Disclaimer: If you can recognise it, it isn't mine. All characters property of Joanne Kathleen Rowling, Literary Goddess, and all I am not making a profit from this whatsoever. If I was, do you think I would be working a minimum wage, slacker approved job? I'm writing for my own amusement (which is very easy satisfied) and hopefully yours too.

I would really appreciate your thoughts on this; I know that Religion/Witchcraft/Slash makes for a slightly controversial story… And by slightly I mean big, fat, gobfuls of controversial- and I would like to sincerely apologise if I offend anyone throughout. Let me know if I have. I'm not saying that this is an invitation for flames or anything, but I like to be conscious of who I've upset and why.

It won't change that fact that I'll be writing this, though. We all have a right to our own opinion, and this is mine- Religion and homosexuality can coincide together nicely. That isn't a CloverRockism, it's truly what my religion, or at least the denomination of the Christian Church that I am part of, believes.

But, as a general warning now- the plot of this story is based on Slash (of the male/male persuasion) and Religion (But not bashing. God no. There may be some personal thoughts of the characters that I am writing that could reflect a negative view of religion, but let us remember … they are figments of my imagination….)

That said…

This isn't going to be an overly heavy story. I actually think that it's rather light and funny. I hope that you enjoy it!

On with the show!

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Staunch of the Cynic

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Until one feels the spirit of Christmas, there is no Christmas. All else is outward display--so much tinsel and decorations. For it isn't the holly, it isn't the snow. It isn't the tree not the firelight's glow. It's the warmth that comes to the hearts of men when the Christmas spirit returns again.
--Unknown

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Prologue

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After the funeral for Professor Dumbledore, a divide of sorts formed in the wizarding world. There wouldn't be a letter coming in the mail this year for young witches and wizards just eleven, or a list of books for the wizened students. No, there would be no Hogwarts at all. Not that year.

The Order of the Phoenix worked relentlessly- espionage, trials, and battlefields. They started off with an advantage, they had Dumbledore, 'The only one he'd ever feared'. After his passing, a moral had grown amongst the Death Eaters; they felt as though half the battle had been won. They thought that they had the upper hand.

But their fearless leader disclosed little to his minions, even his most trusted.

They never had the upper hand, and he had known it. Not with what Dumbledore had left behind- the knowledge that he had planted in his students. Compassion.

The lack of said compassion, Ginny said, was what really brought his demise.

It was Ginny, who had taken it upon herself to deliver Dean's letter the following summer, explained it all to him. He had lived the last year completely cut off from the rest of his world. Though he was legally of age, he feared, and with good justification, that even the simplest spell would lead the Death Eaters to his location. They wouldn't take his defenceless two year old brother or any of his siblings, his pregnant mother, his stern, but ill father into consideration. The Death Eaters didn't show pity.

He remembered hearing the doorbell ring, and got up with some annoyance from his comfortable position on the couch, muttering a quick apology to the person on the other end of the phone. He had not expected to see a familiar girl standing on his porch, smiling mischievously and clutching an envelope in her outstretched hand.

He had never properly explained what happened to the unfortunate subject of his conversation, who was suddenly cut off and not called back for two days.

"Dean, you look well!"

"…"

"I know, 'You do too, Ginny'. I have your Hogwarts letter. They've decided to send people who were more involved with the war and such to deliver them. We can explain shit better, I guess. How've you been?"

"…"

"Yea, I got it, 'Well, good I guess, Ginny. I've missed seeing your lovely face every day!'. I've been getting that a lot. Hey, can I come in? It's hot out here."

When she said that the war was over for good, could have been one of the happiest moments of his life. Top ten, at least. He embraced her tightly, and she muttered a 'And I thought we'd agreed to "just be friends"' but she didn't loosen her grip, and her voice did sound a little watery.

And that was how Deans seventh year started. A bit late … but real. Definitely the way that it was supposed to be. No threat of evil overlords- The constant fear of being muggle-born in a pure-blood favoured society, gone.

All that was left was …

"Hey, has anyone heard from-"

"-Hermione's supposed to deliver his letter." Ginny said warmly, giving him a little wink. "But I should go. I have a bunch more of these to deliver in London. Big city, this is!"

