Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize.
A/N: And now I must return to NaNoWriMo. I've spent the past two weeks trying to come up with ideas for this fic and I've been completely stumped. I think my muse has a one-track mind right now that's focused on NaNo. Oops.
Written for the Hunger Games Competition II over on HPFC, using the word prompt, emotion prompt, dialogue prompt, pairing prompt, and weapon prompt.
Seamus was awakened by a tapping at his window.
He looked at the clock - which read three-thirty in the morning - and decided that it was most definitely not worth getting out of bed and investigating. He tried to divert his attention from the tapping, first by simply closing his eyes, then by turning the radio on softly. After all, the tapping was probably due to that damn tree branch again. Seamus's bedroom was on the second floor, right next to a tall tree - which was very useful when he wanted to sneak out, but very irritating when it was a windy night.
The tapping continued, and finally he grabbed his wand and swung his legs out of bed, ready to open the window and stop that tapping, no matter what it took. He was tired, and annoyed at being woken up, and half-ready to set fire to the damn tree as he yanked the curtains open.
He didn't just see the tree, however, and he instantly realized what had been making the tapping noise - or rather, who had been making the tapping noise.
Dean Thomas, hovering on his broom, was right outside the window.
'Am I dreaming?' Seamus wondered, for Dean visiting in the middle of the night was definitely something that had appeared in his dreams and fantasies multiple times. He was too tired - and, he had to admit, too curious - to let his brain get too excited and ecstatic about the possibility of acting out a fantasy, but the fact that it was Dean and not something much more mundane had improved his mood a bit, and he opened the window.
Dean awkwardly climbed inside, folding his lanky form through Seamus's bedroom window, falling in a heap on the floor, still tangled up with a broom. Seamus chuckled, helping Dean to his feet.
"Everything all right?" Seamus asked, looking at him closely, concerned.
"You read the Prophet today?" Dean asked.
Seamus shook his head. "Been catching up on some of the shit Flitwick assigned for the start of the year. What's going on?"
Dean's expression darkened. "The Muggle-born Registration Commission," he said, spitting the words as though they tasted filthy. "All Muggle-borns have to submit a family tree, get interviewed...basically, prove that we didn't 'steal' magic from a 'deserving' witch or wizard."
"That's bullshit," Seamus said. "What the hell are they thinking? Any idiot knows stealing magic is impossible." His hands automatically clenched into fists. The entire idea was ridiculous, and he would have thought so even if Dean hadn't been a person affected by this travesty. For a second, he imagined himself striding into the Ministry of Magic and cursing out every last one of them, telling them exactly what he thought of their shit and exactly where they could stick those family trees.
"Muggle-borns can't go to Hogwarts, either." Dean's voice was flat.
Seamus stared for a moment, unable to comprehend the idea of Hogwarts without its Muggle-born students, unable to comprehend the idea of Hogwarts without Dean. They had been so close for the past six years. Not having Dean there by his side was absolutely unthinkable. He hated the thought. None of this was fair in the slightest - those Muggle-born students deserved an education just as much as any pureblood or half-blood that walked through those gates.
"What are you going to do?" Seamus asked. He tried to picture Dean, stuck at home, staring at the walls while Seamus went to Hogwarts and finished school, allowed to do so solely because of his parentage. Ministry people are arseholes, the lot of them.
"I'm not registering, that's for sure," Dean said. "It's really new, so I don't know exactly what happens, but I'm willing to bet that if they find you guilty of stealing magic, they're not exactly going to let you go with a friendly farewell." He picked at a loose thread on his shirt sleeve. "I can't stay at home, either. I can't put my family in danger like that. I just...I'm leaving."
"They're not going to be happy about that," Seamus said. "You think the Muggle-born Registration Commission will send Aurors after you?"
Dean shrugged. "No idea," he said. "I just know I'm not going to let them get my family involved. And I'm not going to let myself give in and hand myself over so they can do what they want." He looked determined, almost older than his seventeen years. "If they want me, they're going to have to come and get me."
"Merlin," Seamus said. "I still can't believe this is all happening." He shook his head, suddenly realizing what the purpose for Dean's middle-of-the-night visit was. "You came to say goodbye, didn't you? You're leaving soon?"
"Tonight," Dean said. "I'm heading back home after this. I have a bag packed in my room, and I'm going to stop and get that, and then...yeah. I'll be off."
"This isn't what I had planned when I asked if you wanted to stay over for a little while during summer holidays," Seamus said, more to himself than Dean. He stared past Dean, wondering if they would ever be able to see each other again. The only real chance of another meeting was if, by some miracle, You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters were no longer in control.
"I know," Dean said. "Believe me, if I could think of some other solution, I would. There just isn't one." He glanced at the door for a second, as if expecting Seamus's mother to be standing right there, and then he pulled Seamus to him, leaning down to compensate for their height difference, his lips meeting Seamus's. Their arms entwined around each other, they stood in the middle of Seamus's bedroom, the clock ticking slowly towards four in the morning as they embraced and kissed.
It wasn't the first time, and Seamus could only hope that it wouldn't be the last.