Disclaimer:Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't own I Love You, by Silver-Raven22.
A/N: This is a companion fic to I Love You by Silver-Raven22, who is amazing and you should go and read her fic here: s/8473715/1/ (Hers is happier than mine!) Go and read it and love it (and check out her other stories too!)
I Love You, Too
I.
He's always been comfortable in this nook, away from the bustle. Seamus likes quiet, sometimes. He likes to believe he's not being watched by unseen eyes as he gazes at his fellow pupils, one in particular. Dean has finished his transfiguration essay a long while ago, and is comfortably settled in an armchair by the fire. Seamus, essay unforgotten but ignored, lets his eyes wander hungrily over his friend: eyes, jaw, loosened Gryffindor tie, down to his delicate and precise hands. Those hands... Dean glances up, catching Seamus looking and grins. Seamus offers back an automatic smile, one he can't seem to keep off his face when Dean looks at him. Dean meaningfully jerks his head towards where Seamus' essay is spread in front of him, and Seamus sadly nods, forcing himself to look away from his best mate. His I best mate I. He turns instead to the grounds. They're beautiful, all laid out with snow. His fingers it g to somehow capture the sight, although he knows he has no means of doing so. He feels someone approaching behind him and turns to face Dean.
"You really should work on your essay, you know."
His friend- friend, friend, best friend- is smiling behind the scold, and Seamus knows that everything between them is still... Normal. Perhaps somewhat unfortunately.
"I'll do it later."
"No, you won't." Dean answers, quick but teasing.
Still, Seamus can't bear looking into those sparkling eyes, so he returns his attention to the grounds. He knows how Dean's sketch of them would look, and tries to spot the pencil strokes in the snow even though he knows there are none there. Dean- dean dean dean DEAN- places a hand on his shoulder, and how can he speak so casually while Seamus' heart is beating like a snitch's wings?
"Seamus, I'm assuming the strained look on your face means you're thinking. What's on your mind?"
"You." Spills past his lips, his habit of telling Dean the truth overwhelming his need for self-preservation. Dean is calculating quietly in his mind as he asks
"What do you mean, mate?"
Mate- mate mate mate matematemate. He can't. He can't tell him. There's no strength in him for that. So Seamus just turns his gaze outward again.
"The grounds look pretty."
"Yeah," Dean says, and Seamus thinks there's a slight sigh in the tone "Beautiful."
Despite the sigh, if it was ever there, Dean smiles warmly as he returns to the chair by the fire, indicating again for Seamus to do his essay.
He picks it up, staring blankly as the fuzz buzzes in front of his eyes. He's thinking of Samantha. He's thinking of the way she used to flick her hair away from her eyes every seven seconds. The way she inflected the end of her sentences. The way he couldn't stand to be around her anymore because he knew her too well, knew every little quirk of her personality. But he was thinking of Dean, too. Of how he always slid his notebook quietly into his desk drawer. His crooked smile whenever he heard a bawdy joke. How he would slap Seamus' leg or his arm whenever he was irritated, just to let some tension out. Seamus thought of why nothing he knew about Dean bothered him the way one swish too many of his childhood friend's hair had sent him running. He meets Dean's eyes over the top of his essay parchment and immediately Dean rises and joins him again, some concern in his face now.
"Are you alright?"
"Not really, no." Seamus admits, half smiling, heart pounding and making his whole body shiver and thrum with excitement.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm just really..." Seamus starts, and then pauses. This is the moment. This is the decision that could change his life. He looks, looks into Dean's eyes and knows he has no choice. He will never be able to look at him again if he doesn't say this now.
"I love you."
II.
"Whoop!" Shouts Seamus at the top of his voice, hurtling towards the goal posts.
He's almost made it when a blur speeds past him and knocks against his side, causing him to tumble over on his broom. He curses, loud and colorful, righting himself and chasing once more after the blurred streak in front of him. Dean shouted and zoomed toward the opposite goal, but Seamus cut through, and flew straight into him, wrapping his arms tightly around Dean's middle. They soar across the pitch, a tangle of legs and brooms and Dean's flailing arms while Seamus laughed and held tightly to his middle. They fell halfway to the ground by the time Dean got his bearings back, and Seamus' uproarious laughter fell into a gentle, warmth-filled smile. His grip didn't loosen, and his body was pressed into Dean's torso, head resting lightly against his chest. It was a familiar position for the two of them. Seamus liked to use Dean's height to his advantage, leaning against him and laying against his chest. Dean rather enjoyed being used in this way. Every time it made him feel more like a part of a whole. Once he'd said this to Seamus. The genuine smile of joy had flashed for only a second before he'd gone on and made jokes, teasing Dean for being such a giant- but he knew Dean had seen it. This last few months had- well, aside from summer- they'd flown by. This summer had been horrible- the newspapers raving about Harry and Dumbledore and war, the fights with his mam. Dean must have felt him stiffen at the memories because he pressed a quiet kiss to the top of his head. Seamus felt safe. He knew it was the only reason he could talk about this.
