Fic: A Walk in the World (Dean/Seamus) 1/2
Apr. 6th, 2009 11:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seedeeTitle: A Walk in the World
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Dean/Seamus (main pairing), Seamus/Lavender
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: In a perfect world, no one gets sick, you keep the girl, and wait for your best mate to come home. In Seamus's world, things work differently.
Word Count: ~18,000 for both parts (including postcards)
Author's Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wook77 and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_springsmut. The request was fantastic and I loved writing this story. It wouldn't have been half as good without the help and encouragement of thimble_kiss and la_george. All translations can be found at the end of the story.
Originally posted here
A Walk in the World
It's careless that Seamus at first doesn't take it seriously when Dean becomes ill, as his friend usually never complains about feeling not well. He should know that something is not right, but on this particular Friday, Seamus is in a hurry. It isn't out of the ordinary, as he is late for work most mornings. There's no time to worry about Dean who sits at the breakfast table, stirs his coffee morosely and says something about a headache. Seamus provides some good advice, though, involving a joke about drinking too much and the merits of hangover potion. He ruffles Dean's short hair and is out of the door before Dean can even answer.
Living with Dean has been easy from the start. Dean is in charge of cooking, Seamus is doing the laundry, even though he wouldn't admit it in public, and they share cleaning duties. Those are a quick affair and only done whenever they feel like drowning in dust is an imminent danger. It doesn't occur too often, though, none of them have any wish to be confused with their mothers.
Dean never asks where Seamus is going, when he's going to come home, or where he's been, more often than not because Dean is right there with him anyway. Dean doesn't bother him with stray socks, dirty towels or half empty beer bottles in the fridge and Seamus doesn't have to explain that sitting down while pissing is a severe attack on masculinity in general and Seamus's in particular. Dean understands.
Seamus finishes work late on the day when Dean's headache starts. He's been working for the goblins, deep in the bowels of Gringotts, since taking his N.E.W.T.s after an additional eighth year at Hogwarts. Not long before he finished school, McGonagall had asked him if he'd ever thought of working with wards and other types of protective magic. He hadn't, but she'd had a point, it was one of the few things Seamus was good at and was interested in. The rest of the story is short. He applied at Gringotts, they put him through a variety of tests and agreed to give him a job. There's nothing he could complain about. The goblins are predictable creatures, and the money is decent.
He opens the front door, but their small flat is dark and quiet. He assumes that Dean has gone for a pint after work, which is unusual, but not unheard of. Seamus would understand it; he'd need a lot of pints if he were working at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports under Ludo Bagman.
Seamus turns on the light and toes off his shoes. He's hungry and has been hoping that Dean has made something for dinner like he does most evenings. Contrary to popular belief, though, Seamus is indeed able to make himself a sandwich. He's on his way to the kitchen, walking through their small but cosy living room, when he notices Dean's still form lying on the battered couch. The couch was a present from Dean's older sister Emma, and when one ignores the ugly mud-green colour and some undefined stains on the right armrest, it's quite comfortable.
Dean looks peaceful, as he lies spread-eagle on his back, one arm and leg hanging down over the side of the couch. But he's wearing his pyjamas, which is alarming at this time of day. Just as alarming as the empty potion vial on the coffee table next to a cup full of what looks like cold tea.
Seamus crouches down beside the couch and touches Dean's shoulder.
"Dean?"
He doesn't move, just keeps on breathing, his chest moving slowly. Seamus grips his shoulder and shakes him. "Hey Dean, wake up, mate."
Dean huffs in his sleep, moves his head to the side. Seamus smells stale breath and frowns. Dean is a light sleeper who wakes up easily. Seamus shakes him some more. "Come on, slacker, time to get up."
He wakes up. But he does it slowly, and as he opens his eyes he blinks at Seamus, obviously not comprehending what's going on, dark shadows beneath his eyes.
"Dean, what's up?" Worry settles in Seamus's gut and forms a tight knot.
"'S all right," Dean mumbles and bats at Seamus's hand. "'M tired." He turns around on the couch and pulls a cushion over his head. "Jus' lemme sleep."
It's so unlike Dean that Seamus considers calling a healer. But he doesn't look hurt, and he said it was all right, didn't he? Seamus decides to keep a close eye on him. As long as he's just sleeping, it can't be too bad.
*
"How long has he been unconscious?" the healer asks. The look she gives Seamus over her horn-rimmed spectacles says, 'It's all your fault'.
"He hasn't moved for about fifteen hours and I couldn't wake him up this morning."
"Is this the first time this happened?"
It isn't. Since that first day, three weeks earlier, when Dean didn't go to work and refused to get up from the couch, his sleeping pattern has changed. He's gone to work, but every evening he went straight to bed, only eating because Seamus refused to let him sleep without having some food first. Dean didn't want to see a healer, said everything was fine and Seamus needn't worry. It's far from fine, though, and when Seamus couldn't wake his friend up this morning, he didn't hesitate and floo-called St. Mungo's. Apparently his condition isn't as fine as Dean has thought. The healers brought him to St. Mungo's immediately.
Seamus tells the healer everything he knows and has no answer when she asks him why they didn't come earlier. She reminds him of Minerva McGonagall with her hair tied back in a bun, her voice filled with authority and the years of experience showing in her professional confidence. It calms him only slightly.
The next hours are a blur. No one knows what's wrong with Dean, and Seamus sends an owl to Dean's mother who informs the rest of the family. By mid afternoon he's surrounded by Dean's parents, his three sisters and one big brother. No one has a clue yet why Dean doesn't wake up. And if the healers suspect anything, they don't tell them.
Seamus goes home when one of the healers throws him out after he attempts to enter the room where they keep Dean. They haven't allowed anyone to visit and there's a constant coming and going of various people, most of them dressed in healer robes.
The flat, when Seamus comes home, is empty and cold - not surprising in January. He misses the laughter and easy banter that has always been there, accompanying the steady friendship between them. But it has already been gone since that first Friday, and Seamus again wants to yell at himself for not doing anything earlier. As much as his temper wants him to destroy some furniture or hit a wall, he knows it wouldn't help, and for once he resists - mainly because he's too tired. He can't sleep, though; there is too much guilt, worry and possibilities he tries to keep out of his mind. And so he spends the night restless in his bed, rolling from one side to the other.
When morning dawns, Seamus gets up, takes a shower and dresses. The coffee he makes is so strong and bitter that it flows down his throat like oil and he grabs something sugar-sticky to eat in the bakery on his way to the hospital. His boss wasn't happy when Seamus flooed him first thing in the morning to tell him he needs a few days off, but Seamus doesn't think he'd be of any help at work in his current state. Not that it matters, Dean needs him at the hospital, so he'll be there.
The healer has news. But the bitch doesn't want to discuss them with Seamus, says she'll only talk to a family member. Seamus tries to tell her that he is a family member, but for some reason she isn't impressed. He doesn't know if it's because she's a stickler for some stupid rules or because his language might have got a bit out of hand. He doesn't have to wait very long, though. Dean's mum is there only minutes later and disappears with said healer.
Seamus paces in the hallway and glares at everyone who dares to pass by. Finally Mrs. Thomas is back, pale beneath her dark skin, her hands trembling. Seamus relaxes his right hand where he's clutching the paper-ball that once was the empty bag from the bakery.
"Is he all right? Is he awake? What did she say? What's wrong with him?" Seamus asks the questions as soon as Mrs. Thomas is close enough and she smiles a forced smile at him, her lips a thin line where she's pressing them together. He isn't sure if he really wants to know the answer.
"It's Wand Fever," she says. The name doesn't ring any bells, Seamus has never heard it before and he flails his hands, gesturing at her to go on. "I don't really understand it, Seamus. Some kind of magic is attacking his brain and his own magic has put him to sleep in order to fight it." She looks helpless as she tries to explain something from a world that is so different from the Muggle world she knows. Seamus sometimes forgets that Dean is Muggleborn and was raised without even knowing that he's a wizard. "They say they can't do anything but wait and help his body stay strong, while his magic is fighting the infection."
