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Chapter Text

Seams found it difficult to concentrate on his schoolwork. All the words swam across his vision, dancing and swirling and causing his head to ache. He knew that lack of sleep was an issue, but every time he walked into the dormitory, glares were hammered into his skull. 

He scowled at the thought. Harry always thought he had special privilege because he ‘defeated’ You-Know-Who when he was a baby (there was part of Seamus that didn’t even believe that). Everyone had been thinking it, Seamus had just been the one to say it out loud. 

(The look on Harry’s face had made him falter a bit.)

His mum had been worried, which was a first, as sometimes (most of the time) she was slightly (very) drunk. She rarely acknowledged Seamus, so her concern for him overruled any guilt he felt. He hadn’t been kidding when he said that his father had a nasty shock, so nasty that he left a few days later and returned drunk. But he had been worried as well, so Seamus accepted their concerns and pushed back any feelings on the topic. 

Ron hated him now. Which was weird as he had hated Harry last year, during the tournament and Seamus had been more focused on wooing some French girls to pay much attention. Neville just ignored him, which wasn’t unusual, he had always been weird. But Dean, who was still his friend, was on his side. 

But he was pretending. 

It was obvious he wasn’t on his side, if the mean glances and angry scowls that were directed at him when they thought he wasn’t watching was anything to go by. Seamus and Dean had always been close, with Seamus meeting Dean for the first time on the platform. 

And Seamus falling in love with him. 

But Dean liked Ginny, so Seamus settled with being his friend. It was ending much sooner than he would’ve liked. 

Slamming his potions book closed with an angry thud, Seamus rested his forehead against the desk. It was hard to admit, but Seamus had always had trouble making friends. An angry Irish boy who caused accidental explosions when stressed. Dean had been his only loyal friend. 

And now he was gone. 

It was lonely. 

He left the library shortly afterwards, racing down the corridors. Hogwarts, usually quite warm seemed very cold suddenly. There were echoes of conversations warping around him like wind, brushing against his skin and sinking into his flesh. 

“Well, what do we have here? Seamus Finnigan all on his lonesome.” It was Justin, the stupid, blond Hufflepuff who also didn’t believe that you-know-who was back. Seamus hated him. 

“Fuck off.”

Justin leaned closer, “Is it true that you don’t hang out with the Gryffindors anymore?”

Seamus scowled, “So what?”

“Just thought that you’d like to know that we’d love to have you in our group,” Justin shrugged, like the offer of friendship wasn’t amazing. 

To be honest, Seamus has never really talked to anyone outside his house before, and right now, that might be what he needs. Hufflepuffs were the friendly house, right? And they weren’t push-overs if Cedric Diggory had been anything to go by (although he’s dead, so he might not count.)

“Yeah, alright,” Seamus said, trying to play it off. 

Justin squinted at him through slanted eyed before grinning again, “Great, we’ll be in the library, whenever you want to come.”

Seamus walked with him. The silence was awkward, which was weird because Seamus would’ve thought that a Hufflepuff knew how to make small talk. It was also slightly awkward because he had just left the library. 

He settled down at the table, sinking slightly into his chair as the other students stared at him. No one spoke to him, whispering quietly to themselves and looking at him.

“What?” He snapped quietly. 

Ernie glanced at him before grinning, “Why aren’t you with your Gryffindorks?”

“Because Justin invited me,” he replied. 

Justin hid a smile behind his hand and Susan giggled. Hannah rolled her eyes and huffed, “Ignore them.” Seamus awkwardly nodded back. 

Over the next couple of hours, Seamus learnt to things. 1) The loyalty and fairness that the hat spoke about? Only for the friends of Hufflepuffs, and 2) Honesty was brutally honest, like Slytherin honest, but about everything. It wasn’t cute badgers and rainbows; it was more like honey badgers (very violent) and rainstorms.

At first, Seamus liked it. They spent a lot of the time bitching over Snape and Potter and Umbridge, but then the conversation shifted. It shifted to racism (apparently Zachariah Smith really hated muggleborns and half-bloods, kind of like Malfoy) and apparently Justin’s parents had been some of those who had written about Lupin being a werewolf. To conclude, they all seemed like dicks. 

Seamus missed Dean. Seamus missed Neville and Ron. Seamus even missed Harry. And he couldn’t replace them with these people. Not with these people, who are only loyal to those who are loyal to them, those who value honesty, even if painful, and fair play, even if it means losing the war. 

Also, yellow really wasn’t his colour. 

Looking around at their bright, expectant faces, Seamus couldn’t help but feel like he was letting them down. And he hated it. He had no obligation to them, he wanted friends. He thought they wanted that too, until-

“So, we were wondering if you could spy on the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams for us.” Ernie said, leaning in slightly, “Ever since Cedric died, our new captain, Robert Queaty, has been pulling out all the stocks.”

“And, you think I’d do that because?” Seamus couldn’t help but ask. 

Justin rolled his eyes, “You hate Malfoy, we hate Chang. Win- win if they lose.”

Seamus frowned, “You don’t hate Malfoy?” 

“He’s a right tosser,” a boy named Joel said, “but, a useful one. His daddy’s got money, which, if you make the right deal, can get you anything.”

“You like Malfoy because he’s got money,” Seamus said, eyebrows raised. 

Danielle snorted, “The ponce doesn’t realise, of course.”

Seamus couldn’t help but feel bad for Malfoy in that moment. “Chang?”

“Right old slut that one,” Susan said, “We all think that she spelled Cedric into loving her. She’s a slag.”

“Right.” Seamus awkwardly muttered. 

He didn’t know what was happening and felt a building panic in his chest. He looked around anxiously and saw Anthony Goldstein, from Ravenclaw at a separate table, paper did spread out around him, reading it all frantically. 

“Hey look,” he said standing up, “there’s Anthony, I’m going to go say hi.”

He shuffled awkwardly over towards the Ravenclaws. They shifted their books to make room for him. Sitting down, he couldn’t help but feel stupid. None of them had spoken to him yet, but the silence felt stifling and condescending.

Since none of them were talking, Seamus decided to keep his head down and get on with some work. The only sound that surrounded them was the constant scratching of quills and soft huffs of frustration. Working on his potions essay, Seamus felt self-conscious of his writing, the weird spindly letters looking more and more stupid compared to the neat calligraphy of Lisa Turpin.

“Does anyone know what the correct temperature of Pepper-up potion needs to be?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.

No-one looked up but they all simultaneously answered, “Thirty-five degrees.”

“Cool.” He muttered as the table descended back into silence.

There was a scoff of disgust from someone, and Seamus felt the back of his neck flush in embarrassment. He ducked his head and continued to work silently, glancing back at the Hufflepuff table, but found they had left.

Seamus felt something bitter well up in the pit of his stomach and suddenly, he couldn’t stand to sit at the silent table. He got up and left.

The Ravenclaw’s didn’t look up.

The next day, Seamus sat down at the table again. The Ravenclaw’s continued writing but they muttered a greeting to him. Seamus felt something warm-up in his body and he had to bite down a grin.

It was still silent whilst they worked, but not as stilted and awkward as before. There was now a warmth to the table that hadn’t been there before, and Seamus found himself embarrassingly excited about it. After a while with still no talking, Seamus began to get restless.

He twitched. Terry glared at him, flipping over the page of his textbook and continued writing. Seamus scowled down at the table before slowly nudging Lisa Turpin. She looked up as well, pouted slightly, biting her lip between her teeth, and fluttered her eyelashes.

“Yes?” she whispered, twirling a brown strand of hair.

Seamus felt bad for what he was about to say. Lisa seemed nice enough, but Seamus was not interested. She was leaning against him slightly, breath hot and wet against his neck. Seamus leant back slightly.

“What’s the correct order in becoming an Animagus? Is it the spell and then the potion, or the other way?”

Lisa reared back and glared at him, before muttering, “Spell every day, sunrise and set leading up to the potion.”

“Thanks,” Seamus said back. They all glared at him.

They didn’t make room for him the next day.

Seamus was wandering the halls of Hogwarts like one of the ghosts. No one glanced his way, no greetings or smiles. He saw Har- Potter walking down the corridor, Ron and Hermione flanking him with piercing glares.

He looks tired, Seamus thought to himself. He caught Ha- Potter’s eye and took in the growing bags.

Seamus had been casting a silencing charm over his bed every night to avoid conversations with his dormmates, not that any of them tried to talk to him anymore.

Potter glared at him, so Seamus glared right back. There was something bitter in Seamus’s throat as the trio disappeared around the corner. There was a familiar rage bubbling in his stomach as Dean and Neville walked by without looking at him, heads together.

Harry Potter is a twat, Seamus thought, now that everyone knows he’s a liar he isn’t getting away with anything. No more rule-breaking that seem to vanish, oh mighty Chosen One. When all this is over, we’ll see who deserves it.

“Why are you crying?” a voice said from next to him, deep and silky.

“I’m not crying, Zabini,” Seamus said without turning around, quickly wiping his eyes.

Someone scoffed and Seamus hunched down. “You know we can see you wiping your eyes, right?”

Seamus turned around and glared at Greengrass, before staring. They were all here; Zabini, Parkinson, Malfoy, Greengrass and Nott. Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode stood further away. They were all watching him curiously (and slightly disdainfully, but Seamus had learnt to ignore it).