He nodded, and they said their good-byes. She'd changed, he noticed- she was still the quick talking and witty Ginny she had been over a year ago, but she was … harder now. She'd seen too much, done too much, only just seventeen. He had wondered how many others had changed since the end of their sixth year. He hadn't seen anyone since…

He put all those thoughts in the back of his mind- deciding to open his letter. Familiarity washed over him, and he ran his thumb across the wax seal with the Hogwarts Crest, feelings the little rivets and bubbles. It must have been done in a rush, he imagined, there were a lot that needed to be delivered- a double batch of students entering first year, only two weeks before the term was meant to start.

He sat back and sighed. A weight had been lifted off his chest. Everything in the room … it seemed more…

Bright.

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Chapter one: The Day That I, Dean Thomas, Almost Killed My Best Friend.

December of Seventh Year

-----

Dean took another generous swig of his Butterbeer-nog before slamming it down on the table, wiping the foam away from his upper lip and scowling. Shoulders hunched, he pulled his cloak a little tighter around his neck so it was almost covering his ears. He glared into his now 'half-empty' (for he was not in an optimistic enough mood to assume half-full) mug, swishing the contents around so aggressively that some of the liquid sloshed over the edge and covered his fingers. He managed a satisfied -- if not slightly deranged -- little smile as he clenched his fist so it squelched between his digits and drip onto his napkin making little golden circles.

"Now what do we have here?" A fluffy voice chirped from his left.

"I don't know, Lav. Looks a little like Deany, don't 'ya think?" Came an equally fluffy voice, in a slightly lower tone, from his right.

"Hmm?" The first person said, flipping her blonde hair behind her shoulders, grabbing his chin and yanking it forcefully towards her. "Well … maybe-" she was squeezing cheeks a little closer together,"-it's certainly the right colour and everything. But…"

"-Wait! What's this?" Pavarti grabbed his dry hand off the table and gasped dramatically, "Charcoal under its fingernails! It must be Dean!"

Lavender contemplated this a little, removing her death-grip on Dean's visage and placing a finger to her chin in what he supposed she thought was an 'erudite' pose. "That's true, Pav. Our Deany is a manicurist's worst nightmare-" Pavarti was nodding solemnly, "-But that doesn't explain why he's alone. And pouting."

"I'm not pouting," He pouted, glaring into his drink again.

"-Or" Pavarti continued after Lavender as though Dean hadn't said anything, "-Harassing that normally warm and cheerful holiday beverage." She said, taking a seat next to him, and resting her chin on her hands, "What's wrong?"

He scowled at the mug, "Nothing."

"Liar." Lavender said, sitting in a stance similar to Pavarti's on his right. "Where are your other half's?"

"-Thirds." Pavarti added wisely, helping herself to one of the remaining chocolate frogs amongst a small mountain of wrappers skewed across the table. Every couple of inches there would be a tattered chocolate limb or head, suggesting they had met a somewhat violent end…

"Um. Right, sure-" Lavender finished with a blank look. "-Where are they?"

"Where are who?" He said moodily through clenched teeth, though he knew exactly who she was talking about.

"Well, Adam of course. And Seamus."

"Seamus had Quidditch." He muttered. The Irish boy had improved greatly since their sixth year, stating that 'there wasn't much else to do for fourteen bloody months, now was there.' Dean had been more than happy to resign from the team, the sport had somehow lost its appeal and he was just as happy to spend his nights lounging in the common room, thank-you-very-much.

"And …?"

"…"

Lavender and Pavarti exchanged a look, then sighed and nodded. Dean rolled his eyes. He hated it when they gave each other that look. It was like they shared one brain…

"That would explain the chocolate-" Lavender said.

"And the scowling-" Pavarti said.

Lavender clicked her tongue an placed a supportive arm around his shoulders, "-He broke up with you." Pavarti gave a little nod and squeezed his hand in pity.

The blond sniffed, "And so close to Christmas…"

Dean shrugged away and tried to look offended, "He did not!"

The girls both pulled back and stared at him in confusion.

"-I broke up with him." He murmured quietly. The arm was back around his shoulder and his hand was being squeezed again. He suppressed an annoyed groan.

"Awww!" they chorused, and Dean glanced around to see if anybody was watching. This was pathetic.

"Get off." He hissed quietly, causing them to cling on tighter.

"Why'd you break up with him, Deany?" Lavender asked in a squeaky little voice. Pavarti nodded. He shrugged.

"Did he do something to you?" Pavarti asked so defensively that he almost smiled.

"No."

"Then what?" Lavender asked again.

