Seamus hated feeling jealous. It seemed like such a pointless emotion, which nothing especially good could come of. Luckily, he didn't feel it much; it wasn't one of his main vices. But how could he avoid it now? How could he stop his stomach from churning and his blood from boiling and his mind from reeling, when Ginny Weasley was dating Dean?
In the weeks since the two had gotten together, Seamus had dealt with a lot. He had to watch them holding hands, cuddling in the common room in the evenings, even kissing right in front of him, as if they didn't know how it was tearing Seamus apart. They didn't know, of course, and they never would, but that seemed beside the point. Even when Seamus was alone with Dean, all his best-friend-slash-hopeless-crush of over five years wanted to talk about was Ginny- how pretty her hair was, how nice she smelled, how perfect her bat bogey hexes were (Seamus had actually seen her perform the hex, and he grudgingly had to admit it was impressive). It was so frustrating! The worst thing, though, was when he drew her. Dean had been working on his latest sketch for several days, between classes and dates and mountains of homework. It was a picture of Ginny, standing on the Quidditch field with her broom in one hand and her hair flying in the wind. It was amazing, and it was unbelievably painful to look at. Seamus wanted to scream: 'Why? Why her? Why, after all these years, is she the one you chose- the one you want to draw and be with and talk about all the time?' But, of course, he kept silent. He would never jeopardize their friendship with something like that.
Some days were a little better than others. Some days, Seamus blew things up. It wasn't on purpose (usually); it just sort of happened. And one day it happened in potions class.
BANG! There was a flash of purple light and pricks of pain on his face and arms. When it faded, it left a ringing in his ears and the smell of burnt hair in the air.
"Mr. Finnigan!" Slughorn said with sharp exasperation.
"Sorry, professor!" he called back. He shot a wide-eyed look at Dean as the edges of the cauldron melted and dripped a little. Dean was laughing.
"That's your third cauldron this year," he said. "I pity your parents."
"Oh, shut up and pass me a cloth so I can get this stuff off my face."
"Wait, no!" Seamus raised an eyebrow at the exclamation. Dean grinned.
"Just hold on, alright? I've got to get the outline down." He opened his sketchbook to a fresh page and started drawing furiously. Seamus's eyebrows came together in confusion.
"You're sketching me?" Dean shrugged.
"Yeah, I do it all the time." Seamus's face wasn't sure how to respond to this information. His eyes widened further and his mouth quirked upward at the same time.
"I... never saw." Dean smiled.
"One second," he said, holding up a finger. He drew a few more lines and then handed the book to Seamus. "See now."
It was incredible. There were about a hundred pictures, if Seamus had to guess, with dozens of different subjects- owls, flowers, a few dragons, a cornish pixie, and many others. Much to Seamus's joy, there were only two pictures of Ginny. But more than any other subject, there were about thirty different pictures of Seamus. The first few were dated from first year, and there were at least three from every year since. Several depicted him with ash covering his face and his hair spiked up, clearly in the aftermath of an explosion like this one. Many others showed him grinning, laughing, talking with his friends, playing Wizard's Chess, even eating. A handful were even colored, with watercolor paint or oil pastels. He looked up in awe at Dean, who was grinning.
"What can I say? You're my best subject." Seamus couldn't think what to say, so he just grinned back.
When Dean and Ginny broke up, Seamus was conflicted. On the one hand, he was glad to be rid of that pesky, ever-present jealousy, and he was thrilled to have a greater fraction of his best friend's attention again. On the other hand, he hated seeing Dean hurt or sad. Thankfully, Dean wasn't as upset as he could have been. Bummed, yeah. Heartbroken? Definitely not. In a week, he was back to his old self.
"What did it smell like to you?" Seamus asked when they sat outside together one free period. "The Amortentia, I mean." Dean's eyes flicked briefly to the ground before answering.
"Caramel corn, for one thing," he said. "My mum makes it when we watch movies together, so it kind of reminds me of home. Oh, and smoke- you know, like something burning." He wasn't meeting Seamus's eyes, making it seem like he'd just admitted something he hadn't meant to, except he didn't- oh.
"Well, to me," Seamus said quickly, blushing slightly, "it smells like roses- the kind that grew in my grandma's yard in the spring- and oil pastels." Dean's eyes snapped to his at that. Seamus smiled nervously, and Dean smiled back.
"Well, how about that," he said quietly.
The meaning behind this stayed unspoken between them all through the week, up until the next trip to Hogsmeade. They entered the Three Broomsticks together, and Seamus secured a table while Dean ordered two butterbeers. They chatted about school, the weather, Quidditch, soccer- whatever came up. The words were like always, but the atmosphere wasn't. It was distinctly different. When the bottles were drained, the two stood to leave, but neither made a move toward the door. They just stood still, looking at each other, for several long seconds.
"So," Seamus said awkwardly.
"So," Dean repeated. Then he leaned down and kissed him. It sounded like waves were crashing in Seamus's ears, but it was just his heart pounding. He kissed back needily, almost desperately; he'd been dreaming about this moment for so long. The noise in the Three Broomsticks had died down a lot as other students stared, but Seamus couldn't have cared less. When they broke apart, they beamed at each other. Instinctively, Seamus took Dean's hand and intertwined their fingers. Dean squeezed his hand gently. No one said anything as they walked out, though Luna Lovegood gave a cheerful thumbs-up. Her eyes flicked over to a booth across the room where Ginny and Harry Potter sat, talking. Clearly, neither of them had noticed anything. Luna's smile wavered for a split second, but then she shook her head, waving as the door swung shut. A gut feeling told Seamus that it wasn't the Chosen One she wished were sitting with her. 'Best of luck, Luna,' he thought, then turned back to Dean.
That day felt like the last piece of a puzzle, and now everything was in place, and Seamus loved every second. Who cared if people stared when they walked down the hallway, Dean's arm around Seamus's shoulders? Who cared if there were a few nasty whispers when they kissed? It wasn't their business. Besides, Seamus couldn't deny the little thrill he felt when Professor McGonagall stopped her lecture on transforming an animal from one species to another to snap, "Mr. Thomas, if you could quit staring at Mr. Finnigan and start paying attention in my class, that would be lovely."
Getting off the Hogwarts Express when it reached King's Cross at the close of the school year was just about the hardest thing Seamus had ever done. The idea of being away from Dean after everything that had happened, after Dumbledore had died, seemed impossible.
"It'll be okay," Dean insisted. "Your dad's got a phone, yeah? I'll call you all the time, I swear. We'll be back at school in the blink of an eye."
"Promise?"
"I promise." And with a last goodbye, Seamus had gone home. Dean wasn't the type to break promises. Except promises didn't mean much when the Ministry of Magic started rounding up muggleborns...