One of Malfoy’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hair- which was much better now that he wasn’t gelling it back, not that Seamus would admit it. “Right,” he drawled out, “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay because, quite frankly, I don’t care. I am, however, going to ask if you need someone to rant to, because you look like you’re about to catch on fire.”

He was caught so off-guard by the comment that Seamus forgot what he was angry about. He let out some unintelligible mumbles and stammered out a quick agreement. Malfoy looked like he regretted asking.

Parkinson snorted before turning and strutting down the corridor with a grinning Greengrass following behind, Malfoy and Zabini swaggered and sauntered respectively after them. Seamus was disappointed, which he really didn’t want to feel as they disappeared around the corner, in the opposite direction of the Gryffindors.

Looking back, he saw that Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode had disappeared as well, most likely during the conversation- if that’s what you could call it.

Soon it was just him and Nott left. The brunet sighed and shoved Seamus slightly, gesturing in the direction that the others had went. “Are you going or not?”

Seamus looked at him, shocked. “You want me to go with them?”

Chapter Text

When Seamus had first officially met Draco Malfoy, it had been outside the Great Hall when no one knew where the Transfiguration classroom was, on the first day of school. There had been an ever-growing panic throughout the first years as they all checked their timetables for clues. Then the crowd parted, and tiny, eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy sauntered through, head held high and the answer in his smirk.

They had all followed him.

Seamus saw that same boy now as he was led through the twisted passageways of Hogwarts. They didn’t talk but the pristine shoes of the Slytherins’ echoed throughout the corridor. Seamus’s were more muffled and were falling apart but he didn’t have time to be embarrassed.

Parkinson disappeared behind a tapestry -it was depicting some goblins fighting, was it the first goblin war? and Malfoy held it up for Seamus before letting it drop behind them.

“Lumos,” Parkinson muttered and soon the corridor lit up in white. They all trooped down the corridor. Nott stood behind Seamus, nudging him slightly as he begins to fall back.

Malfoy and Nott were murmuring to each other in another language, sounded like French- Seamus knew what French sounded like now, since Beauxbatons had arrived. There was a bitter boil of shame that was rising in his stomach, but before he could question what it meant, he was being shoved into a room.

It was beautiful.

The walls were a soft green with darker green curtain tied neatly with a cord beside the single window that looked out across the black lake. There was a black leather sofa with green velvet cushions strewn across it, like someone had stood up in a rush. In the corner was a wooden table with six chairs and a large pile of textbooks.

The candlelight was warm as it flickered across the room, casting shadows against the darkening sky outside.

It was beautiful, and Seamus didn’t belong.

The first thing Seamus learnt about the Slytherins was that Draco Malfoy may seem to be in charge, but it was Pansy Parkinson doing the behind-the-scenes work.

This wasn’t as surprising as it should’ve been, Seamus had learnt long ago that girls had more power than they let on. Draco Malfoy may have been the prince, but Pansy Parkinson was the queen.

Nott had pushed Seamus into the sofa and had settled down next to him, talking softly to Greengrass who was already taking notes. Seamus couldn’t hear what they were saying over the roaring in his ears and sinking in his stomach.

It was just like the Hufflepuff’s and Ravenclaw’s again. They didn’t want him here.

He didn’t want to leave.

“Lovely place you have here.” He stuttered out awkwardly, before flushing red and sinking down into the cushions and hoping that he’d disappear.

They all turned to him instantly. Zabini smirked from where he was sitting next to Malfoy. “Thanks,” he said wryly, like he was trying not to laugh, “we tried.”

Malfoy hit him lightly on the shoulder before turning back to Seamus. He was smiling softly, which was the oddest expression that Seamus had ever seen. “Sometimes the common room gets too crowded and there’s nowhere to study.”

Seamus knew that feeling all too well. He could feel eyes looking at him every time he was in his common room, in the bedroom, in that hallway, in the classroom. He was paranoid, but it made him itch and hunch down in shame, knowing that the stare was disapproving.

Knowing that Dean was disappointed in him.

“Right,” Parkinson said, sitting next to him delicately. She smoothed down her skirt and then faced him “What’s up with you?”

Seamus shrugged awkwardly, trying to avoid her eyes, not wanting to see if she could tell that he was lying. It didn’t work and he flinched when she lay a hand on his knee.

“They hate me,” he said, “and I know it’s my fault. I know that Harry, or-um- Potter, is probably right, I know he wouldn’t lie about You-Know-Who being back. But I don’t want him to be back- my mother doesn’t want him back, and she takes my dad back after he spends all our money on alcohol, and we’re probably not even going to be affected by him!”

Malfoy went to say something but Zabini placed a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

Now that Seamus had started talking, he couldn’t stop. “It’s lonely, Gryffindor is on his side- which he truly needs, you know, he deserves to have someone on his side. I guess it makes me selfish, and a coward. I’m not a Gryffindor, I’ve never felt like a Gryffindor.”

“We all need to be selfish sometimes,” Parkinson said.

“Harry isn’t selfish,” Seamus whispered.

“He definitely is,” Malfoy said, “He’s selfish and arrogant. He looks at the whole picture instead of the individuals.”

“He doesn’t.”

Nott snorted, “He totally does. He seems selfless, taking on the world’s problems as his own, but in the aftermath, when all this is over, it’s inevitably selfish.”

“Is that what you guys do? Focus on the aftermath instead of the journey?” Seamus was sitting up straighter.

They all glanced in silent communication before Greengrass sat on the sofa arm, resting her hand on his shoulder. “We’re the bad guys in this war, nothing would change that. We need to know when to cut our losses, or-” she glanced around at the others, “or, rise in power. Which means we must be selfish, because no-one will do it for us.”

It was interesting, Seamus realised, that Slytherins were perceived as powerful and self-sufficient, but looking at them now, curled up in their tiny room, they didn’t see powerful.

They seemed scared.

Sometimes, when Seamus had walked to class, he had noticed that Slytherins never hung out with other houses. They were usually alone, hunched down to turn invisible or standing tall to prove that they’re better than the eyes that wanted to put them down.

He sighed, “I’m sorry about you’ve been treated.”

They all looked confused. “What?” Nott asked.

“How you’ve been treated,” Seamus said, nodding at them individually, “I’m sorry that people see you as the bad guys.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Look, Finnigan. We’re arse-holes, we’ve always been arsehole, you don’t need to apologise.”

Seamus shrugged awkwardly.

“We’re not angry about our treatment in school when comes to our personality, what we’re angry about is when people see our parents in us. What we’re angry about is the houses been thrown into the real world, when people won’t hire someone because they’re a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin.” Zabini was rambling now- which was weird because before all of this, Seamus would’ve thought it was a monologue. “We’re angry about tiny Slytherin being sorted and booed and living the rest of their lives like there is something wrong with them.”

Malfoy tapped him lightly on the shoulder and Zabini stopped talking, sucking in a deep breath.

Blinking wildly, Seamus had to sit there and take it all in.

“So,” he said after a while, “let me get this straight. You’re arseholes but not evil?”

Parkinson nodded, “Pretty much.”

“Right.”

The next day, Seamus was allowed back into the room which was surprising. The night before, Malfoy had given him the password (‘Hubris’) with a pat on the head and told him that he could come back anytime he wanted.

Seamus had been worried that it had been a trick.

It hadn’t been.

He settled down at the table, letting the silence wash over him. It was different to the library, where silence was tense and any noise could gain the attention of everyone, all judging.

His books landed on the table with a thump and soon he was flipping through the pages and humming softly to himself. Someone sat down at the opposite side of the table. Seamus looked up and drew his books closer, trying to create less room.

Zabini looked up at the movement and rolled his eyes. “You can stay here if you want. We let you in for a reason.”

“Right.” He bit the tip of his quill awkwardly. Now that Zabini was in the room, the silence seemed more uncomfortable. Seamus tried to turn his page quietly but knocked his elbow against the table, making a loud rattle as the ink pot tipped.

Zabini glanced up from his parchment, flicked his wand, muttered something and then shoved his ink pot over.

“We can share,” he said, gesturing to the pot. Seamus nodded awkwardly, glancing at the now clean spot where he’d stupidly spilt his own ink.

A few moments later, Parkinson stomped into the room. It was odd seeing her that way, with her expression scornful and her hair messed up. She sank into the seat next to Zabini and slumped over until her head hit the table.

“Please tell me you guys will help me hide Umbridge’s body after I’m done with her.”

“Of course,” Zabini said, still writing on his parchment.

Seamus awkwardly looked up, “What did she do this time?”

“Ugh,” Parkinson groaned, “It was so annoying. She cornered me on the way here and started asking questions about the Dark Lord, you know? About whether or not he’s actually back.”

Seamus chuckled. “Well. It’s a good thing he’s not back then.”

There was silence.

Thinking it was odd, Seamus looked up to see two varying degrees of shocked eyes.

The door slammed open to allow a giggling Greengrass in, followed by Malfoy and Nott. They all froze when Parkinson let out a choked wheeze.

“What?” Seamus asked, feeling slightly stupid. “The Minister said he wasn’t.”

“The Minister of Magic is a twat,” Malfoy said solemnly, settling down on the sofa. “What are we talking about?”

“Finnigan doesn’t think that the Dark Lord is back,” Zabini said, closing his textbook with a thump.