He rolled his eyes, "It just-" he shrugged, "wasn't working out." When both girls raised their eyebrows in disbelief, he sighed, "He wasn't my type, ok?"

Lavender nodded understandingly, "Well, I didn't like him from the start-"

"Just 'cause he turned you down." Pavarti interjected, causing the blonde to scowl.

"That's not true." She said, though it was. "He's too serious. Too boring. Too-"

"-Ravenclaw." Pavarti interrupted, causing both girls to giggle.

"Exactly." She said, smiling, "All wrong for our Deany."

Pavarti nodded "Anyway, there are far more attractive homosexual fish in the proverbial sea." She said, smiling brightly.

Dean snorted. "Name one."

"Draco Malfoy!"

"He. Is. Not. Gay!" Lavender screeched. It was a long time argument between the two friends- exactly what was Malfoy's sexual orientation? The age old question…

"Yea, okay, Whatever." Pavarti rolled her eyes towards Dean, who pretended not to notice.

"'Sides," Levender continued, "He's been boring this year. I haven't heard him say a word outside of class."

"Terry Boot." Pavarti said.

"Not gay either."

"How do you know?"

"Oh." Lavender said wryly, "I know."

"Slut." Her friend said fondly, "Fine, uh, Harry!"

"Definitely not." She grinned and Dean shuddered, "Oh, I don't know first hand. Let's just say I caught him and Miss. Weasley in a compromising position-"

"-That doesn't mean anything! Dean used to date Ginny, too, and look who he's interested in now."

"I'm just saying…"

"Please, stop there." Dean said holding up his hand.

"Anthony?" Pavarti continued.

"Nope."

"Michael."

"No way."

"Ernie."

"Straight. And taken."

"Blaise?"

"Nope."

As the girls continued to list off names, Dean took another lethargic sip of his Butterbeer, glancing around the pub while trying to think up an excuse to leave. He could say that he needed to get … more presents! But … no. They would probably want to come with him. He could say that he was buying them presents … except that would mean he would actually have to buy them something. He could say he needed to buy a new quill … no, the quill shop was right next to that bloody shop that sold unbelievably expensive designer dress robes- and they would make him go in there. He could say he needed … uh …a new book! Lavender wouldn't set foot in a bookstore unless she had to, and Pavarti wouldn't abandon her best friend. It was perfect-

"Seamus?"

"Oh, absolutely."

Dean choked on his Butterbeer-nog. The bookstore could wait.

-----

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

As shoes met dead leaves with a satisfying crackle between his feet and the ground, Seamus shoved his fingers a little further into his pockets grasping for some non-existent warmth and glared at the dense clouds circling overhead.

"Okay. It's just you and me!" He said.

He stood up a bit taller, thrusting his shoulders back and tilting his chin towards the sky.

"-So, if there's anything that you want to, yeh know, tell me, do so NOW!" He flailed his arms out and scrunched his eyes.

…

…

…

He opened one just a little.

Nothing.

He sighed, slouching again, but raised his hands.

"Com'on! I need something to work with here!" He finished with an impatient groan. "You can't just make me, and then not give me anything to work with…"

He trailed off, walking towards a big stump in the centre of the small clearing.

"Look, I'm not going to sit back and say 'Oh, I'm an abomination I guess.' No, I don't work that way, you know that- you made me this way and you are going to help me! Show me where to go! Show me … Show me what to DO!"

…

…

…

This was frustrating. Oh, He may have been almighty, but He really had to work on His communication skills.

"Look! I've held up my part of the bargain. I get up early every Sunday to go to Mass- Do you realise that there are only thirty-two people in my school who go to church! Thirty-two! Out of what, a thousand- I think that I deserve a bit of a break, here. And yea, I drink a little-" a lot "-and I might curse a bit-" a lot "- but I'm basically a good person when you get past that, you know. I highly recommend you to all my friends, and I give you great word of mouth…"

Well, it wasn't a lie- Seamus rarely had a conversation without adding a 'Jesus Merciful Christ' Or 'Holy mother of God!' somewhere along the way.

"You know- You're suppose to answer me. That's how prayers go. I ask- you give. I understand that you're probably pretty busy, "'Tis the Season" and whatnot … But think of it as a … a Christmas bonus! I worked hard for you all year- now I get my little Christmas pick-me-up…

"…And…" He said, falling helplessly onto a large clear-cut stump, "…I just… I need a … a sign." He swallowed a little as his voice faded, and tried again, "Yes. A sign." He nodded with conviction, got comfortable, closed his eyes, and waited…

…

…

…

Something cold hit his cheek.