Seamus nods. A magical infection isn't uncommon. He had dragon pox as a child and there are dozens, maybe hundreds of infections that attack a wizard's or witch's magic instead of their physical body. Quite a few of them are fatal and for some there are no potions or spells so that one's own magic has to fight back.
"But he'll be all right?" It is half a question, half a statement and Seamus looks at Mrs. Thomas, both dreading and wanting the answer.
"They don't know," she whispers, tears spilling down her cheeks.
*
Seamus isn't sure how they became friends. Probably because they never did. They just were. They never went through that stage where they got to know each other, got used to each other and then went from acquaintances to friends. For Dean and Seamus, it happened all at once.
Seamus remembers meeting Dean on the Hogwarts Express. His mother had told him lots of stories and he was excited and couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts. He boarded the train and within minutes he was in a fight with a much older boy. How that happened, he isn't quite sure, but he suspects that it had something to do with his big mouth and his inability to keep it shut. It wasn't looking good for Seamus. The other boy was bigger, had friends and he was coming closer with balled fists. Seamus stood his ground - he wasn't a coward - until someone gripped his arm and pulled him away.
"Where were you, I was waiting for you," someone said. It was a tall, black boy Seamus had never seen before, but he knew an out when he saw one.
"Sorry, got interrupted." He shrugged at the small crowd, winked at his opponent, grabbed his trunk, and hurriedly followed the other boy.
"I'm Dean," the boy introduced himself and they both sat down on opposite benches.
"Seamus," he answered and added, "I would have beat him."
Dean giggled. "Of course. And all of his friends."
Seamus scowled at first, but the laughter was infectious and soon they were both laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks. Someone opened the door and asked if they'd seen a toad, which was even funnier. By the time they reached their destination, Seamus knew that Dean's brother was an idiot, that two of his sisters were pretty, that Dean liked to draw and that two months ago he still hadn't known that he was a wizard.
He spends many hours in that hospital room thinking of Hogwarts and sitting on the chair next to Dean's bed or walking from one end of the room to the other. The days at the hospital are long. But the days when Seamus has to go back to work after ten days and Dean still hasn't woken up are even longer. He's monitoring the security systems of the vaults with practiced routine, but he's constantly thinking about Dean. The picture of his best mate, still and pale in a hospital bed, haunts him, not only during the day but also in his dreams. He doesn't know what he would do if something happened to Dean. It's not as if Seamus isn't capable of getting along alone, but Dean has been there since he was eleven. They've shared everything from chocolate frogs to first experiences with girls to the life after Hogwarts. Seamus can't imagine living a life without someone who knows him so well.
After work, Seamus usually goes directly to the hospital. On most evenings all the other visitors are already gone and he's sitting next to Dean who never moves. Seamus always talks. The silence is too much, too awkward, and he's in general not very good at being silent.
"You, my friend, are really clever," Seamus tells him one night. "Parvati was here earlier and the woman cried her eyes out. I knew that you've had a thing for her since forever, but going to such lengths to win her over? That's dedication, man." Seamus is looking out of the window. The night outside is dark and he can't see any stars in the cloudy sky.
"I don't mean to criticise you, mate, it's been effective so far. Still, don't you think it's enough now? I get that a bit of drama adds to the credibility, but honestly, if you don't wake up soon it will get old pretty fast. Then I'll be the only one coming round to see your sorry carcass." Seamus sighs at the forced cheeriness in his voice. It's the best he can do. He turns around and walks back to the bed. The chair is hard and he knows that he'll only be able to sit on it for a few minutes. It doesn't keep him from sitting down.
"You should grab your chance while it's still there. Pity is a good way to start, but if she thinks you won't wake up anymore, or that your muscles have vanished because you're doing nothing but sleeping the whole time, she'll move on. You wouldn't want to lose her to someone like, let's say, Terry Boot, would you? I've seen him making eyes at her at the Leaky, and I reckon he's a pretty boy. All things considered."
"You're so full of shit, 's not even funny," comes a scratchy, tired voice.
Seamus straightens up immediately. The urge to throw himself on the bed or pull back the covers, do something drastic is strong, but Seamus resists and takes Dean's hand instead, not caring about male code. He hopes his grip isn't too tight. Dean doesn't move, but his eyes are open and there's a small smile on his face.
"Shut up, layabout," Seamus says when he trusts his voice far enough to speak. "I'm the only entertainment you'll get, so stop complaining."
Dean shifts under his blanket, but he can't seem to do anything more. "I told you I don't want no healers."
Seamus looks at him incredulous, but the look Dean is giving him back says that he's teasing. "Too bad that you're not me mam, she's the only one I listen to."
"No you don't," Dean says and coughs. It appears to hurt. Seamus doesn't know what to do and helps him lift his head a bit, which seems to help him breathe.
"How long have I been here?"
Seamus tells him what happened and that he's been at the hospital for weeks now. He leaves out the parts where they didn't know if he'd ever wake up, that his mother is at the end of her strength and that he's seen all of Dean's sisters cry at least once.
A nurse comes in just as Dean declares that he's going to get up and go to the loo now. She threatens to hex him to the bed, but Seamus assures her that Dean won't go anywhere and that it was just a joke. They exchange a look when she's gone and Seamus shrugs. He stopped believing in medical training weeks ago.
It doesn't take long until the room is filled with people who point their wands at Dean, mutter spells and talk far too loudly. They say Dean needs rest, but they won't let him. Seamus hates to see him so weak and fragile and being unable to tell them to fuck off. The light they lit above Dean's bed is obviously hurting his eyes, but either they don't notice or they don't care.
After being thrown out of the room once again, shouting his impressive collection of Irish curses at them and owling Dean's mother, he summons a chair and sits down in front of the door to Dean's room. He knows this is going to be a long night.
*
"When I'm out of here, I'll go travelling," Dean says one day. It's dark outside and Seamus has his mouth full of rice and duck. On his way to the hospital he stopped at a Muggle Chinese takeaway and smuggled two full bags into Dean's room. The food at St. Mungo's is atrocious and someone has to keep Dean from losing even more weight, so Seamus brings him something for dinner nearly every night. He suspects that the nurse knows, but so far she's never said anything. It's not enough to gain Seamus's respect back, but he's willing to stop loathing her.
"Where would ye go to?"
Dean shrugs. "Wrong question, mate." He's looking into the box that contains chicken with sate sauce.
"What's the right question, then?"
"The right question is what I want to see."
Seamus gestures with his chopsticks. "What's that?"
"Art."
Seamus doesn't understand. "Go to one of the thousand galleries in London, or the Louvre in Paris. Or what about the Prado in Madrid? You never stopped talking about them when we were in school."
Dean shifts in his bed and tugs at the pillow that supports his back. He's still weak, but he's getting stronger every day. "Not talking about that. I want to see something different. I've been to museums and I'll definitely stop at the Louvre, but I'm talking about the stuff you can't put into a frame. I want to see the pyramids, Angkor Vat, Taj Mahal, Rapa Nui, Machu Picchu, that kind of art. I want to play conga, learn how to make a didgeridoo and dance naked in the desert."
Seamus chokes on his rice. The thought of Dean Thomas dancing naked in the desert is ... different. "I want to see that," he wheezes after coughing violently. "But yeah, sounds good."
"You don't think I'm mental? Giving up my job and everything and going on a journey."
"Hang on." Seamus thinks he's misunderstood. "Bagman would give you some time off. Why would you give up your job for a few weeks of vacation?"
Dean shakes his head. The small but determined smile tells Seamus that the decision has already been made. "I've been thinking about a couple of years, actually."
Seamus suddenly finds it hard to breathe.
He's hit with a feeling of déjà vu and remembers an owl that arrived at his bedroom window a few years earlier during the last week of August. It was a common barn owl he'd never seen before. The note he found was barely legible.
I'm off. Won't see you next week. If you read the Prophet you know why.I have no idea where to go and I don't know when or if I'll see you again. Don't do anything stupid.
Seamus didn't need a signature to know who had sent the owl.