Seamus felt like curling in on himself when they all looked at him. They weren’t disgusted, but it was a pitying look, like Seamus was too stupid to understand something.

“Finnigan,” Greengrass said softly, “do you honestly think that Potter would lie about something like this?”

Seamus thought back to first year, when Harry had lost over 150 house points for Gryffindor but still saved the day. Second year when he’d been accused of being the Heir of Slytherin yet still went to save Ginny Weasley. In third year when Sirius Black was after him, and fourth year when he entered into a life-threatening competition.

Truth be told, Seamus hadn’t put it past Harry to enter into a life-threatening competition for attention, especially when wrong also believed the same thin. It had to be true, if Ron and Harry hadn’t been talking. And then Ron apologised to Harry and Seamus was left behind, again.

(Seamus wanted to go with Dean to the Yule Ball, but Dean had asked Lavender.)

Then Cedric Diggory died, and Harry was screaming about You-Know-Who being back, and all Seamus wanted was a normal year.

Although, part of knew Harry couldn’t fake tears like that.

“No,” he finally answered, “I don’t think he’d lie.”

Malfoy nodded to himself from the sofa. He smiled grimly at Seamus. “Let’s just say that we hate to agree with Potter on anything.”

“So, he’s really back?” Seamus was clenching his quill so hard that it was digging ink into the parchment like a growing puddle.

Greengrass nodded. “He’s really back.”

Shit.

Chapter Text

Shit. Oh no.

There was a tightening in his chest, clawing down his throat and tightening around his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

Someone was breathing rather was breathing rather loudly, large irregular breaths that echoed around his mind. Dizzily, Seamus wondered who it was, it obviously wasn’t him, he couldn’t breathe.

Oh God. He was back.

There were voices. Shadows. Whispers. Words that sounded familiar softly fading into the background of the loud drumming he could hear. Was it his heart trying not to give out?

“Finnigan?” A voice said. 

They were closer now. 

He felt the ghost of something warm trickle over his arms and leant forward to follow it.

He was so cold.

“Finnigan?” He wanted Dean.

“Seamus?” Another voice, deeper and firmer. “Can I touch you?”

He wanted the warmth.

He nodded. He wasn’t sure if managed to move his head.

Someone was touching him, wrapping their arms around his shoulders, and pulling until he landed against something solid. It was warm.

A noise louder than his thoughts worked its way through his mind, clearing away the fog. A beat, an easy to follow rhythm. He tapped it out on his knees.

“Breathe with me.”

Breathe? Oh, yes, he forgot he needed to do that. He tried to follow the beat, tapping, and breathing.

Soon, he came back. The classroom was blurry to him and he had to wipe at his eyes a couple of times until it cleared. He fell back into the solid mass and let out a slightly manic chuckle, before looking up again.

Pansy Parkinson was peering at him, countenance slightly pinched and arms crossed tightly over her chest. Behind her, Greengrass, Malfoy and Zabini were staring at him, expressions varying degrees of sympathy.

(Why were none of them pitying?)

“Are you okay?” Nott asked, moving his arms from around his waist. Seamus nodded slightly guilty.

Malfoy passed him a piece of chocolate.

Nibbling lightly on it, he managed to wriggle his way out of Nott’s arms, who got the hint and moved away. He settled down with a sigh and finished the chocolate off. “Thanks,” he said.

Parkinson sat down next to him. “Finnigan,” she said softly, “We’re sorry for upsetting.”

Malfoy nodded, “We thought you were just trying to cut down Potter’s ego.”

Seamus grinned and asked, “Cut down Harry’s ego? Well, I never.”

“Yeah,” Greengrass said, smiling as well, “We all hate the Prophet here.”

Humming, Seamus nodded. His mam really liked the Prophet, the propaganda, it made her feel safe. Like when his dad hit her and then told her that he loved her, gave her a reason for everything and kept her going. 

He looked at the Slytherins and felt angry, angry that these stuck-up, spoiled brats didn’t need the news to protect themselves. They had money. They had power. Then he thought about Harry, who did whatever he wanted, no matter the consequences. He had money. He had power. He didn’t need the Prophet to feel safe, he had Dumbledore.

If he could forgive Harry, he could forgive these guys, who had done more for him as a person than Harry had in the four years that they had known each other.

“I think I hate the prophet too.” Malfoy let out a chuckle and handed him the rest of the chocolate bar. 

Zabini was back to his books, burying himself amongst the text and the parchment, but looked up and smirked when he caught Seamus looking at him. 

“You can call me Seamus,” he said, feeling himself blush and shoved the rest of the bar into his mouth before he could say anything else.

No one moved and he looked up to see them all looking at him and smiling- white and blinding.

“Okay, Seamus! Call me Daphne!” Gree- Daphne squealed, patting him on the head.

“Seamus,” Malfoy said, “You can call me Draco- I guess.” He shrugged awkwardly.

“Seamus. Pansy.” Pansy said and smoothed down imaginary wrinkled in her skirt.

 “Blaise,” Blaise said, not moving.

“Theo.” Seamus looked at him and grinned when he blushed. 

Seamus then frowned as he looked at all their smiling faces. One by one they frowned as well as they waited for him to talk. With a sigh, he stood up, stumbling slightly.

Pansy lurched forward to catch him, and both her and Theo settled him back onto the sofa.

“No,” he said, pushing at their hands, “No. I need to apologise to him.”

“To whom?” Daphne asked, peering at him with worry.

Seamus didn’t which to react to, whom or the actual question. “Harry,” he said, deciding to ignore their posh grammar.

“You want to apologise to Potter?” Draco said, sneer curling the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” Seamus said, firm.

The Slytherins looked at each other, trading secret glances. Seamus bit back a surge of longing at the glances, wishing he could still do that with Dean.

They seemed to be debating over whether he should go and apologise to Harry or not. Seamus was flattered really, until he remembered he could do things by himself.

“Look,” he said standing up again, shrugging off hands and shooting the attached people a look, “I appreciate what you’re doing, but our fight is mostly my fault. I need to apologise for it.”

Draco scoffed, looking over to Blaise and frowning when he rolled his eyes. Seamus shot him a glare before making his way over to the door.

He looked back and smiled softly at the concerned and weary looks they were throwing him. “Thanks,” he said, “and I’ll be okay.”

Apologising to Harry was hard when he couldn’t find the arsehole.

Every time Seamus saw him, Harry and his friends were vanishing around the corner. Other times, Harry just vanished into the crowd amongst the black hair and brunettes and blondes.

Instead, Seamus focused on finding Ron. It would be much easier to track him with his hair lighting him up like a beacon.

Soon Seamus managed to corner Ron as he was coming back late at night. He was muddy and panting. When they saw it each other, Ron glared at him, trying to stomp past him and up to the dormitory.

Seamus had to scramble over the back of the chair he was sitting and stand in front of Ron with his hands firmly on his chest before the other boy stopped. 

Ron could be intimidating when he wanted to be. He was taller than all the fifth years and most of the sixth-year boys, and Seamus, being one of the shortest had to crane his head directly upwards so he could look him in the eye.

“What do you want Finnigan?” Ron said, eyes boring into him.

Biting down the sharp pain he felt at his last name, Seamus replied. “I just want to talk to Harry.”

Ron let out a disbelieving wheeze. “Yeah, no.”

“Come on. Please?”

“Why?” Ron asked, sneering. It wasn’t as good as Draco’s. “So, you can make fun of him? Call him a liar? The answer is no Finnigan.”

There was movement on the staircase. Someone’s shadow stretched out across the room. “Ron?”

It was Dean.

Looking at him now, Seamus realised that he hadn’t fully looked at Dean since the beginning of term. Nothing had really changed in his appearance, but he looked worn out. Sad. 

Seamus genuinely wanted to wrap his arms around his waist and hug him until he was happy again. But Dean hadn’t looked at him in days. 

He suddenly felt cold.

Dean was still looking at them, eyes flickering between them like he was trying to decipher a code. Seamus scowled. Nothing about this conversation was hard to follow.

Ron made to move upstairs. “Hold on,” Seamus said, grabbing his arm and pulling.

Without moving, Ron stared down at him until Seamus let go. There was a slight flex of muscles beneath his shirt and Seamus had to look away.

When the last footsteps echoed up the stairs and Ron finally shut the door, Dean turned to Seamus with an unreadable expression.

They had never fought like this before. It had always been petty, pointless things that covered what they were truly feeling. It had never lasted for more than a day and was always promptly forgotten for something more exciting.

Like in first year, when the Golden trio were off solving mysteries and Seamus had been so entirely jealous. He had snuck out one night, dragging Dean with him, to the kitchens. They had got lost on the way back and had only gotten two hours of sleep. Dean hadn’t spoken to him until the troll incident (which had been the day after).

Like in second year, when Seamus had tried out for the Quidditch team but was told he wasn’t good enough (“Give it a couple of years and you’d make a fair beater!” Wood had said before dismissing all the seekers). Dean had told him that football was a much better sport anyway, but Seamus had been shit at than in primary school and had gotten so angry at Dean.

Third year when Seamus and Dean took Divination. Dean had enjoyed it, Seamus had not.

Fourth year when Harry had been selected for the tournament. They had had a massive fight over whether he had done it on purpose. Seamus had been delighted when Ron backed him up. Because if Ron said Harry had done it on purpose, then he must’ve done, right?