"Do you think Harry's right?" Seamus murmurs into the chest he's using as a pillow, still floating meters above the ground.
It rose and fell softly as Dean sighed. They hadn't talked much about it. They'd been lost- insulated- ignoring it for the sake of themselves. All in all, Seamus thought, it hadn't been a bad deal.
"Shay, you know your mam is just believing in the Prophet."
Seamus buries his head further, burrowing into his safeground. He loved that, how he and Dean could just say the important things without needing to explain what they were thinking.
"But what if he is right, Dean?"
Dean wraps his arm around Seamus and holds him close, protectively.
"We'll make it through, Shay. You'll see. It'll be us two forever."
Seamus looks up, uncovering himself, looking vulnerable and small. It only lasts until he pens his mouth, and utters the three most magical words he knows.
"I love you."
And Dean loves him too.
Compared to that, the war will just be a distraction.
Compared to that, Seamus can long for nothing in the world.
He's incredibly happy that he chose to tell Dean that night in the common room. He couldn't imagine facing the world with Dean as only a friend.
III.
They've sat together in a compartment exactly like this countless times. Too or from Hogwarts, they'd always laughed and joked and played games and eaten sweets. Today, there is none of that. Today they are leaving Hogwarts after their 6th year, and Dean might never go back. Seamus is crying. He doesn't know what else to do, aside from quell the anger burning in his belly. It is not Dean's fault. It's the damn Muggle Registration Commission, and damn Voldemort, and damned goddamn Rufus Scrimegeour. Dean is stoic, trying to pretend this isn't hurting him as much as Seamus hopes it is. Finally Seamus can't contain himself anymore, and screams.
"You can't leave me!"
"I'll never leave you."
"I can't. You can't go. I won't let you."
"Shay, you know I have to."
"You can't."
"Shay-"
Seamus, filled with anger and pain, cuts him off.
"You don't understand, I can't do this without you!"
He doesn't realize he's leapt from his chair until Dean rises to pull him back into a seat.
"Shh… shhh…" he whispers, nuzzling the top of Seamus' straw locks with his nose. Seamus can feel a warm wetness splash onto his scalp, but doesn't move.
They sit together, arms wrapped around each other quietly until Neville comes into their compartment. He is not abashed by their position, and seems not to notice their tear stained faces until he sits down.
"What's happened?" He asks, looking weary but somewhat surprised.
"Dean's not… not…" Seamus tries.
He grits his teeth.
"He doesn't want to come back to school next term."
Neville only nods sagely.
"He shouldn't," he nods at Dean while staring into Seamus' eyes, "it's not safe."
It's somehow comforting to have their old friend with them for the ride back to London, but it doesn't give Dean and Seamus much time to talk alone. When they reach the station, they have a few minutes before their parents will begin to worry.
Dean pulls him into a tight embrace, murmuring senselessness into his ear, holding, touching, memorizing Seamus like the world depends on it.
"I know there's no chance you'll let me come with you, even if I don't leave your side until you just one day disapparate…" Seamus mutters, and Dean gives him a hoarse chuckle.
Seamus pulls out of the embrace and looks Dean in the eyes.
"So just listen to this one thing for me, okay? I love you too much for you to die. I know you will come back to me. And don't you forget it, Dean Thomas, don't you dare."
His conviction is cut off by a long kiss, and Seamus thinks it might be the best kiss of his life until Dean whispers "I won't" into the shell of his ear and departs with a lingering, longing stare. Seamus' vision is blurred when he goes to meet his mam, and he doesn't bother to try and hide his tears.
IV.
It had been the worst year of his life. The Carrows, the torture, the pain. Not physical pain, but fear and sorrow and an ever-present hurt that wouldn't cease, that was Dean. The only savior had been Potterwatch, broadcasting the news that Dean had probably escaped death. He had to be safe. If he wasn't… Seamus gritted his teeth against that possibility.
He's sitting in the Room of Requirement with Ernie Macmillan, both sources of ease for his constant pain, when a murmur rises up and falls, students huddling and whispering.
"Something's happening."
"What do you mean, Ernie?"
"People keep coming and going. Neville just went to see Abe."
Seamus nods, staring around at all the newly familiar faces. How odd that until this year the only face he'd really known was Dean's.
"Maybe it's about to start."
Ernie inclines his head, staring at the portrait.
They wait for Neville, their leader, the boy who made all of this possible. It's so unexpected, but somehow the only thing about this mess that feels right.
Then the portrait swings open.