"What the hell…?" He brushed it away and glanced around. Little shiny specks of white were falling lightly around him. He looked down at his jeans, where tiny flecks were landing with growing rapidity. He wiped his finger across the light blue fabric…

"Snow?"

He tilted his chin skywards.

"Snow? You give me bloody SNOW! You call this a sign! If you read your own book, you'd know a sign is-is Angels descending from heaven with harps and divine words from the Creator! Or-Or a prophecy. Even the Black-bloody-Plague makes more sense than SNOW! I hate snow! You're giving me SNOW?"

He stood up suddenly, pacing around his stump.

"That's not what I meant by a sign! You know its not like you're not working with 'Job' here. I can't interpret things like this!" He chuckled angrily, "I'm not that good at anything that makes me think… metaphorically… or allegorically… Or however the hell I'm supposed to be thinking right now. I'm a fairly blunt person. A Straight-" or not so much "-to-the-point kinda guy!"

He stomped to the far side of the clearing, observing the thin sheet of snow that he was marking with his feet. He stepped onto a fallen log draped in sheer white flakes of the said offender, craning his neck as far upwards as he could, and raising his hands above his head.

"So- So show me. Give me something clear. Show me what you want me to- to do with this … this burden? Curse? Gift? I don't know what it is. And I …I don't know what to do-" His hands fell to his sides, and his eyelids suddenly felt very heavy.

"Please?" He asked quietly. "Please, please, Lord. Look what I've been reduced too. I'm begging for answers, God. Please. Please just show me…"

"Seamus?"

It happened in an instant. He whipped his head quickly towards the person standing a few feet away, at the other edge of the clearing. He felt his feet give out from the slippery log that he had been standing on, and he fell back hard, letting out a little yelp.

Whip.

Slip.

"Aaah!"

Crack.

"Seamus! Oh my God!"

Pain. Pain like Seamus had rarely felt, coursing through his head and back. Everything was starting to fade, fuzzy darkness invading. He didn't get up- he couldn't if he tried. Someone came into his line of vision. Someone familiar.

"Can you hear me? Seamus? Seamus! Keep your eyes open, look at me!"

He fought to hold onto the image, but the adversary haze swamped his sight, winning.

He felt like smiling, but his face wasn't co-operating. The person in front of him was vanishing, his words growing more and more muffled, diminishing into calm and suddenly welcomed nothingness.

'That-' Seamus thought with satisfaction, '-is much better than snow.'

And everything disappeared into black.

-----

Dean hovered behind the Mediwitch, balancing on the balls of his feet trying to get a better look over her shoulder. She backed up suddenly, nearly knocking him over, and glared menacingly.

"Sorry." He said, though it lacked sincerity, and quickly darted around her towards the stiff-sheeted hospital bed that she had just finished making. She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"Mr. Thomas, if you wouldn't mind-" She glared down at him; He glared back- equally venomous.

"I'm not leaving."

She sighed and muttered something under her breath, but didn't press the issue. Shooting one last scathing look over behind her, she bustled over to a large store-cupboard on the walls and began pulling out various potions and ointments. Dean sunk into a chair next to his friends' bed.

His eyes were closed and he was breathing steadily, but his face was blank. Usually when Seamus slept he would be smiling and laughing a little or frowning or muttering incoherently, never just blank.

But, It wasn't like Dean had watched him sleep or anything. Just, you know, common knowledge and, er, whatnot.

He had heard his friend before he had seen him, walking back on the worn path to Hogwarts, mind clouded with his own miserable, non-festive thoughts.

"…I don't know what it is. And I …I don't know what to do-"

It wasn't the words that had frozen Dean on the spot. No, it was the voice: The helplessness in it, the sheer vulnerability that hovered in every syllable, the honesty… and the familiarity.

He had checked over his shoulder, making sure that no one was coming down the path. It might look a little weird just stopping in the middle of a road and then walking head-on into the forest. Satisfied with the isolation, he pushed past some of the underbrush and found himself in a small clearing.

A boy, only ten metres away or so, was standing on a log- head down and arms to his side. He was mumbling something that Dean couldn't hear, apparently unaware of the little white snowflakes falling on his shoulders and in his hair. Clad in a tan leather coat that Dean had recognised a second later and a pair of jeans, he spoke four words that sent a cold shiver down Deans' back without justification.