“Seamus,” Dean said, voice unnervingly flat, “Leave them alone.”

“What?”

“I said, leave them alone.”

Seamus hunched down slightly, making himself even smaller. He hated Dean’s disappointed voice. “Dean, I just want to apologise to them. Him.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Dean looked at him like he was seeing him for the first time. “Why the change of heart? You never change your opinions unless someone gives you solid proof that you’re wrong.”

Seamus swallowed. There was a small part of him that didn’t want to tell Dean about the Slytherins, that they had trusted him, and he was going to break it. 

But he needed Dean back in his life.

The Slytherins had always been a temporary solution. To fill the cracks that the Gryffindors had broken until they slotted right back in. Dean had left the biggest fault, and no one would ever be able to fill it.

“Well,” he said, “you see-”

“I’m surprised.” Dean cut him off, standing taller. “I don’t know what made you have a change of heart, seeing as you don’t have any other friends.”

“What?”

Wow. That- that hurt. A lot. 

“Come on Seamus.” Dean patted his shoulder lightly. “The only person you’ve hung out with at Hogwarts has been me.”

“So? We’re friends.”

Dean looked at him, partially annoyed but also sad. “I know.”

Seamus felt the corners of his eyes burn and hoped above anything else that Dean wouldn’t see him cry. “I miss you,” his voice was wavering and cracked noticeably over a few syllables. 

Stepping back again, Dean crouched down in front of him and looked directly into his eyes. “Seamus.” Could he sound any more patronising? “Are you only trying to apologise to Harry, so I’ll hang out with you again?”

That was one of the most insulting things Dean had ever said to him.

“Excuse me but what the fuck?”

Dean didn’t react to the anger but took a small step back. He started to make his way back up the staircase before turning back. “Come back when you have a proper apology.”

Seamus was left standing in the common room with the dying embers of the fire and a shaking rage in his body.

“Maybe he’s just scared,” Theo suggested the next day.

“Of course, he’s scared,” Pansy said, painting her nails a dark green. Raising her eyebrow, she gestured her brush at his feet and raised her other eyebrow.

Shaking his head, he turned to Draco and Blaise who were leaning way too close. “What do you guys think?”

Draco shrugged. “May opinion was to leave it, and I still stand by that.”

“Just give him time to cool off,” Blaise said, “and actually apologise to Potter.”

“Gross,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose.

“What?” Daphne turned to him. “The apologising part or the Potter part?”

“We all know it’s the apologising part,” Pansy giggled, blowing onto her nails. “He could never find Potter gross.

Draco went red. “Pansy!” he shrieked, before turning on a laughing Blaise, “You can’t say much, we’ve seen they way you look at Granger!”

Wide-eyed, Seamus looked at Theo, who was shaking so hard that the sofa shook along. “What?”

No-one would tell him what they meant, but soon it didn’t matter as the conversation derailed into which winner of the Witch Weekly’s Most Charming Smile deserved it.

“Please, he might’ve been an absolute wanker, but we all know it was Gilderoy Lockhart.”

“Of course, you’d say that Blaise. You do like blondes.”

Chapter Text

“So, I wanted to ask, what is going on between you and Pansy?”

Seamus wanted to back out when Draco asked Daphne that. Her eyes had widened, and her lips had parted in embarrassment. Her eyes flickered to him and she let out an embarrassed squeak before sinking back into the sofa.

Draco smirked at him and beckoned him closer. Uncertainly, Seamus crossed to them and sat next to Daphne. There was silence as they both looked him.

Seamus shifted uncomfortably before saying, “So, what is going on between you and Pansy?”

Daphne flushed a violent red and buried her head in her hands whilst mumbling something intelligible. Draco was shaking with laughter, his usually perfect hair falling into his face.

Suddenly, Daphne’s head shot up and she pointed an excusing finger at Seamus. “You can’t say much.”

“Why?”

Draco was nodding as well. “She’s right.”

“We’ll come back to you later,” Daphne said, pushing at his face with her exceptionally manicured nails. She turned back to Seamus before Draco could say anything. She pointed at him again. “What’s with you and Dean?”

Draco snorted before frowning when Daphne let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like ‘Blaise’.

Seamus, ignoring the tightening in his chest at the mention of Dean, spluttered and coughed. From the amused looks on the two blondes’ faces, he was also bright red. 

Sometimes he really hated his pale skin.

“Nothing.” He mumbled out, ignoring the cackle that Daphne let out.

“Sure.”

“Moving on,” he waved his hand in front of his face, hoping his face had calmed down. 

The two looked at him, gazes searching. He was sitting down now, watching as they wavered before sitting down as well.

“I really need to apologise to Harry.”

“I thought you already did that?” Draco asked.

“Did what?” Blaise asked, coming in behind them. Immediately, Draco brightened up, smiling bigger and wider and looking like a genuine child- or someone in love.

Seamus wasn’t as sure anymore.

“Seamus is still talking about apologising to Potter,” Daphne said, pointedly looking at Seamus. She turned back to her book, finally flipping the page she had been reading for the past ten minutes.

Sighing, Seamus settled back and tried to relax in preparation for the onslaught of questions.

“Why?”

It was always why. Why what? Why did Seamus feel like he was wrong? Why did Seamus hate the anger blazing in his dormmates eyes? Why was it that every time he looked at Harry, he felt guilt and regret and anger? Why did he miss Dean?

Why?

“I owe it to him.”

“No, you don’t.”

Seamus really did though. He owed Harry more than he wanted to admit. 

Harry was a rule-breaker, and sure, he was Dumbledore’s favourite (not that it seemed to matter in the grand scheme of things) but he was kind and brave and a Gryffindor through and through. He had saved everyone more than he generally owed them.

Harry didn’t owe anyone anything, yet he continued on, saving lives for the sake of saving lives and not wanting anything in return.

Seamus couldn’t do that.

Instead, Seamus was debating whether to apologise to him or not, for Dean. 

He was selfish.

He looked at the Slytherins in front of him and realised that this was their territory. Selfishness and ambition went hand in hand after all.

“I’m in love with him.” 

Seamus swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. Swallowed the feeling that they would hit him like the man he lived with, tell him he was wrong like his mum, both drunk and angry at the world and each other.

Angry at Seamus.

He was glad that none of them were religious. He didn’t want to disappoint another group of people.

Especially now.

“Gross-”

The first time Seamus had a crush on a boy was when he was six. It had been his neighbour, twelve-year old Daniel, who had a bike and was really good at football. Seamus had liked him, followed him everywhere. 

No one had minded then, not when he was that young. They had laughed it off, called Daniel his big brother. “Daniel isn’t my big brother,” he told his mum.

“I know,” she said back, carding her fingers through his hair. “But he can’t be anyone else. Not in this age.”

Seamus hadn’t known what she’d meant. He didn’t bring it up until he was nine.

He father first hit him when he was nine. Seamus wasn’t surprised, he’d been hitting his mum for years.

He just didn’t understand why.

“Dad? I held hands with Michael today.”

He never held Michael’s hand again.

When he was eleven and he got his Hogwarts letter, his mum had told him that the magical world was different.

“Can I hold a boy’s hand here?” 

She had smiled softly, sober for an instance. “Of course, A Thaisce, you can do anything you want to do.”

She hadn’t called him her treasure in a long time.

Then he met Dean.

Dean was in love with girls.

Seamus didn’t mind. Dean was willing to hug him. That was enough.

“- I can’t believe you like-”

“Boys?” Seamus suddenly interrupted, a bitter feeling stuck in the back of his throat.

Burning.

“No.” Draco was frowning now. “Potter.”

“Harry?”

“Yeah.”

Daphne was no longer pretending to read her book. “You just said you were in love with him.”

“No,” Seamus said, feeling overwhelmed and confused, “I meant I’m in love with Dean.”

What was happening?

Their expressions cleared.

What?

“Oh, thank Merlin!” Blaise said, slumping against Draco dramatically.

“What are we thanking Merlin for?” Pansy said, her heels clacking as she entered. “It better not be because you spilt ink on the carpet again and only just managed
to get it out.”

“No,” Daphne said, face flushing slightly as Pansy sat next to her, “we were worried that Seamus was in love with Potter.”

Pansy’s nose wrinkled. “Gross.”

Draco flung his arm out dramatically and pointed at her. “That’s what I said!”

Feeling less overwhelmed but still confused, Seamus said softly, “So, you don’t care that I like boys?”

“It would be pretty hypocritical of us,” Draco said rather dryly. His eyebrows were raised, and he pointed looked at Blaise.

“You’re all gay?”

“Not all of us.” Pansy was looking at him closely, hands tightening on her skirt. “I’m a lesbian, so is Daphne. Draco is gay. Theo and Blaise are bisexual.”

That was a new one. Bisexual.

Spotting the confusion on his face, Daphne quickly explained. “It means that they like boys and girls.”

“Who likes boys and girls?” Theo said, sliding into the empty chair at the table.

“You.”

“Ah.”

Blaise wrapped his arm around Draco’s shoulder and smirked. “I just like sex.”

Draco went red.

“That’s gross.”

“Cool” Seamus said. He wiped he sweaty hands on his trousers and relaxed. “Cool.”

Walking down the hallway with his friends knowing he’s gay was freeing. They never really spent time together in crowded locations- it was an unspoken rule, but when they did hang out, it was nicer than before.