It was worse, then, Seamus thinks. Now he knows that there are no Death Eaters looking for Dean. No one wants to send him to Azkaban or worse. Dean will come back eventually, won't he?
*
Four weeks later, Dean is gone.
Living without him is like a chocolate frog without chocolate, Seamus thinks sometimes. He doesn't like living alone. Never before in his life has he had to get up alone, eat alone, go to bed alone. He catches himself moping too often in the evenings, only to catch himself going to the pub too often a few weeks later. He could have afforded to live alone in the flat he shared with Dean, but when he meets Anthony Goldstein one night and the former Ravenclaw tells him that he has to leave his flat because the landlord needs it for his son, Seamus offers Dean's old room. A bit of company sounds tempting after being alone for months. And to be honest, he's creeping himself out when he sometimes goes into Dean's old room, lies on the bed, closes his eyes and imagines that his best friend is still there.
It turns out that living with Anthony is a lot more stressful than living with Dean. He does, no doubt, cook better than Seamus, but nowhere as good as Dean, and he's tidy. Very tidy. Seamus finds the way he crinkles his well-educated nose at socks, towels and beer funny at first, but it quickly becomes infuriating. Anthony is thrown out of the flat after less than a month - so are Marcus, Phillip, and Thomas. Thomas isn't too bad, but it's just too hard to say and hear his name regularly when it isn't the Thomas Seamus wants to have in the flat. It occurs to Seamus that this might not be normal, but he ignores the thought.
A day after Seamus receives the postcard, he finishes work early. He wants to go home in time so that he can shower, dress and get himself ready for a night about town. He knows where the Patil sisters go on their night out - it isn't as if the wizarding world is big enough not to know - and he owes one of them a snog. He might even get a second one if he's lucky, a kick in the groin if he's not.
He laughs at the thought that one of his first snogs was with Dean.
It was in fifth year when toady Umbridge was Headmistress and they had to be in the common room early every night. They played some kind of game - Lavender, Parvati, Dean and some others - that had something to do with a bottle and kissing random people. Seamus didn't understand the reasoning behind it, but he was a good sport and snogged whomever he was told to snog.
It didn't take too long until Lavender got that glint in her eye.
"Dean, I want you to kiss Seamus," she said and Seamus wondered why the bloody hell she'd be wanting something like that.
He looked at Dean with raised eyebrows and Dean scowled back at him. Seamus thought it was unfair, as this hadn't been his idea.
"No way," Dean said.
Seamus waited for the feeling of relief, but it didn't come. Instead he felt mildly insulted and asked, "Why not?"
Dean looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and Parvati cackled. "Yes, Dean," she said. "Why ever not? Are you scared?"
Seamus groaned, as he realised that Fred and George were looking at them with sparkling eyes and he knew that now they had to. He cursed himself but he was also curious. And there was nothing strange about that. It was a game, right? There were rules. It's not like he had a choice.
Dean shook his head but Fred or George slapped the back of it and called him chicken. Dean didn't like being called chicken. He wasn't the biggest talker in Gryffindor, but never let other people give him shit. He came over - again with that accusing look - and sat down in front of Seamus who at first didn't know where to look at. Dean was more pragmatic about it and obviously had decided to just do it, the faster the better.
When their lips met and someone catcalled, Seamus did his best to give at least a good show. The snog itself was kind of sloppy and wet with teeth grazing lips and noses bumping. Seamus thought he could still taste broccoli from dinner on Dean's tongue, that was currently in his mouth doing something utterly strange. Godric, how much he hated broccoli. Seamus was rather glad when it was over.
He snaps out of the little Hogwarts moment and looks at himself in the mirror, sees the hair his mother always calls sandy, but he thinks is more straw-coloured. There are freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He frowns and then rubs his forehead, does something to his hair that neither makes it better nor worse, not even much different, and brushes his teeth. He's leaving the bathroom with a stylishly untucked shirt, a bit of stubble in the face and denims that are tight in all the right places.
"Look who's trying to pull tonight," Parvati says to her sister when he approaches them in the small bar. "Long time no see, Finnigan."
Parvati isn't up for a snog, he finds out, but Lavender is. She looks hot in the dress that clings to her chest like a second skin and is tight around her perfect arse. Seamus knows that she wants to distract from the scars on her face, but he thinks she's being silly. She's beautiful from head to toe and the imperfection that mars her cheek and neck just accentuate the rest of her. He's never understood girls, so he isn't surprised that he doesn't understand her either.
He does his best, though, to show her exactly how hot she is when they are back at the flat and the dress falls off her shoulders and pools around her feet. He's hard for her and she makes him forget with her soft hands and softer curves, though he isn't sure why he needs to.
On the next morning he wakes up next to her. He nuzzles the skin of her back and kisses her shoulders until she wakes up. Her body fits against his. When he squeezes her breast gently, she melts under his touch. He loves the way she moves and how she murmurs and sighs and how she moans as he slides into her from behind. She's not completely awake yet, and Seamus's brain is sleep-addled. He loses himself in her. When he comes it's quietly and it feels so very comfortable.
It becomes a routine. Whenever the flat is too quiet and he starts throwing things at the walls because he just can't stand it anymore, Seamus either goes to the bar or floos Lavender directly. They don't talk much, they drink, dance and shag. It's a pragmatic approach to something that is almost a relationship. Seamus isn't in love, even though he cares about her, and he is almost convinced that Lavender isn't in love either. It suits him just fine.
"Do you miss him?" she asks one day when they are lying in bed, still panting and sweaty from a fabulous shag.
Seamus doesn't answer immediately but reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a fag. It's a disgusting habit he picked up some weeks earlier and is going to get rid of any day now. He lights it with the tip of his wand and takes a deep drag, sucks the smoke in hungrily.
"'Course I do," he says. "Do you?"
She nods. Seamus knows there's something on her mind and waits for her to go on. "Parvati does, too."
Seamus hasn't expected that. "She does?" he asks for lack of anything else to say.
Lavender turns her head and snuggles closer. She drapes one arm across his chest and tangles their legs. He feels crowded, but knows better than to ask for some space. "Do you have any idea why it never worked out between them?"
Seamus is at a loss. How is he supposed to know that, relationships have never worked out for him either. "Dunno. They were never really together, were they?"
Lavender kisses his nipple and he squirms. "She's been trying for years to get her hands on him."
"Parvati?" Seamus is shocked and amused at the same time.
"Don't tell me you never noticed."
"I... uh..." He never noticed anything, just that Dean always had that pathetic little crush but never did anything about it.
"She even told him once, when she was drunk, but he just took her home and put her to bed. What kind of guy does that?"
Seamus smiles fondly. "Dean. It's exactly the thing Dean would do."
After Hogwarts, Seamus has always spent Christmas with Dean at his family's house. It's not that he doesn't want to see his own mother, but there's a long standing tradition of her and her friends getting together and drinking down an unhealthy amount of something that consists of one third eggnog and two thirds Firewhisky. He doesn't mind getting away from that, and after the first year, his mother accepted it, albeit grudgingly.
He doesn't know where to go this year. Lavender is with her family and spending Christmas at their house is out of the question. Spending Christmas at a girlfriends' house is practically a proposition and Seamus doesn't want to commit to anything like that. He could go to the Thomas's house, but without Dean it would be strange and awkward. Going to a pub screams pathetic and while staying at home alone isn't much better, there are at least no witnesses.
Seamus has enough beer, sandwiches, crisps and memories of happy Christmases to get through the evening.
He's been living alone in the flat for almost a year now. The few weeks with various flatmates don't count. The beer in his system provides the pleasant buzz he needs to be able to think back to that time in his seventh year when he was also alone, when Dean was off somewhere in the woods. He didn't know where Dean was or if he'd ever see him again, he didn't know what life outside of Hogwarts was like, but the stories of Snatchers, Death Eaters and Ministry Morons were horrifying.
Since that first owl, there had been no message from Dean and around March, Seamus contemplated leaving Hogwarts and looking for him. He wouldn't have minded leaving the castle at all. Things were a nightmare within the thick stonewalls of Hogwarts. At the end of fourth year, Seamus's mother hadn't believed that Cedric Diggory had died in a maze during a school contest at the hands of Voldemort. But compared to what was happening at Hogwarts under Snape, the story of the Triwizard Tournament seemed like an everyday tale.