Neville steps out and turns to face them, smiling. Seamus cannot even muster such a grim smile as that. He hasn't seen one on Neville in days. Weeks, maybe. His heart punds. It's something good.
"Listen up, everyone," Neville waits until a hush has fallen and heads are turned towards him, "I've brought some visitors."
Seamus' heart beats faster when he sees Hermione and Ron emerge, knowing that where they go Harry isn't far behind.
Surely enough, the boy who lived emerges, and soon there is uproar. A tremendous crescendo sounds throughout the room as what seems to be a hundred voices clamor and scream and send prayers of thanks for this, the master and martyr and hero of Hogwarts.
Still this pandemonium is nothing compared to the roar that rips through Seamus when he sees Dean emerge from the portrait hole. Its as though Harry Potter never existed, as though no war is raging outside of these walls, as though he is Moses, that great wizard of old, and the crowds part in front of him as he flings himself at the only person he has ever truly loved. The chest he presses himself into is gaunt, the bones beneath his arms seem brittle, but he hugs them all the harder for it. It's Dean- Dean Dean DeanDeanDean. He may look ten years older, he may be skinny and have sunken eyes and a weak, cracked smile but for Merlin's sake it's Dean and he's holding him tighter than a permanent sticking charm.
Seamus never knew how much effort it could take to cry until now. Dean touches his check, half a caress and half distressed.
"What are these bruises from?" he askes, eyebrows knit together in concern.
Seamus could laugh. He'd been terrified for months that Dean was dead, and now he was here and fussing over a few little cuts and bruises.
Seamus just raises his own hand to Dean's face, tracing an unknown scar and dipping into the hollows of his cheeks.
"Merlin, I've missed you."
Dean understands.
They stand together, not letting go, in the middle of a crowd yet separate from them as Harry gives his speech.
Seamus doesn't listen much, too preoccupied with Dean's hand laying casually around his waist. His head naturally inclines to its position on Dean's chest, and the skinny toughness of it again shocks him.
Seamus looks up again when a hushed silence falls over the crowd, only to see Ginny and Harry standing a foot apart. And Seamus smiles, smiles a smile of knowledge and of love and of togetherness. Reunited. He knows how that feels. He smiles because he can see the look in their eyes- the relief, and happiness and love- staring at him from Dean's.
When the group begins filing out, Seamus turns to Dean in distress.
"I've only just got you back…"
Deam runs a hand through Seamus' dirty hair and smiles. He pulls him against his chest and murmurs against his head.
"We'll have forever to be together."
"Promise me we'll find each other after?" Seamus whispers against Dean's chest, but Dean says nothing for a long time.
"I'll love you forever," Seamus says, and Dean promises that back.
V.
The last time Seamus sees Dean is after the battle. The aftermath has had him working tirelessly, shifting from moving rubble to bodies. It was monotonous and dull but it was keeping him moving and he couldn't bear to be thinking right now. It came to the point where every body he saw was Dean's, every face, every touch, anything and everything was Dean until…
Until is was Dean.
Seamus' eyes at first glazed over the black-robed body as they had over all the others. He reached towards it, working to haul it up when his brain froze. He slowly turned his head to stare at the eyes. They were, thankfully, closed, but still the face was unmistakable. Seamus fell to his knees. He wouldn't have been able to stand for another second if his life had depended on it- for a moment he wished it had.
Dean. Cold. Gray. Dead.
He doesn't know how much time passes. He's stopped feeling the cold seeping into him. Night is well on its way to morning. His tears have grown slow and silent but remain steady. It is hours and his body is almost as cold and stiff as the one he's laying against. Despite Dean's recent gauntness, Seamus' head still fits against the hollow of his chest. Birds are chirping above his head and the dawn is grey when someone drags him upwards. He can't see who it is. Every face is still Dean to him, Dean from a year ago, happy and healthy and full and alive. He is deposited in the dormitory where only he and Neville had lived that year, and he vaguely wonders why someone bothered to bring him all the way up here. His muscles had surely not been much help up the flights of stairs.
He collapses on Dean's bed. It somehow still smells like him, despite having been unused for a year. He stares at the canopy he'd seen so many times before, and beside him there is warmth. When Seamus looks over, Dean is staring at him.
"I… I…" Seamus begins, stretching out a hand.
It falls through emptiness to the pillow. The tears well up again. He breathes heavily into the empty air, willing the three magic words to come. But there is no one there to hear them, and he falls short.
All that he once was feels gone. He is empty, and silence, and nothingness. And it doesn't matter that he's just helped win a war, or that Voldemort is dead, or that there are hundreds more bodies, living and dead, downstairs and he should be among them.
And it doesn't matter that he told Dean all that time ago, or that Dean loved him back, or that they were so happy together.
Now Dean is gone, and that will never change.
It never will, and that's too much for him.