He saw Dean sometimes. Whenever they locked eyes, Seamus always looked away first, flushed and awkward.

Tensions were rising in the dormitory as well. Ron wasn’t talking to him but was very upfront and aggressive whenever Seamus was nearby. Dean would always
pointedly look at Harry before shaking his head in disappointment when Seamus yet again failed to apologise. 

It was harder than he thought, trying to apologise. 

It was awkward and embarrassing, especially when Seamus could barely look Harry in the eye. 

More often than not, he kept his head down in hopes that it would blow over.

He no longer read the Daily Prophet.

He no longer spoke to his mum.

It didn’t matter anyway.

She never really wrote.

It didn’t matter.

Sometimes it mattered.

Transfiguration was a nightmare and a fever dream wrapped in one pink bow. Literally. Umbridge’s pink bow had been so obnoxious.

Seamus really hated her.

It was interesting how everyone forgot their differences when it came to Umbridge. A mutual hatred that boils up whenever she talks, laughs. 

That night, after the mess of a transfiguration lesson, Seamus and Harry spoke to each other. Small and awkward but a start.

“I hate her,” Harry said.

“Me too.”

“She wears too much pink.”

“She does.”

The next morning, Seamus couldn’t look Harry in the eye. Harry smiled sadly but left him in bed. He had a detention to recover from.

“Is this world okay with homosexuality?” Seamus asked Draco when they were doing their potions homework.

Draco shrugged. “It’s less of a ‘men can’t be in love with other men’ and more of a ‘the family needs an heir; we don’t care what you do afterwards’.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Draco looked at him and smiled. “I’m engaged to Astoria Greengrass.”

“Not Daphne?”

“Theo.”

“But Theo likes girls and boys. So, it’s alright for him but not Daphne.”

Draco stopped writing and turned to face him fully. He rested his chin on the back of his hand and smiled softly. “He met a lovely French lady, Romaine. He’ll probably marry her instead. Pity she’s a half-blood.”

Seamus felt his chest tighten. “I’m a half-blood.”

Placing his hand on Seamus’s shoulder, Draco’s features soften into sincere regret. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that Theo’s family is like mine, pure-blood supremacy is their family moto. It’ll be hard for him to convince them to let him marry Romaine and not Daphne.”

Seamus wasn’t entirely sure that he believed him, but he let it go.

“What about Pansy and Blaise, who are they engaged to?”

“Each other.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Draco’s voice cracked slightly.

“Because you and Blaise are together?”

“What? No- no. We’re not together- not together at all.” Draco was now bright red and was flailing his arms around to emphasise his point.

“Okay,” Seamus said disbelieving and with humour.

Draco scowled at him.

Another day, another DADA lesson.

Seamus groaned as he copied chapter two onto his parchment for the second time, hand covered in ink and aching. Looking around, he saw that most of his classmates weren’t faring any better.

What was worse is the fact that a lesson with Umbridge meant a lesson with Harry. Harry and Umbridge did not mix well at all.

It was interesting for Seamus to watch Harry and Umbridge. Harry was every professor's favourite, other than Snape (but Snape hated Gryffindor so that wasn't surprising), so watching him and Umbridge come to blows was amusing. Most of the time.

Sometimes, Seamus felt as though Harry was doing it deliberately. Those days, Seamus felt slightly better when Umbridge gave Harry detention. Only slightly.

It was a small scoff here, a cough there. Harry was constantly moving, the tension rising beneath the surface like boiling water. If it had been any other teacher, they would’ve ignored him, but Umbridge had a temper that rivalled Harry’s.

It was just a matter of who snapped first.

It was Umbridge this time. Surprising that it was, but not all that shocking.

“Mr Potter, stop that incessant moving right now!” She said, her voice high, breathy and reaching an ear-splitting octave.

Harry stilled. He looked at Umbridge. Seamus felt his breath catch and he hoped that Harry wouldn’t make it worse. But it was Harry, obviously that wouldn’t
happen.

“Sorry Professor,” Harry said, leg beginning to shake again, “I was trying to stop myself.”

Umbridge narrowed her eyes. “Stop yourself from what?”

“From walking out this lesson.”

“And,” Umbridge said, voice lower and sharper, “why would you need to do that?”

“Because we’re not learning anything. I wanted to go and find a competent teacher. Like Professor Lupin.”

“Professor Lupin was a danger to this school!” Umbridge shrieked.

“He was the best teacher we had!” Harry yelled back. Ron was kicking Harry’s chair furiously, but it did nothing.

“Mr Potter! Another week worth of detention.”

“Jesus Christ,” Hermione whispered behind him.

Yeah, Seamus thought, watching Harry storm out, Jesus fucking Christ.

Chapter Text

Even if he and Harry weren’t friends anymore, Seamus didn’t like it when people talked badly about him. Because people were loud in their disgust and distaste, glaring at Harry as he walked down the corridor.

There was a hunch in his shoulders as he tried to make himself smaller, eyes flickering from person to person. Harry was becoming paranoid.

Then there was Umbridge. Honestly, Seamus wanted to punch her in her flat toad-like nose. Harry almost did on multiple occasions, loosing house points and gaining detentions.

Gryffindor’s watched in annoyance as the rubies in the glass slowly trickled away.

One person Seamus didn’t expect to talk bad about Harry was Cho Chang. But, as he was walking down a dimly lit corridor towards Divination, Seamus overheard her.

“I think he likes you,” her friend said. She had thick curls that looked like she hadn’t brushed her hair.

“I know,” Chang said, tone less fond and more mocking. “He isn’t exactly subtle about it.”

“Are you going to do anything about it?”

Chang flicked her black hair over her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll probably see if I can get anything out of it.”

Seamus almost walked up to them then, but Chang’s shoulders suddenly slumped and she looked like she was about to cry. Her friend wrapped her up in a hug.

“Oh darling,” she cooed softly, “I know.”

“I was going to marry him, Marietta!” Cho let out a choked wail that made Seamus wince.

“I know,” Marietta hugged her tighter, “I know. But Potter could help you get back on your feet. It might give you more confidence if you date then dump him.”

“I don’t think I could do that to him.”

Taking a deep breath, Seamus deliberately stepped out and into the eye-line of Marietta. The girl tensed, quickly pushing Cho away with a flushed raising steadily on her cheeks.

Interesting.

“Don’t mind me,” Seamus said, trying to sound casual, “I’m just going to Divination.”

“How much did you hear?” Marietta hissed, sounded pissed.

“Nothing! I didn’t hear anything.” Seamus tried to walk past, but Marietta’s well-manicured hand grabbed him on the shoulder and pulled him back.

“Liar.”

Seamus hurriedly put his hands up in surrender. “I swear I didn’t hear anything. I just saw you hugging.”

Marietta’s grip tightened. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Cho flinched at the venom in her command. Seamus felt bad for her as he hastily nodded in agreement. Her grip loosened and the pressure left his arm as she dragged Cho down the opposite way. Frowning, Seamus rubbed at his shoulder, knowing it was going to bruise.

“Are you okay?”

Dean’s hand brushed gently across his shoulder and Seamus felt himself tense up. Dean hadn’t touched him like that since fourth year.

“Yeah.”

“You sure? She had quite a strong grip on you.”

“I’m fine.” Seamus shrugged his hand off awkwardly. He hadn’t spoken to Dean for ages, avoided looking at him in the dormitory, moved to the opposite side of the common room- it was hard.

Seamus was definitely sure he was in love with him.

How stupid was that? Not knowing you were in love with your best friend until he was gone.

Sometimes, when Seamus stared at Dean, he hoped he would get uglier, that the feeling would disappear. But they didn’t. The longer he stared, the more that he could see.

The angular shape of his jaw.

The soft light bouncing off his hair.

His nose.

His ears.

His eyes.

His mouth.

Dean was still looking at him, something akin to pity in his gaze. His hand was still hovering in the air where Seamus’s shoulder had been before he slowly put it down again.

Now that they weren’t as close together, the air between them was awkward. The sky outside darkened and the first thump of rain hit the glass.

“I need to go to Divination,” Seamus said, not meeting Dean’s gaze.

“Me too.”

Right. They had Divination together.

Once Divination was over, Seamus fled the classroom at first opportunity. He clambered down the ladder, hands shaking when he heard Dean call his name.

The ladder had slowed him down exceptionally. Dean had followed after him and soon caught up.

“Why did you run?”

Seamus shrugged. “The classroom was getting stuffy.”

It had been. Trelawny was still predicting Harry’s death at every opportunity and it was getting tiring. Dean watched him with unreadable eyes. “I think we need to talk.”

In this moment, Seamus wanted to drag Dean to the Slytherins’ secret room, sit him down and tell him everything. But he couldn’t- didn’t want to- show him.

Instead, Seamus let Dean lead him down the dimly lit corridor. His hands were warm in Seamus’s and very slowly Seamus squeezed his fingers, trying not to smile too wide when Dean squeezed back.

They ducked into an alcove, hidden behind a gold laced, blue tapestry. Dean’s breath was hot against his head and Seamus’s nose brushed just below his collar bone. There wasn’t much space between them.

Dean was still unreadable.

“So,” Seamus started, still trying to ignore the proximity between them, “What do you want to talk about?”

“I’ve seen you.”

Seamus looked up. “Seen me what?”

“Talking with the Slytherins.”