They were almost used to seeing the Cruciatus curse cast or seeing teachers use other kinds of torture. Seamus's body was scarred as well as his soul. And yet, he always pushed. The three empty beds in their dorm, especially the one closest to his own, were a constant reminder that there were others who probably went through worse. Even though Seamus sometimes couldn't imagine what 'worse' could be.
At the end things were bad. The last time they got him, he thought he wouldn't make it out of the dungeons alive. But in an insane act of stupidity and bravery, his friends rescued him and they moved into the Room of Requirement. The only reason they didn't leave the school was because they knew that one day Harry would come back. They needed to be ready for that. And they were.
In a sense, the Carrows had done them a favour. When the battle started, all of them had already endured torture, humiliation, had seen Unforgivable curses performed on first years. They knew what they were fighting for.
He'd never told Dean, but the moment he saw his best friend entering the Room of Requirement was probably the best moment of Seamus's life. One minute he was listening to Harry and Neville talking, and the next he was sprinting through the room at top speed and throwing himself at his friend.
It was a bit embarrassing, but there was no way he could help himself. He hugged him tight, clung to him, it was all he could do not to wrap his legs around him as well. He felt Dean laughing, his breath was tickling his cheek and he held on a bit longer to delay the moment when Dean would see how beat up he was. In the end he had to force himself to let go.
"Damn, it's good to see you, man," he said and he grinned in a way that hurt his sore face.
"You look like shit, I gotta say."
"That's what I got for trying to grope Lavender without her permission," Seamus joked.
Dean nodded slowly and Seamus saw his eyes scanning his face and body. "You'll never learn to keep your mouth shut."
Seamus snorted. "How come you think it's because of something I said?"
"Empirical knowledge," Dean deadpanned. "Are you all right?" The question was sincere and full of concern.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am." 'Now,' he added silently.
Seamus shakes off the memory, empties his bottle and stares into the fire. When he catches himself wondering if the feeling he'll have when he'll see Dean again will be anything like the feeling back then, he knows that he's had enough to drink. He still opens another beer.
Lavender shows up around midnight. She brings a present and a bottle of champagne. Seamus is too far gone to do anything but grin dopily at her. He supposes that she looks lovely, but he can't focus properly, his vision is too blurry. He tells her so, but she doesn't seem to get that it's meant as a compliment.
She yells something Seamus has trouble understanding. He tries to explain that it's Christmas and no time for fighting and if she can't be a good girl she should go home. The point comes across and she leaves. Unfortunately she takes his present with her. Seamus thinks that's a bit rude, but as there are a couple of beers left, he decides not to be bothered.
He drinks those as well and he finally forgets that Dean didn't even write a Christmas card.
*
Work is a bitch lately. Seamus has trouble concentrating on what he's doing and the wards have already gone off twice in his section without any reason at all. The goblins aren't happy with his shoddy work and transfer him to another section of the bank's vaults - less security, more traffic - with a partner he barely knows but already dislikes.
When he comes home one Friday night, he finds Lavender on his couch; the couch that Dean's sister gave her brother and that's still standing in the living room with the stain and colour and comfy cushions.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. It sounds just as impatient as he feels.
"Where were you? Why are you coming so late?" she asks back. "We wanted to go out." She's dressed up and pretty, her tiny handbag next to her. It's something he's noticed about Lavender. The smaller her handbag is, the better he's expected to dress. Tonight, the thought of dress pants and a shirt makes him itch in several places. He wants to kick off his shoes, put his feet on the table and drink a beer.
"We'll go tomorrow, or next week. I'm tired." If looks could kill, he'd be a pile of ashes. "Come on Lav, I'm tired."
"You promised." There's a slight whine in her voice and it makes the back of his neck crawl.
"Yeah, I know." It's a lie, he can remember no promise, but he knows better than to argue with her. The more he disagrees, the longer it will take to open that bottle of beer. "I'll make it up to you. Why don't you just go alone? I won't be any fun anyway."
"You're not serious." But he is. And he knows that she can see it in his face. "We've talked about this for weeks. We're meeting Parvati and Terry, and Padma with her new boyfriend."
It's not fair and Seamus knows it, but the prospect of meeting the Patils, their significant others and God knows whom else in a fancy restaurant, drinking wine instead of ale and eating something that comes in tiny helpings makes Seamus's stomach churn. He wants booze and greasy food and sitting on Dean's couch in boxers.
"I'm not up for going out today." He goes to the kitchen and gets himself a beer, wondering if there's enough bread left for a decent sandwich. "We can go tomorrow, or next week."
"Merlin, I'm sick of this," she says and picks up the handbag. It doesn't even have a sling, she'll have to carry it the whole evening. He wonders if that doesn't annoy her.
She takes something from the coffee table. "I'm going. Here, take this instead. Arrived today. Put it on your nightstand along with the others. That'll cheer you up better than I could ever do."
She throws something at him, it lands at his feet. He picks it up and turns it in his hands. It's a card from Dean. "Tahiti," Seamus mutters, "nice one, mate."
He's smiling and wants to apologise. But when he looks up, Lavender is already gone. He didn't hear her leave.
Seamus is sitting on the floor, next to a bag full of clothes. He has a pair of denims in one hand, his favourite t-shirt in the other. It's the one Dean gave him for his birthday five years ago. It's an ugly green thing that says 'I'm not a Leprechaun, I'm just Irish.' When the door opens and Lavender enters the room, he looks up at her.
"You're going to look for him, aren't you." She doesn't sound surprised, just resigned. He understands it, he wouldn't put up a fight either if he was her. He's been a moody and miserable git, lately. He's disgusted with himself and wonders what went wrong.
He nods. "I have to."
She sits down beside him on the floor. She doesn't talk at first, just puts her head on his shoulder, a gesture that is almost too intimate and far too kind, considering that he is about to leave her to look for his best mate. "You won't come back," she says without raising her voice at the end of the sentence; it isn't a question.
"Not like that, no."
There is silence for a long time. Eventually Seamus lets go of the denims and takes her hand. "I haven't planned this. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Lav-"
But he can't finish the sentence. Lavender interrupts him. "Don't say that." She takes her head off his shoulder and now there is a hint of anger in her voice. "We never had a chance. I knew that from the start. I wanted it to work, but I gave up long ago. I know that I love you and that you love me, too, in a way." Her eyes are shining and Seamus wishes he could look away. "Don't you ever say you're sorry, though, because you're not and I won't let you lie to me."
Seamus shrugs helplessly and lets go of his shirt to wipe away a tear that runs down her cheek. She is right. He isn't sorry about his decision. He wouldn't go if he were. "I wish I could have been better," he says and he means it.
"Me, too, Seamus." She puts her hand on the back of his neck and tilts her head. Their lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss. It is chaste and Seamus feels the wetness from her tears on his cheeks. They've kissed more times than he can count, but this is the last one. It holds all the missed chances, the lost possibilities and the happy future they won't have. He's sad despite everything. He wishes he could be what she needs and that she could be what he needs. They part and Lavender lets go of his neck. She squeezes his hand and lets go of it as well. The distance between them grows and has nothing to do with physical space.
She stands and Seamus watches her turn around. Her silhouette is graceful and as always he is transfixed by her swaying hips and her slender legs. He does love her in a way. She just isn't... 'Dean' is the word that comes to his mind and Seamus shakes his head because he doesn't know what it means. Will he never be able to have a happy relationship because his best mate is more important? Or will it change when he sees him again? What a fucked up situation is that?
He sits on the floor with his half-packed bag for a long time, thinking just how much they all have changed and how much he sometimes wants to be back in fifth year when they all were innocent kids. But those years can't be wished away. And if he's honest with himself, he doesn't truly want it.
The postcard next to the bag reminds him of what he was doing and he picks up the t-shirt and the pair of jeans again.
