart-Dean said. "You'll fail out of Hogwarts. Can't even get a job as a janitor in Diagon Alley. And the accident, right after Sammy leaves." It took a step forwards. "Leaves that shake in your hands that you just can't… shake. You'll never repair a broom again."

"That's enough," Castiel said, voice wavering.

"Not yet," Dean murmured.

"Not yet," boggart-Dean mocked in a high-pitched voice. "Acting brave for the boy, hah, don't bother. You think he'd ever like you? You worthless, stupid, low-life piece of—"

"Riddikulus," Dean said, voice steady.

There was a loud cracking as boggart-Dean shifted, morphing into one of Dean's favorite World of Wrestling characters. Dressed in cheap roman armor, he lifted a clearly plastic sword. "Friends! Romans! Wrrrrrestling fans! Lend me your—"

"Wingardium leviosa," Dean flicked his wand, and the boggart-wrestler lifted into the air.

"Whoa! Feel my wrath, fiend!" it said as it floated into the open wardrobe, which shut with a click.

Castiel was quiet as Dean tucked his wand into the waistband of his pants. After a long stretch of silence, Castiel approached him.

"Dean—"

"It's okay," Dean gave him a little smile. "My fears are kind of intense. I learned at a young age how to make them go away. Dad had a boggart in the house, and he used it to…" he paused. "We were taught pretty early. Show no fear."

"That's… kind of fucked up," Castiel shook his head. "But I get why you're a Gryffindor. Definitely brave." He smiled. "And stubborn."

Dean grinned, feeling much better. "Well, that was pretty tiring. You want to ditch next period and get some chocolate at Honeydukes? Chocolate is good after boggarts."

Castiel raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that for dementors?"

Dean shrugged. "It's chocolate. Good after anything. Teddy showed me that secret passage in the mermaid fountain. Whaddaya say?"

"Why not?" Castiel grabbed his robes. "I already finished the next six transfiguration essays, the class is easy."

Dean gave an exasperated chuckle and lead him into the corridor.

"Oh, and Dean?" The Gryffindor turned back. "The boggart was wrong. About that last part."

Dean blinked, remembering the words. "Oh." He cleared his throat. "Good." Warmth spread across his cheeks, and Castiel grinned.

"Let's go. We have chocolate to eat."

A/N: Reviews are Dean and Cas flirting in Honeydukes!