A bubble of anger. Seamus took a step back but hit the wall. “Excuse me?” He hissed loudly.

Dean’s eyes were fiery, and nostrils flared. “Why are you talking to Slytherins?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? No one else is speaking to me!”

“Because you won’t admit you’re wrong?”

“Fine!” Seamus stamped forward until their chests brushed and jammed his finger into Dean’s chest. “You want me to admit I’m wrong? I’m wrong! About You-Know-Who! Nothing else.”

“Nothing else?” Dean let out a sharp bark of laughter. “That’s bullshit.”

“Maybe, but I will not apologise to you Dean Thomas, when you haven’t spoken to me for days.” Seamus felt his eyes burn and wiped away the first formed tears with the corner of his sweater. “You don’t deserve it. I’ll apologise to Harry, but not to you.”

Dean was still breathing heavily, watching the tears trickle down Seamus’s face. His hands were shaky as he reached out, but Seamus knocked back and ducked underneath tapestry and out into the corridor.

“Don’t leave.” Dean’s voice was shaking as well.

Divination had been the last lesson of the day, so the sun was setting beneath the horizon. The candles in the corridor had been lit and was softly glowing a warm orange. Everyone else was already in the Great Hall for dinner so the echoes in the hallway seemed more stifling.

Seamus could feel the portraits watching them.

“Please, Seamus.” Dean was close to tears. “I miss you.”

“Then why haven’t you been speaking to me?” Seamus ignored the way his voice cracked and hid his shaking hands beneath his sleeves.

“Like I just said. But we can move past that.”

“Can we?”

“I would like to.”

Watching Dean in front of him, Seamus noticed the tightened skin around his eyes and the frown lines on his forehead. Seamus just wanted to reach out and run his hands along his cheeks until he laughed, and the frown and tears disappeared. The candlelight illuminated his cheeks, dry.

Then, Seamus remembered all those times over the past few weeks. Those dim days at the beginning when no one would look at him, talk to him. When he tried to fit in with people who didn’t want him.

Those times when Seamus had caught Ginny and Dean kissing in the corridors. When he wanted to scream at the other boy that Ginny was just using him to make Harry jealous. Shake him until Dean was kissing him instead.

Like that time in third year.

“This was a mistake,” Dean had whispered back then, eyes dim and remorseful. Seamus had swallowed down the hurt in his throat and nodded, ignoring the breaking of his heart when Dean walked away.

Looking at him now, Seamus couldn’t bare to be near him.

“No,” he said. His voice was an echo in the corridor of ancient whispers. “Not today.”

He walked away.

He barely made it to the secret room before he started crying. Huge, heaving sobs that echoed loudly around the empty room. His mouth was full of water and salt and he could feel the snot dripping from his nose.

He couldn’t stop.

Not knowing how long he had been there, he finally wiped away the tears with his sleeves, before trying to move to the couch. His legs were shaking overwhelmingly bad and he all but collapsed on the sofa.

All his emotions had fled his body, leaving him a cold, dry husk.

The walls echoed and shadows flickered. There was a creak.

Laughter.

The Slytherins puttered into the room, chattering in their posh voices and moving in their graceful moves. He was instantly jealous and angry.

He didn’t look at them, not even when the silence became deafening. He knew they were watching him now.

“Seamus?”  A warm hand pressed against his shoulder blade as Daphne sat next to him. He finally turned around to find them all looking at him, warmth and confusion etched on their faces.

He felt the overwhelming loneliness he had felt after his conversation with Dean slip away. These people cared about him, even when they didn’t have to.

“Yeah?” He croaked out; throat raw from crying.

“Are you okay?” Draco’s forehead was wrinkled. Unlike with Dean, where Seamus wanted to smooth out the wrinkles until they disappeared, Draco’s wrinkles looked unnatural- like they shouldn’t be there to begin with.

They marred his perfect skin and Seamus felt undeserving of the imperfection. But it was there.

“I had a fight with Dean.”

“Again?” Draco was crouching in front of him, Theo and Blaise silent support behind him.

“It wasn’t really a fight. We both wanted apologies for different reasons.”

“Were you right?” Pansy asked. Her expression was dark, different from the steel-tinted smirk she usually wore. She looked ready to deck Dean.

“We were both wrong. He just won’t admit it.”

Daphne pulled him into a hug. He allowed himself to relax against her warm curves and inhaled the lavender scent on her uniform.

He hadn’t noticed that Blaise and Theo had disappeared, too wrapped up in the comforting warmth of Daphne and Draco and smiling at Pansy’s fire. But they returned with a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches and set it down on the table.

“You missed dinner,” Theo said when Seamus shot him a surprised look.

“Thank you,” Seamus said and bit into one, allowing the flavours to distract him from his thoughts.

As he ate, the Slytherins started up a game of ‘Why would you do that?’.

“It’s a game we invented in first year,” Pansy explained to him as he pushed his clean plate away and asked to join. “We have to lists. A list of people and a list of scenarios. We close out eyes and pick one from each list and have to explain how you and the selected person got into the scenario and then out of it.”

“Okay,” Seamus said, looking at the two sheets of parchment in the middle of the circle. “Whose going first?”

“I’ll go,” Pansy announced, delicately drawing the parchment into her lap. She placed the tip of her pointer finger at the top of the list of names and shut her eyes. “Tell me when to stop!” Her finger began to move down the parchment.

“Stop!” Theo suddenly yelled a few seconds later, causing Pansy’s eyes to snap open with a glare.

She peered down at the name beneath her finger a snorted. “Ginny Weasley.”

Then she repeated the same thing with the list of scenarios.

Feeling brave, Seamus said, “Stop!”

Grinning at him, Pansy looked down and her face crinkled. “Escaping Dumbledore’s office.”

“Okay,” Daphne said, leaning into Seamus slightly. “Pansy and Ginny Weasley are escaping Dumbledore’s office. Why?”

Letting out an exaggerated gasp that made Seamus smile, Pansy stood up. “I can’t believe I’ve never told you about this!”

“It all started when I was hungry one night and sneaking down to the kitchens.” She said it so seriously that Seamus could almost believe it happened. “There, just before I tickled the pear or whatever, I heard a noise. I turned around and, get this, Ginny Weasley was standing just behind me.”

She emphasises it with a nod of her head. “‘I’m just getting food.’ I told her. But did she believe me?” Here, she pointed at Theo, who shook his head negatively. “No!” She through her hands up in mock outrage.

“This bitch took me by the elbow and began to drag me down the corridor. ‘I’m telling Professor McGonagall,’ she told me. Of course, I pointed out that technically I was a prefect and she wasn’t, so she was most likely in more trouble.”

Seamus let himself be drawn into the story, picturing Pansy being herself and Ginny’s freckled face flushing a bright red in anger. Every time his thoughts began to drift, Daphne would laugh through his body or Pansy would move suddenly and he would be drawn back into the circle.

“So, there we were, both yelling insults, when the wall behind us began to move. Oh shit, I realised to myself, we had been arguing in front of Dumbledore’s office.”

Mock gasps of shock echoed around the room. Pansy’s serious expression cracked slightly but she continued on. “We both turned to leave but then we heard voices. It was Snape and Sprout. In a fit of panic, we fled up the stairs and into the office.”

“Was Dumbledore there?” Blaise asked, strangely serious. He was leaning forward, arm slung around Draco’s waist and the other palm up and with his chin resting on it.

“Conveniently, he was not.” Pansy said this like it was a lucky moment and not part of her made up story. “So, there we were, both shocked in Dumbledore’s office. But before, wither of us could move, his voice echoed from another room- most likely his bedroom. The door had locked behind us and the stairs were sealed. We were trapped.”

A tense hush fell over the room as they all waited for her to continue.

“Coincidentally, there were too columns on either side of his desk, so we quickly hid behind those. He came through, laughing!” She shook her head in disbelief at the shocking turn of events. Seamus felt the shock race through him as well and had to remind himself that the story was fake.

“He was laughing as Professor Trelawny came out of his room, wearing his robes.”

“What colour?” Draco asked, resting his head on Blaise’s shoulder.

“Yellow!”

They all laughed.

Seamus had never done anything like this with the Gryffindors. The closest they had come to something this was that time with the sweets that made random noises, but even that had been once. Harry had been angsty the next day and the night was ruined.

“So, Ginny rolled one of the gob stones she had stolen from his desk across the floor and back into the bedroom. The door had yet closed behind Trelawny, so, as Dumbledore went to check on the noise, we made a mad dash to the door and followed Trelawny down the stairs. We had to hide behind a statue so she could be ahead of us. We made an agreement to never speak of it again and went on our separate ways.”

As she ended the story, she curtsied. They all applauded her. Theo went next.

It was well into the night when it was Seamus turn.

“Stop!”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

Draco snorted.

“Stop!”

“And we are… Breaking into Ollivanders?”

“This will be good,” Daphne said, moving her head down to his lap so he could move his arms.

So, Seamus regaled to them the tale of how he’d broken Mr Malfoy’s wand, but had no money to buy him a new one. They had to break into Ollivanders to find him a new wand, which set of the alarm wards and summoned the aurors.

“I had repaid my debt,” he was saying, waving his arms around, “but I couldn’t let him go to jail, so I set fire to a cart of quidditch items further down the alley and they went to go deal with that, leaving MR Malfoy tied up and alone. So, whilst they were distracted, I untied him and he apparated us away, compensated me greatly and wished me a happy birthday. Which was rather nice of him.”