Part two of the story
Rating: NC17
Pairing(s): Dean/Seamus (main pairing), Seamus/Lavender
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: In a perfect world, no one gets sick, you keep the girl, and wait for your best mate to come home. In Seamus's world, things work differently.
Word Count: ~18,000 for both parts (including postcards)
Author's Notes: Written for
wook77 and hp_springsmut. The request was fantastic and I loved writing this story. It wouldn't have been half as good without the help and encouragement of thimble_kiss and la_george. All translations can be found at the end of the story.Originally posted here
It's careless that Seamus at first doesn't take it seriously when Dean becomes ill, as his friend usually never complains about feeling not well. He should know that something is not right, but on this particular Friday, Seamus is in a hurry. It isn't out of the ordinary, as he is late for work most mornings. There's no time to worry about Dean who sits at the breakfast table, stirs his coffee morosely and says something about a headache. Seamus provides some good advice, though, involving a joke about drinking too much and the merits of hangover potion. He ruffles Dean's short hair and is out of the door before Dean can even answer.
Living with Dean has been easy from the start. Dean is in charge of cooking, Seamus is doing the laundry, even though he wouldn't admit it in public, and they share cleaning duties. Those are a quick affair and only done whenever they feel like drowning in dust is an imminent danger. It doesn't occur too often, though, none of them have any wish to be confused with their mothers.
Dean never asks where Seamus is going, when he's going to come home, or where he's been, more often than not because Dean is right there with him anyway. Dean doesn't bother him with stray socks, dirty towels or half empty beer bottles in the fridge and Seamus doesn't have to explain that sitting down while pissing is a severe attack on masculinity in general and Seamus's in particular. Dean understands.
Seamus finishes work late on the day when Dean's headache starts. He's been working for the goblins, deep in the bowels of Gringotts, since taking his N.E.W.T.s after an additional eighth year at Hogwarts. Not long before he finished school, McGonagall had asked him if he'd ever thought of working with wards and other types of protective magic. He hadn't, but she'd had a point, it was one of the few things Seamus was good at and was interested in. The rest of the story is short. He applied at Gringotts, they put him through a variety of tests and agreed to give him a job. There's nothing he could complain about. The goblins are predictable creatures, and the money is decent.
He opens the front door, but their small flat is dark and quiet. He assumes that Dean has gone for a pint after work, which is unusual, but not unheard of. Seamus would understand it; he'd need a lot of pints if he were working at the Ministry, in the Department of Magical Games and Sports under Ludo Bagman.
Seamus turns on the light and toes off his shoes. He's hungry and has been hoping that Dean has made something for dinner like he does most evenings. Contrary to popular belief, though, Seamus is indeed able to make himself a sandwich. He's on his way to the kitchen, walking through their small but cosy living room, when he notices Dean's still form lying on the battered couch. The couch was a present from Dean's older sister Emma, and when one ignores the ugly mud-green colour and some undefined stains on the right armrest, it's quite comfortable.
Dean looks peaceful, as he lies spread-eagle on his back, one arm and leg hanging down over the side of the couch. But he's wearing his pyjamas, which is alarming at this time of day. Just as alarming as the empty potion vial on the coffee table next to a cup full of what looks like cold tea.
Seamus crouches down beside the couch and touches Dean's shoulder.
"Dean?"
He doesn't move, just keeps on breathing, his chest moving slowly. Seamus grips his shoulder and shakes him. "Hey Dean, wake up, mate."
Dean huffs in his sleep, moves his head to the side. Seamus smells stale breath and frowns. Dean is a light sleeper who wakes up easily. Seamus shakes him some more. "Come on, slacker, time to get up."
He wakes up. But he does it slowly, and as he opens his eyes he blinks at Seamus, obviously not comprehending what's going on, dark shadows beneath his eyes.
"Dean, what's up?" Worry settles in Seamus's gut and forms a tight knot.
"'S all right," Dean mumbles and bats at Seamus's hand. "'M tired." He turns around on the couch and pulls a cushion over his head. "Jus' lemme sleep."
It's so unlike Dean that Seamus considers calling a healer. But he doesn't look hurt, and he said it was all right, didn't he? Seamus decides to keep a close eye on him. As long as he's just sleeping, it can't be too bad.
*
"How long has he been unconscious?" the healer asks. The look she gives Seamus over her horn-rimmed spectacles says, 'It's all your fault'.
"He hasn't moved for about fifteen hours and I couldn't wake him up this morning."
"Is this the first time this happened?"
It isn't. Since that first day, three weeks earlier, when Dean didn't go to work and refused to get up from the couch, his sleeping pattern has changed. He's gone to work, but every evening he went straight to bed, only eating because Seamus refused to let him sleep without having some food first. Dean didn't want to see a healer, said everything was fine and Seamus needn't worry. It's far from fine, though, and when Seamus couldn't wake his friend up this morning, he didn't hesitate and floo-called St. Mungo's. Apparently his condition isn't as fine as Dean has thought. The healers brought him to St. Mungo's immediately.
Seamus tells the healer everything he knows and has no answer when she asks him why they didn't come earlier. She reminds him of Minerva McGonagall with her hair tied back in a bun, her voice filled with authority and the years of experience showing in her professional confidence. It calms him only slightly.
The next hours are a blur. No one knows what's wrong with Dean, and Seamus sends an owl to Dean's mother who informs the rest of the family. By mid afternoon he's surrounded by Dean's parents, his three sisters and one big brother. No one has a clue yet why Dean doesn't wake up. And if the healers suspect anything, they don't tell them.
Seamus goes home when one of the healers throws him out after he attempts to enter the room where they keep Dean. They haven't allowed anyone to visit and there's a constant coming and going of various people, most of them dressed in healer robes.
The flat, when Seamus comes home, is empty and cold - not surprising in January. He misses the laughter and easy banter that has always been there, accompanying the steady friendship between them. But it has already been gone since that first Friday, and Seamus again wants to yell at himself for not doing anything earlier. As much as his temper wants him to destroy some furniture or hit a wall, he knows it wouldn't help, and for once he resists - mainly because he's too tired. He can't sleep, though; there is too much guilt, worry and possibilities he tries to keep out of his mind. And so he spends the night restless in his bed, rolling from one side to the other.
When morning dawns, Seamus gets up, takes a shower and dresses. The coffee he makes is so strong and bitter that it flows down his throat like oil and he grabs something sugar-sticky to eat in the bakery on his way to the hospital. His boss wasn't happy when Seamus flooed him first thing in the morning to tell him he needs a few days off, but Seamus doesn't think he'd be of any help at work in his current state. Not that it matters, Dean needs him at the hospital, so he'll be there.
The healer has news. But the bitch doesn't want to discuss them with Seamus, says she'll only talk to a family member. Seamus tries to tell her that he is a family member, but for some reason she isn't impressed. He doesn't know if it's because she's a stickler for some stupid rules or because his language might have got a bit out of hand. He doesn't have to wait very long, though. Dean's mum is there only minutes later and disappears with said healer.
Seamus paces in the hallway and glares at everyone who dares to pass by. Finally Mrs. Thomas is back, pale beneath her dark skin, her hands trembling. Seamus relaxes his right hand where he's clutching the paper-ball that once was the empty bag from the bakery.
"Is he all right? Is he awake? What did she say? What's wrong with him?" Seamus asks the questions as soon as Mrs. Thomas is close enough and she smiles a forced smile at him, her lips a thin line where she's pressing them together. He isn't sure if he really wants to know the answer.
"It's Wand Fever," she says. The name doesn't ring any bells, Seamus has never heard it before and he flails his hands, gesturing at her to go on. "I don't really understand it, Seamus. Some kind of magic is attacking his brain and his own magic has put him to sleep in order to fight it." She looks helpless as she tries to explain something from a world that is so different from the Muggle world she knows. Seamus sometimes forgets that Dean is Muggleborn and was raised without even knowing that he's a wizard. "They say they can't do anything but wait and help his body stay strong, while his magic is fighting the infection."