Awkwardly, he lowered his arms when he finished. Pansy laughed, and Seamus originally feared she was laughing at him, but the crinkles around her eyes that matched those around Daphne’s and Theo’s made him realise they had liked his story.

Then, Draco let out a loud yawn, followed by Blaise and then Daphne. With this, Seamus suddenly realised how tired he was. So, they all hugged each other sleepily and wondered off back to their dormitory.

It was only as the Fat Lady looked at him in disgust that Seamus realised how late it was.

When he got into bed, he could feel Dean’s eyes on him, disappointed.

Seamus fell asleep happier than he had been in a long time.

Chapter Text

Sitting in DADA, eyes bleary and closing, Seamus’s headache was rocketing through the roof.

Ever since the game they played, the Slytherins would play different games every night. Sometimes it involved drinking and betting and other assortments of ‘adult activities’ (Seamus won 123 galleons during ‘What House Am I?). But he was getting to sleep later and later, sometimes sleeping in the room.

Now, when he hadn’t even slept for three hours, Harry was pissing him off. Watching through his drooping eyelids at Harry’s ever reddening face, Seamus buried his head in his arms and waited for the inevitable fallout. There was a sigh beside him as Draco flicked to the next page (which was a disguised ‘Witch Weekly- Autumn Attire’ magazine).

Then the screaming started.

His head pounded when Harry’s chair scraped back against the stone floor. His groan was muffled when Umbridge’s voice reached pitches that only dogs could hear. Silence settled when Harry left with a firm slam to the oak door.

“Now,” Umbridge said, voice colder than Seamus had ever recognized, “let’s review chapter five. Mr Malfoy, if you would read it aloud.”

Draco quietly shuffled his books and stood up with the actual book opened on chapter five. Softly, he began to read aloud, voice echoing around the silent room. Slowly, Seamus closed his eyes and let the aristocratic tones send him to sleep.

When he awoke to the scraping of chairs, Seamus had to drag himself from his chair. Umbridge stood at the front of the room, lips pursed, and hands folded in front of her. When they were all stood up and standing behind their neatly tucked in chairs (Professor Umbridge was treating them like primary school children).

“Thank you, children,” she said patronisingly, “You my leave now.”

Mumbling and whispering amongst themselves, they leave the classroom. Seamus trails behind his classmates, glancing between Dean and the Slytherins, unsure who to look at.

Pansy glanced back him, smiled and nodded down the hallway. That was the signal to meet them after dinner.

He could wait that long.

(He almost couldn’t.)

Dinner that evening was awkward, like always. Seamus sat by himself, hunching down over his plate and slowly shoving beef and gravy in his mouth. He had a specific seating arrangement now, where he could look over at the Slytherin table and watch them.

They would look back.

Dean had taken to obnoxiously moving whatever Seamus was reaching for just out of reach. He would- in the most insincere voice possible- ask the person next to him if they wanted any before placing it further down the table. It was slowly verging from passive aggressive to plain rude, and Seamus was slowly getting tired of it.

This evening, Seamus didn’t bother asking anyone to pass him anything and instead reached over himself. As he sat down with the plate of potatoes, he heard Dean scoff.

“What?” he asked sharply.

Dean narrowed his eyes. “That was rude, what you did. You should’ve asked me to hand you it instead of leaning over Beth’s plate.”

Seamus sneered before turning to Beth who was staring, wide-eyed, at her plate. “Sorry for leaning over you like that.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, “can I have them now?”

“Sure,” Seamus said, quickly giving himself five potatoes before passing it to her.

The small, antagonistic bubble they were in fell silent as they avoided each other’s gazes.

(But as they left, Beth smiled at him and softly told him good night.)

(The Slytherins were outraged.)

The first weekend of October was cold and brisk, a cold wind from the mountains warping around the buildings in a blanket of frost. It was a still day, with a still wind and sharp air. There were no clouds in the bright blue sky, no snow, but the mountains were dark against the skyline.

It was the first Hogsmeade visit.

Seamus had to pull himself from bed that Saturday morning, just as the sun made its way over the horizon. He was meeting the Slytherin’s early in hope that he could get to Hogsmeade before anyone could see him. The other boys in the dormitory were still asleep, but he could tell that they would be waking soon.

He got changed silently in the dark, pulling on his Gryffindor jumper and loose trousers before opening the door as silently as he could. He wasn’t the only one up, but they were still tired, so no one spoke as they walked to the Great Hall.

The castle was cold in the morning, torches burning low as their magic ran out for the day. Frost was forming on the outside panes of the windows and as they drew closer to the Hall, the castle got considerably warmer.

There was a low murmuring as they sat down to eat. Blaise and Draco were leaning heavily against each other, and Seamus bet, Draco would be falling asleep soon. Pansy caught his eye and winked before shoving an apple in Draco’s hand and rousing him.

Someone sat next to him.

“Good morning,” Beth said softly, wrapped in a Hufflepuff jumper.

Seamus looked at it before smiling. “Good morning.”

Neither of them spoke much during the rest of their breakfast, just small pockets of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ as they passed things to each other. When Dean walked in, Seamus stood up. They passed each other on the way out, but Seamus didn’t look back.

(He didn’t want to know.)

He passed Harry, Ron and Hermione as well. The latter two stepped in front of Harry, but all Harry did was smile softly at him before turning away. Seamus looked back.

(He needed to know.)

He made it back to his dorm without any other encounters and shrugged on his winter cloak. It weighed heavily on his shoulders as Seamus walked to the entrance of the castle, where the students were gathering to be allowed to go to Hogsmeade.

Professor McGonagall and Filch were there, taking the permission forms and signing people off on their list. Seamus pulled out the scrunched piece of paper from his cloak pocket, his mother’s signature scrawled in her drunk handwriting.

The way this year was going, it wasn’t going to be legible soon.

With a resigned sigh, he handed it over to McGonagall who looked it over with her terrifyingly perceptive eyes before she marked his name on the parchment and handed it off to Filch. She didn’t dismiss him immediately, instead she turned the sharp gaze to him, where she must have found something as she then gestured him onwards.

As he walked out of the castle gates, the cold iron covered in a small dusting of frost, his breathe fogged out in front of him. Crunching underfoot, he continued down the path until he came out onto the main road, going in two directions.

Like everyone else, he turned right.

(No one knew what happened when you went left.)

This was his first time walking the path alone. It was quite, serene, like he was all alone in the world. But then the ache came, deep in his chest and building up stronger when he watched pairs and groups walk ahead, talking and laughing.

Before he could become too lost in his thoughts, there was a light tap on his shoulder. He span around, hand pushing in front of him and contacting the soft body behind him.

“Hey!”

Seamus opened his eyes and looked down at the scowling Pansy. The others were snickering behind her.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling. He held out his hand for her to take and pulled her up. “You surprised me.”

“Well,” she sniffed haughtily, “I guess I can forgive you.” Giggling, Daphne touched her arm and linked them together. She smiled at Seamus.

Theo wrapped his arms around his shoulders and began to drag Seamus ahead of the others. “Come on,” he stage-whispered, “If we don’t hurry, Pansy will buy out the entire sweet shop.”

“Wow, rude!”

Seamus laughed with his whole body, curling into Theo like a puppy. Theo ruffled his hair with a grin. Further behind them was Draco and Blaise who were standing extremely close together, hands brushing and shoulders touching.

“They’re always like that,” Theo said, voice low in Seamus’s ear. “We’re just waiting for them to figure it out.”

“They like each other?” Seamus asked, even though he knew the answer.

“Of course, but it’s more than that. It’s not love, either. It’s mature, potent.” Theo sighed. “I fear that the slightest crack may fracture the relationship faster than Potter’s glasses.”

Snorting, Seamus glanced back at them. “They’ll be fine, I think.”

Theo squeezed his shoulder in response.

They finally arrived in Hogsmeade village. All the shops were open, doors welcoming, windows bright. The mingling smells from shops and cafes created a comforting sense of home.

Seamus saw Beth and another girl in a Gryffindor jumper sitting by a fountain. The fountain was pale, white marble with a running water feature that was letting off steam. Seamus ran his fingers through it as they walked by, letting the warmth bring him back.

“So,” Daphne said, coming to a stop beside a shop selling hex bags and voodoo dolls, “Where do we want to go first?”

“Should we shop first?” Blaise suggested, admiring some of the hex bags.

“Sure. Are we sticking together? Or…?” Daphne eyed Blaise and Draco, who were slowly getting engrossed in their shopping. “Splitting up it is,” she declared and grabbed Pansy’s hand.

“You coming with us?” Pansy asked as she linked their fingers together.

Theo and Seamus shrugged simultaneously. “Much better than being left with them,” he said, jerking his head at Draco and Blaise who were leant close together and murmuring softly.

It was mostly Pansy and Daphne who did the shopping, dipping in and out like fluttering songbirds, dumping their bags with Seamus and Theo before flitting to the next store. Sometimes, Theo would buy something, a trinket, a book, a pen. Seamus didn’t buy anything at all.

“Tell me about Romaine,” Seamus whispered as they sat on a bench in a tiny, out of the way, alley.