Seamus nods. A magical infection isn't uncommon. He had dragon pox as a child and there are dozens, maybe hundreds of infections that attack a wizard's or witch's magic instead of their physical body. Quite a few of them are fatal and for some there are no potions or spells so that one's own magic has to fight back.
"But he'll be all right?" It is half a question, half a statement and Seamus looks at Mrs. Thomas, both dreading and wanting the answer.
"They don't know," she whispers, tears spilling down her cheeks.
*
Seamus isn't sure how they became friends. Probably because they never did. They just were. They never went through that stage where they got to know each other, got used to each other and then went from acquaintances to friends. For Dean and Seamus, it happened all at once.
Seamus remembers meeting Dean on the Hogwarts Express. His mother had told him lots of stories and he was excited and couldn't wait to get to Hogwarts. He boarded the train and within minutes he was in a fight with a much older boy. How that happened, he isn't quite sure, but he suspects that it had something to do with his big mouth and his inability to keep it shut. It wasn't looking good for Seamus. The other boy was bigger, had friends and he was coming closer with balled fists. Seamus stood his ground - he wasn't a coward - until someone gripped his arm and pulled him away.
"Where were you, I was waiting for you," someone said. It was a tall, black boy Seamus had never seen before, but he knew an out when he saw one.
"Sorry, got interrupted." He shrugged at the small crowd, winked at his opponent, grabbed his trunk, and hurriedly followed the other boy.
"I'm Dean," the boy introduced himself and they both sat down on opposite benches.
"Seamus," he answered and added, "I would have beat him."
Dean giggled. "Of course. And all of his friends."
Seamus scowled at first, but the laughter was infectious and soon they were both laughing so hard that tears were rolling down their cheeks. Someone opened the door and asked if they'd seen a toad, which was even funnier. By the time they reached their destination, Seamus knew that Dean's brother was an idiot, that two of his sisters were pretty, that Dean liked to draw and that two months ago he still hadn't known that he was a wizard.
He spends many hours in that hospital room thinking of Hogwarts and sitting on the chair next to Dean's bed or walking from one end of the room to the other. The days at the hospital are long. But the days when Seamus has to go back to work after ten days and Dean still hasn't woken up are even longer. He's monitoring the security systems of the vaults with practiced routine, but he's constantly thinking about Dean. The picture of his best mate, still and pale in a hospital bed, haunts him, not only during the day but also in his dreams. He doesn't know what he would do if something happened to Dean. It's not as if Seamus isn't capable of getting along alone, but Dean has been there since he was eleven. They've shared everything from chocolate frogs to first experiences with girls to the life after Hogwarts. Seamus can't imagine living a life without someone who knows him so well.
After work, Seamus usually goes directly to the hospital. On most evenings all the other visitors are already gone and he's sitting next to Dean who never moves. Seamus always talks. The silence is too much, too awkward, and he's in general not very good at being silent.
"You, my friend, are really clever," Seamus tells him one night. "Parvati was here earlier and the woman cried her eyes out. I knew that you've had a thing for her since forever, but going to such lengths to win her over? That's dedication, man." Seamus is looking out of the window. The night outside is dark and he can't see any stars in the cloudy sky.
"I don't mean to criticise you, mate, it's been effective so far. Still, don't you think it's enough now? I get that a bit of drama adds to the credibility, but honestly, if you don't wake up soon it will get old pretty fast. Then I'll be the only one coming round to see your sorry carcass." Seamus sighs at the forced cheeriness in his voice. It's the best he can do. He turns around and walks back to the bed. The chair is hard and he knows that he'll only be able to sit on it for a few minutes. It doesn't keep him from sitting down.
"You should grab your chance while it's still there. Pity is a good way to start, but if she thinks you won't wake up anymore, or that your muscles have vanished because you're doing nothing but sleeping the whole time, she'll move on. You wouldn't want to lose her to someone like, let's say, Terry Boot, would you? I've seen him making eyes at her at the Leaky, and I reckon he's a pretty boy. All things considered."
"You're so full of shit, 's not even funny," comes a scratchy, tired voice.
Seamus straightens up immediately. The urge to throw himself on the bed or pull back the covers, do something drastic is strong, but Seamus resists and takes Dean's hand instead, not caring about male code. He hopes his grip isn't too tight. Dean doesn't move, but his eyes are open and there's a small smile on his face.
"Shut up, layabout," Seamus says when he trusts his voice far enough to speak. "I'm the only entertainment you'll get, so stop complaining."
Dean shifts under his blanket, but he can't seem to do anything more. "I told you I don't want no healers."
Seamus looks at him incredulous, but the look Dean is giving him back says that he's teasing. "Too bad that you're not me mam, she's the only one I listen to."
"No you don't," Dean says and coughs. It appears to hurt. Seamus doesn't know what to do and helps him lift his head a bit, which seems to help him breathe.
"How long have I been here?"
Seamus tells him what happened and that he's been at the hospital for weeks now. He leaves out the parts where they didn't know if he'd ever wake up, that his mother is at the end of her strength and that he's seen all of Dean's sisters cry at least once.
A nurse comes in just as Dean declares that he's going to get up and go to the loo now. She threatens to hex him to the bed, but Seamus assures her that Dean won't go anywhere and that it was just a joke. They exchange a look when she's gone and Seamus shrugs. He stopped believing in medical training weeks ago.
It doesn't take long until the room is filled with people who point their wands at Dean, mutter spells and talk far too loudly. They say Dean needs rest, but they won't let him. Seamus hates to see him so weak and fragile and being unable to tell them to fuck off. The light they lit above Dean's bed is obviously hurting his eyes, but either they don't notice or they don't care.
After being thrown out of the room once again, shouting his impressive collection of Irish curses at them and owling Dean's mother, he summons a chair and sits down in front of the door to Dean's room. He knows this is going to be a long night.
*
"When I'm out of here, I'll go travelling," Dean says one day. It's dark outside and Seamus has his mouth full of rice and duck. On his way to the hospital he stopped at a Muggle Chinese takeaway and smuggled two full bags into Dean's room. The food at St. Mungo's is atrocious and someone has to keep Dean from losing even more weight, so Seamus brings him something for dinner nearly every night. He suspects that the nurse knows, but so far she's never said anything. It's not enough to gain Seamus's respect back, but he's willing to stop loathing her.
"Where would ye go to?"
Dean shrugs. "Wrong question, mate." He's looking into the box that contains chicken with sate sauce.
"What's the right question, then?"
"The right question is what I want to see."
Seamus gestures with his chopsticks. "What's that?"
"Art."
Seamus doesn't understand. "Go to one of the thousand galleries in London, or the Louvre in Paris. Or what about the Prado in Madrid? You never stopped talking about them when we were in school."
Dean shifts in his bed and tugs at the pillow that supports his back. He's still weak, but he's getting stronger every day. "Not talking about that. I want to see something different. I've been to museums and I'll definitely stop at the Louvre, but I'm talking about the stuff you can't put into a frame. I want to see the pyramids, Angkor Vat, Taj Mahal, Rapa Nui, Machu Picchu, that kind of art. I want to play conga, learn how to make a didgeridoo and dance naked in the desert."
Seamus chokes on his rice. The thought of Dean Thomas dancing naked in the desert is ... different. "I want to see that," he wheezes after coughing violently. "But yeah, sounds good."
"You don't think I'm mental? Giving up my job and everything and going on a journey."
"Hang on." Seamus thinks he's misunderstood. "Bagman would give you some time off. Why would you give up your job for a few weeks of vacation?"
Dean shakes his head. The small but determined smile tells Seamus that the decision has already been made. "I've been thinking about a couple of years, actually."
Seamus suddenly finds it hard to breathe.
He's hit with a feeling of déjà vu and remembers an owl that arrived at his bedroom window a few years earlier during the last week of August. It was a common barn owl he'd never seen before. The note he found was barely legible.
I'm off. Won't see you next week. If you read the Prophet you know why.
Seamus didn't need a signature to know who had sent the owl.
It was worse, then, Seamus thinks. Now he knows that there are no Death Eaters looking for Dean. No one wants to send him to Azkaban or worse. Dean will come back eventually, won't he?
*
Four weeks later, Dean is gone.
Living without him is like a chocolate frog without chocolate, Seamus thinks sometimes. He doesn't like living alone. Never before in his life has he had to get up alone, eat alone, go to bed alone. He catches himself moping too often in the evenings, only to catch himself going to the pub too often a few weeks later. He could have afforded to live alone in the flat he shared with Dean, but when he meets Anthony Goldstein one night and the former Ravenclaw tells him that he has to leave his flat because the landlord needs it for his son, Seamus offers Dean's old room. A bit of company sounds tempting after being alone for months. And to be honest, he's creeping himself out when he sometimes goes into Dean's old room, lies on the bed, closes his eyes and imagines that his best friend is still there.
It turns out that living with Anthony is a lot more stressful than living with Dean. He does, no doubt, cook better than Seamus, but nowhere as good as Dean, and he's tidy. Very tidy. Seamus finds the way he crinkles his well-educated nose at socks, towels and beer funny at first, but it quickly becomes infuriating. Anthony is thrown out of the flat after less than a month - so are Marcus, Phillip, and Thomas. Thomas isn't too bad, but it's just too hard to say and hear his name regularly when it isn't the Thomas Seamus wants to have in the flat. It occurs to Seamus that this might not be normal, but he ignores the thought.
A day after Seamus receives the postcard, he finishes work early. He wants to go home in time so that he can shower, dress and get himself ready for a night about town. He knows where the Patil sisters go on their night out - it isn't as if the wizarding world is big enough not to know - and he owes one of them a snog. He might even get a second one if he's lucky, a kick in the groin if he's not.
He laughs at the thought that one of his first snogs was with Dean.
It was in fifth year when toady Umbridge was Headmistress and they had to be in the common room early every night. They played some kind of game - Lavender, Parvati, Dean and some others - that had something to do with a bottle and kissing random people. Seamus didn't understand the reasoning behind it, but he was a good sport and snogged whomever he was told to snog.
It didn't take too long until Lavender got that glint in her eye.
"Dean, I want you to kiss Seamus," she said and Seamus wondered why the bloody hell she'd be wanting something like that.
He looked at Dean with raised eyebrows and Dean scowled back at him. Seamus thought it was unfair, as this hadn't been his idea.
"No way," Dean said.
Seamus waited for the feeling of relief, but it didn't come. Instead he felt mildly insulted and asked, "Why not?"
Dean looked at him as if he'd grown a second head and Parvati cackled. "Yes, Dean," she said. "Why ever not? Are you scared?"
Seamus groaned, as he realised that Fred and George were looking at them with sparkling eyes and he knew that now they had to. He cursed himself but he was also curious. And there was nothing strange about that. It was a game, right? There were rules. It's not like he had a choice.
Dean shook his head but Fred or George slapped the back of it and called him chicken. Dean didn't like being called chicken. He wasn't the biggest talker in Gryffindor, but never let other people give him shit. He came over - again with that accusing look - and sat down in front of Seamus who at first didn't know where to look at. Dean was more pragmatic about it and obviously had decided to just do it, the faster the better.
When their lips met and someone catcalled, Seamus did his best to give at least a good show. The snog itself was kind of sloppy and wet with teeth grazing lips and noses bumping. Seamus thought he could still taste broccoli from dinner on Dean's tongue, that was currently in his mouth doing something utterly strange. Godric, how much he hated broccoli. Seamus was rather glad when it was over.
He snaps out of the little Hogwarts moment and looks at himself in the mirror, sees the hair his mother always calls sandy, but he thinks is more straw-coloured. There are freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He frowns and then rubs his forehead, does something to his hair that neither makes it better nor worse, not even much different, and brushes his teeth. He's leaving the bathroom with a stylishly untucked shirt, a bit of stubble in the face and denims that are tight in all the right places.
"Look who's trying to pull tonight," Parvati says to her sister when he approaches them in the small bar. "Long time no see, Finnigan."
Parvati isn't up for a snog, he finds out, but Lavender is. She looks hot in the dress that clings to her chest like a second skin and is tight around her perfect arse. Seamus knows that she wants to distract from the scars on her face, but he thinks she's being silly. She's beautiful from head to toe and the imperfection that mars her cheek and neck just accentuate the rest of her. He's never understood girls, so he isn't surprised that he doesn't understand her either.
He does his best, though, to show her exactly how hot she is when they are back at the flat and the dress falls off her shoulders and pools around her feet. He's hard for her and she makes him forget with her soft hands and softer curves, though he isn't sure why he needs to.
On the next morning he wakes up next to her. He nuzzles the skin of her back and kisses her shoulders until she wakes up. Her body fits against his. When he squeezes her breast gently, she melts under his touch. He loves the way she moves and how she murmurs and sighs and how she moans as he slides into her from behind. She's not completely awake yet, and Seamus's brain is sleep-addled. He loses himself in her. When he comes it's quietly and it feels so very comfortable.
It becomes a routine. Whenever the flat is too quiet and he starts throwing things at the walls because he just can't stand it anymore, Seamus either goes to the bar or floos Lavender directly. They don't talk much, they drink, dance and shag. It's a pragmatic approach to something that is almost a relationship. Seamus isn't in love, even though he cares about her, and he is almost convinced that Lavender isn't in love either. It suits him just fine.
"Do you miss him?" she asks one day when they are lying in bed, still panting and sweaty from a fabulous shag.
Seamus doesn't answer immediately but reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a fag. It's a disgusting habit he picked up some weeks earlier and is going to get rid of any day now. He lights it with the tip of his wand and takes a deep drag, sucks the smoke in hungrily.
"'Course I do," he says. "Do you?"
She nods. Seamus knows there's something on her mind and waits for her to go on. "Parvati does, too."
Seamus hasn't expected that. "She does?" he asks for lack of anything else to say.
Lavender turns her head and snuggles closer. She drapes one arm across his chest and tangles their legs. He feels crowded, but knows better than to ask for some space. "Do you have any idea why it never worked out between them?"
Seamus is at a loss. How is he supposed to know that, relationships have never worked out for him either. "Dunno. They were never really together, were they?"
Lavender kisses his nipple and he squirms. "She's been trying for years to get her hands on him."
"Parvati?" Seamus is shocked and amused at the same time.
"Don't tell me you never noticed."
"I... uh..." He never noticed anything, just that Dean always had that pathetic little crush but never did anything about it.
"She even told him once, when she was drunk, but he just took her home and put her to bed. What kind of guy does that?"
Seamus smiles fondly. "Dean. It's exactly the thing Dean would do."
After Hogwarts, Seamus has always spent Christmas with Dean at his family's house. It's not that he doesn't want to see his own mother, but there's a long standing tradition of her and her friends getting together and drinking down an unhealthy amount of something that consists of one third eggnog and two thirds Firewhisky. He doesn't mind getting away from that, and after the first year, his mother accepted it, albeit grudgingly.
He doesn't know where to go this year. Lavender is with her family and spending Christmas at their house is out of the question. Spending Christmas at a girlfriends' house is practically a proposition and Seamus doesn't want to commit to anything like that. He could go to the Thomas's house, but without Dean it would be strange and awkward. Going to a pub screams pathetic and while staying at home alone isn't much better, there are at least no witnesses.
Seamus has enough beer, sandwiches, crisps and memories of happy Christmases to get through the evening.
He's been living alone in the flat for almost a year now. The few weeks with various flatmates don't count. The beer in his system provides the pleasant buzz he needs to be able to think back to that time in his seventh year when he was also alone, when Dean was off somewhere in the woods. He didn't know where Dean was or if he'd ever see him again, he didn't know what life outside of Hogwarts was like, but the stories of Snatchers, Death Eaters and Ministry Morons were horrifying.
Since that first owl, there had been no message from Dean and around March, Seamus contemplated leaving Hogwarts and looking for him. He wouldn't have minded leaving the castle at all. Things were a nightmare within the thick stonewalls of Hogwarts. At the end of fourth year, Seamus's mother hadn't believed that Cedric Diggory had died in a maze during a school contest at the hands of Voldemort. But compared to what was happening at Hogwarts under Snape, the story of the Triwizard Tournament seemed like an everyday tale.