“She’s beautiful,” Theo said, looking at his open palm like he wanted someone to hold it, “like a wild cat. Fierce and brave, a prowler, a predator. She was the one who asked me to the Yule Ball, you know? Marched right up to me with messy, gold hair and fiery brown eyes, and demanded that I take her.” He suddenly looked at Seamus, eyes bright with tears and said, choked, “I feel in love so, so quickly.”

“How often do you talk?”

“Once a week,” Theo murmured. “We owl and I’m sending something to her this weekend.” He clutched at something in his pocket. “I’m scared that this war will take her from me, even though she’s in France. Her mother has a list of men that she thinks are suitable for her.” Theo suddenly growled in the back of his throat, “Men without a death eater as a father.”

Seamus didn’t know what to say. He kept forgetting that the Slytherins were blood purists and rich snobs. He could never picture Theo like them.

(Those men back home with their masks and guns and bombs. The echoes at night when all should be quite and the bone-deep chill when the news counts another death. Another and another.)

(Seamus thought he was at Hogwarts to escape the war. Not come face-to-face with another one.)

“If she really loves you like you love her, she’ll wait,” Seamus said instead. He didn’t reach out to touch Theo. He couldn’t now that he remembered.

He didn’t seem to mind though and smiled at Seamus gratefully. Pansy and Daphne’s voices grew louder as they walked towards them, more bags clutched in their hands. Pansy glanced at the red rings around Theo’s eyes in concern but shrugged it off.

“Come on,” she said, “We’re getting cold. Draco and Blaise said they’d meet us at the Three Broomsticks.”

They stood simultaneously, sharing quick, melancholy grins before leaving the peaceful alley way for the bustling main street. Beth and the girl were no longer by the fountain, gone into the throngs of students all clamouring for warmth.

Seamus would have to talk to her more often.

They piled into a corner table, giggling and shoving to get comfortable. Drack was squashed against the window with Blaise next to him, leaning in more than necessary. Pansy and Daphne sat in the opposite end, almost cuddling for warmth as Theo went to order their drinks.

Seamus sat next to Blaise and let his body heat seep into his.

As he placed the tray of butterbeers in front of them, Theo settled down with a sigh on the other side. He clutched at the tanker and took a deep sip before saying, “I saw Thomas and female Weasley over there.”

Seamus tried to look over as well, but there was a giant wooden pillar in the way. “Really?”

“Yeah, they were making out.” He snorted into his drink.

“Gross,” Pansy sneered into Daphne’s shoulder and nuzzled against her neck like a drowsy kitten.

“Has he apologised yet?” Draco asked, concerned.

If only Harry saw this side of him, Seamus thought wryly. “No, and I don’t think he will.”

They all glared behind Seamus, like Dean would feel their rage through the pillar.

“You deserve better,” Pansy said, almost threateningly. “Like that seventh year Ravenclaw, very sexy that man.”

“Aren’t you gay?” Seamus asked, steadily ignoring his rising blush.

“I can appreciate artwork that I don’t understand.”

“Okay,” Seamus said, “tell me about him.”

As Pansy launched into an explanation about the shades in his eyes, Seamus felt his thoughts drift. Dean was here, in this very room, with Ginny Weasley. And here Seamus was, huddled in the corner with a bunch of snakes with jewels in their eyes. Dean could see him at any moment, confirm any suspicions he had and tell Harry. It was an open invitation for betrayal, but, as Pansy rambled on, Seamus was willing to take that chance.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean and Ginny leave hand in hand.

It didn’t hurt as much anymore.

(Seamus just missed his friend.)

That Sunday holed up in the room with the Slytherins, Seamus knew something was wrong. The other Gryffindors in the year were hiding something from him.

Seamus hadn’t even known that there was something happening behind his back until Umbridge put up her first act as High Inquisitor.

Student organisations must break up.

At first he understood when people were mad. He liked Quidditch, but a lot of non-quidditch players were outraged and casting glances at Harry like something was wrong.

The Monday stretched out long. Seamus fell asleep quickly that night.

Chapter Text

Being the only black boy in his primary school class – especially in the 1980s – had been difficult. Being the only black family in his village had been difficult. Being a black gay boy in the 1990s was worse.

Dean had spent his childhood trying to figure out who was right and who was wrong. He knew that he wasn’t dirty, that his mum wasn’t a sinner, that his dad deserved to work. He knew this, so it was hard to see things from another perspective.

The wizarding world didn’t care about race, or the colour of your skin, but Dean didn’t think he was exchanging one form of racism for another. Because he was no longer dirty for skin but for his blood, his magic.

In his first year at Hogwarts, it had always been Dean and Seamus. They had done everything together, two lost boys in a brand-new world. Harry and Ron were running around, saving the school, whilst Dean and Seamus had been learning potions and comparing football teams.

In his second year, he had heard the word ‘mud-blood’ for the first time, spat in his face by Theodore Nott as he tried to take the book that the other boy had needed. He hadn’t been surprised; he knew that it had been coming – but it had shocked him when it wasn’t about his skin at all. Because Hermione was white-passing, and Blaise Zabini was black, yet Zabini was the perpetrator.

(Something bitter within Dean wanted to put Zabini in the muggle world and let him face the discrimination there and let him hurt.)

Dean struggled to see things from another perspective, which is why he couldn’t understand this. Couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out why Seamus was spending time with the Slytherins. The Slytherins, who, until recently, had been bullying the Gryffindors relentlessly.

(Although, they didn’t seem to be doing it as often, nowadays.)

Dean knew almost everything about Seamus. About his mum and dad, his town, his muggle friends, everything. But this year felt off-kilter.

Seamus and Harry fell out and Dean was forced to choose sides between the two he never expected to. Because, as much as Dean loved Seamus, Harry was right. Seamus was stupid, taking the side of a mother who didn’t care for him over that of a friend who did.

Dean just couldn’t understand.

The wizarding world was both in the future and stuck in the past. It was a society that accepted coloured skin and differing sexuality but couldn’t accept someone with muggle parents.

Being the only two muggle born kids in his year in Gryffindor, Dean and Hermione had a weird friendship. It was based on discovering the wizarding culture together.

For example, in first year, when flying lessons had started, both he and Hermione had researched and researched. It had been weird at first, just the two of them, but then they had formed a research group and studied texts upon texts of flying history. Obviously, they had taken differing ideas from the research – Dean had grown excited whilst Hermione had only grown fearful.

Hermione had been the first person he came out to; he had called himself ‘gay’ when he was thirteen. The muggle world only acknowledged to sexualities, ‘gay’ and ‘straight’ – bisexual was a concept given to man whores and sluts, gay men who couldn’t bare to be gay.

When she had been fighting with Harry and Ron and grew tired of Lavender Brown, Hermione and Dean were closest in third year.

In all her research glory, Hermione had researched the concepts of sexuality in the new culture and had presented him with pages of notes with excitement.

(Dean didn’t want to read ten pages of homophobia.

“But it isn’t homophobic!” Hermione had exclaimed in an excited whisper. “It’s the opposite!”

“What?” Dean had gone into shock. Hermione detailed different sexualities and genders to him, but all Dean could think was that he was bisexual.

And that was okay.)

But had also made Dean angry. Because he had faced adversity for his skin and his sexuality, but one thing that had got him through life had been the colour of his blood, and the fact that it was the same colour as everyone else.

But now this brand new – awesome – world was coming for his blood.

For fourth year, when the emotional high was peaking with the Yule Ball, Dean  had wanted to take Seamus and kiss him softly under the mistletoe in soft candlelight.

Everyone was flitting like over-posturing peacocks and Dean watched Seamus do it as well – but not to him. Seamus took a third year Hufflepuff named Laura to the Yule Ball, so Dean took Lavender Brown and watched as Seamus slow danced in his black suit.

They had sent letters back and forth over the summer, Seamus in North Ireland and Dean in Manchester, but so close together. Dean had worried that summer, with the IRA getting more active and the six civilian causalities occurring in Loughinisland, two weeks before Seamus went home and only 14 miles from where Seamus lived in Saintfield.

But Seamus wrote back every week without fail, clumsy and enthusiastic like always and Dean wasted the summer away pining.

Then the Daily Prophet articles started to come out and Seamus had written, lost and afraid, saying that his mum didn’t want him to go back to Hogwarts.

(Part of Dean was surprised that Mrs Finnigan cared)

(Seamus had been waiting on the platform, looking apprehensive, with both his parents, sober and wary, looking around. Although he had seen him, Dean hadn’t wanted to talk at that moment, but Seamus found him anyway.

Seamus always found him.)

Then Dean brought up the articles and Seamus’s face had contorted, and the cracks began to show. Seamus was still unsure and barely spoke on the train.

There had been a commotion further down the train, but Dean stayed seated and watched Seamus curled up in the corner, sleeping with his head in his elbow.

Then Harry and Seamus argued. Dean and Seamus stopped talking. Dean’s life collapsed.

There was a strange burning in the pit of Dean’s stomach when he saw Seamus hanging out with Slytherins. He had felt it when he saw the weird Ravenclaw gathering and Hufflepuff get-together, but it was more intense – more dangerous – when Seamus was with the Slytherins.

How dare he?

Those people had made his life a living hell. Had made Harry and Hermione and Ron’s life miserable.

Dean did not like it one bit.

(But when he saw how happy Seamus was with them, he couldn’t confront him only to find that smile gone forever)