They were almost used to seeing the Cruciatus curse cast or seeing teachers use other kinds of torture. Seamus's body was scarred as well as his soul. And yet, he always pushed. The three empty beds in their dorm, especially the one closest to his own, were a constant reminder that there were others who probably went through worse. Even though Seamus sometimes couldn't imagine what 'worse' could be.
At the end things were bad. The last time they got him, he thought he wouldn't make it out of the dungeons alive. But in an insane act of stupidity and bravery, his friends rescued him and they moved into the Room of Requirement. The only reason they didn't leave the school was because they knew that one day Harry would come back. They needed to be ready for that. And they were.
In a sense, the Carrows had done them a favour. When the battle started, all of them had already endured torture, humiliation, had seen Unforgivable curses performed on first years. They knew what they were fighting for.
He'd never told Dean, but the moment he saw his best friend entering the Room of Requirement was probably the best moment of Seamus's life. One minute he was listening to Harry and Neville talking, and the next he was sprinting through the room at top speed and throwing himself at his friend.
It was a bit embarrassing, but there was no way he could help himself. He hugged him tight, clung to him, it was all he could do not to wrap his legs around him as well. He felt Dean laughing, his breath was tickling his cheek and he held on a bit longer to delay the moment when Dean would see how beat up he was. In the end he had to force himself to let go.
"Damn, it's good to see you, man," he said and he grinned in a way that hurt his sore face.
"You look like shit, I gotta say."
"That's what I got for trying to grope Lavender without her permission," Seamus joked.
Dean nodded slowly and Seamus saw his eyes scanning his face and body. "You'll never learn to keep your mouth shut."
Seamus snorted. "How come you think it's because of something I said?"
"Empirical knowledge," Dean deadpanned. "Are you all right?" The question was sincere and full of concern.
"Yeah. Yeah, I am." 'Now,' he added silently.
Seamus shakes off the memory, empties his bottle and stares into the fire. When he catches himself wondering if the feeling he'll have when he'll see Dean again will be anything like the feeling back then, he knows that he's had enough to drink. He still opens another beer.
Lavender shows up around midnight. She brings a present and a bottle of champagne. Seamus is too far gone to do anything but grin dopily at her. He supposes that she looks lovely, but he can't focus properly, his vision is too blurry. He tells her so, but she doesn't seem to get that it's meant as a compliment.
She yells something Seamus has trouble understanding. He tries to explain that it's Christmas and no time for fighting and if she can't be a good girl she should go home. The point comes across and she leaves. Unfortunately she takes his present with her. Seamus thinks that's a bit rude, but as there are a couple of beers left, he decides not to be bothered.
He drinks those as well and he finally forgets that Dean didn't even write a Christmas card.
*
Work is a bitch lately. Seamus has trouble concentrating on what he's doing and the wards have already gone off twice in his section without any reason at all. The goblins aren't happy with his shoddy work and transfer him to another section of the bank's vaults - less security, more traffic - with a partner he barely knows but already dislikes.
When he comes home one Friday night, he finds Lavender on his couch; the couch that Dean's sister gave her brother and that's still standing in the living room with the stain and colour and comfy cushions.
"What are you doing here?" he asks. It sounds just as impatient as he feels.
"Where were you? Why are you coming so late?" she asks back. "We wanted to go out." She's dressed up and pretty, her tiny handbag next to her. It's something he's noticed about Lavender. The smaller her handbag is, the better he's expected to dress. Tonight, the thought of dress pants and a shirt makes him itch in several places. He wants to kick off his shoes, put his feet on the table and drink a beer.
"We'll go tomorrow, or next week. I'm tired." If looks could kill, he'd be a pile of ashes. "Come on Lav, I'm tired."
"You promised." There's a slight whine in her voice and it makes the back of his neck crawl.
"Yeah, I know." It's a lie, he can remember no promise, but he knows better than to argue with her. The more he disagrees, the longer it will take to open that bottle of beer. "I'll make it up to you. Why don't you just go alone? I won't be any fun anyway."
"You're not serious." But he is. And he knows that she can see it in his face. "We've talked about this for weeks. We're meeting Parvati and Terry, and Padma with her new boyfriend."
It's not fair and Seamus knows it, but the prospect of meeting the Patils, their significant others and God knows whom else in a fancy restaurant, drinking wine instead of ale and eating something that comes in tiny helpings makes Seamus's stomach churn. He wants booze and greasy food and sitting on Dean's couch in boxers.
"I'm not up for going out today." He goes to the kitchen and gets himself a beer, wondering if there's enough bread left for a decent sandwich. "We can go tomorrow, or next week."
"Merlin, I'm sick of this," she says and picks up the handbag. It doesn't even have a sling, she'll have to carry it the whole evening. He wonders if that doesn't annoy her.
She takes something from the coffee table. "I'm going. Here, take this instead. Arrived today. Put it on your nightstand along with the others. That'll cheer you up better than I could ever do."
She throws something at him, it lands at his feet. He picks it up and turns it in his hands. It's a card from Dean. "Tahiti," Seamus mutters, "nice one, mate."
He's smiling and wants to apologise. But when he looks up, Lavender is already gone. He didn't hear her leave.
Seamus is sitting on the floor, next to a bag full of clothes. He has a pair of denims in one hand, his favourite t-shirt in the other. It's the one Dean gave him for his birthday five years ago. It's an ugly green thing that says 'I'm not a Leprechaun, I'm just Irish.' When the door opens and Lavender enters the room, he looks up at her.
"You're going to look for him, aren't you." She doesn't sound surprised, just resigned. He understands it, he wouldn't put up a fight either if he was her. He's been a moody and miserable git, lately. He's disgusted with himself and wonders what went wrong.
He nods. "I have to."
She sits down beside him on the floor. She doesn't talk at first, just puts her head on his shoulder, a gesture that is almost too intimate and far too kind, considering that he is about to leave her to look for his best mate. "You won't come back," she says without raising her voice at the end of the sentence; it isn't a question.
"Not like that, no."
There is silence for a long time. Eventually Seamus lets go of the denims and takes her hand. "I haven't planned this. I don't know what to say. I'm sorry, Lav-"
But he can't finish the sentence. Lavender interrupts him. "Don't say that." She takes her head off his shoulder and now there is a hint of anger in her voice. "We never had a chance. I knew that from the start. I wanted it to work, but I gave up long ago. I know that I love you and that you love me, too, in a way." Her eyes are shining and Seamus wishes he could look away. "Don't you ever say you're sorry, though, because you're not and I won't let you lie to me."
Seamus shrugs helplessly and lets go of his shirt to wipe away a tear that runs down her cheek. She is right. He isn't sorry about his decision. He wouldn't go if he were. "I wish I could have been better," he says and he means it.
"Me, too, Seamus." She puts her hand on the back of his neck and tilts her head. Their lips meet in a soft, sweet kiss. It is chaste and Seamus feels the wetness from her tears on his cheeks. They've kissed more times than he can count, but this is the last one. It holds all the missed chances, the lost possibilities and the happy future they won't have. He's sad despite everything. He wishes he could be what she needs and that she could be what he needs. They part and Lavender lets go of his neck. She squeezes his hand and lets go of it as well. The distance between them grows and has nothing to do with physical space.
She stands and Seamus watches her turn around. Her silhouette is graceful and as always he is transfixed by her swaying hips and her slender legs. He does love her in a way. She just isn't... 'Dean' is the word that comes to his mind and Seamus shakes his head because he doesn't know what it means. Will he never be able to have a happy relationship because his best mate is more important? Or will it change when he sees him again? What a fucked up situation is that?
He sits on the floor with his half-packed bag for a long time, thinking just how much they all have changed and how much he sometimes wants to be back in fifth year when they all were innocent kids. But those years can't be wished away. And if he's honest with himself, he doesn't truly want it.
The postcard next to the bag reminds him of what he was doing and he picks up the t-shirt and the pair of jeans again.
Part two of the story