"…Please just show me…"

His breath had caught in his throat.

"Seamus?"

He looked down at the auburn-blond headed boys' face, frowning and reaching out to ruffle his hair. It was still wet from the snow, and his cheeks still flushed a rosy pink colour like the tip of his nose. He looked so… angelic…

"Excuse me." The medic said sternly from behind him. Dean jumped a bit, but moved out of the way, not taking his eyes of his friend.

"Enervate" She pointed her wand at his head and then poured a half a cup of some purple-foaming potion into a mug. Seamus blinked his eyes slowly…

"Huh…?" He said groggily, trying to boost himself up on his elbows, only to grab his head, moan and fall back down gain.

"Don't try to sit-up boy! You need rest!" She mothered him a bit, using a spell to give him the potion with out him actually doing anything but swallow it, and then rubbed a clear ointment on a little scrape across his cheek. He hissed, and Dean winced for his friend when it began to let off a bit of steam, but Pomfrey gave a content nod.

"You'll stay here tonight, of course. You have a concussion and need to be monitored, and I imagine that you won't be leaving Monday either, but we will see when the time comes."

"Mmm." Seamus said, smiling blankly. Dean felt a pang of guilt; he hadn't meant to make Seamus fall.

"And you-" She said turning to the black boy, "-Five minutes. You can come back tomorrow when he's feeling better."

Dean wrinkled his nose, but seeing that the nurse wasn't going to give in this time he moaned a bit, and snarled, "Fine."

She nodded curtly before closing the hangings and going to attend another student complaining of hiccups that made sparks come out his ears. He turned slowly towards the shorter boy who was staring at the curtains with a pleased little smirk.

"Uh, how you feeling?" He asked. Seamus turned to him as though he just noticed he was there.

"Oh, me? Great, never better, thanks Dean!" He said very cheerfully, but with glazed eyes.

"Oh…good. Um, how about your head?"

"My head?"

"Yea, you hit your head." He said slowly, as if talking to a four-year-old. Seamus scrunched up his brow in concentration, crinkling his nose a bit in that oh-so-adorable way that Dean loved.

"I did?"

"Yes." Dean said, trying to cover up the anxiety in his voice. Had Seamus lost his mind?

"Oh, it's kinda … fuzzy. And echo-y." He said, plastering that blank smiled on his face again, blinking heavily and yawning.

"You should go to sleep."

"'M not tired" he slurred, Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Right…" He leaned forwards in his seat a seat a bit, so he was closer to the Irish boys' face. Seamus turned his neck towards him. "Hey Shay…"

"Mmm?"

"What." He started, shrugging his shoulders a little, trying to get the muscles to relax, "-What were you doing out in the forest?"

Seamus's vacant look remained in tack for a second, before a thin layer of realisation seemed to wash over him. "Oh. I was getting a sign."

"A … sign?"

"Mmhmm. An' you know what?" He said happily, leaning a little closer to Dean and whispering like he had a big secret. Dean furrowed his brow, but played along.

"What?"

"You're it!"

"Huh?"

"Yep. It's you cause you're all in love with Adam and stuff-"

"Am not!"

"-And he's a guy too, you know." He continued, not acknowledging Dean's outburst.

"O … K…"

"Mmhmm, so I said 'I need a sign.' And then it snowed. You know, I hate snow."

"I know you do." Dean said quietly.

"And then." He yawned again, "And then … I thought… And you…"

"And then, what?" Dean asked quickly.

"Mr. Thomas." Said a quiet but stern voice behind him. He kept his eyes glued to his friend's slumber ridden face.

"Mmm?"

"I must ask you to leave."

He sighed deeply, Seamus's eyes flickering closed with a little smile forming on his lips. "Fine." He turned towards her, "Uh. Madam Pomfrey … Is he, er, going to be alright" Dean tapped the side of his head in a suggestive manner. The medic gave him a questioning look.

"I believe so, yes. The potion to numb the pain in his head may make him a little groggy, however."

' A little?' He thought.

"Ok, thanks." He pushed the chair away, making move to exit. Suddenly a warm hand caught his wrist.

"Dean?" Asked a sleepy voice. His heartbeat seemed to speed up.

"Yea?"

"Would you go to Mass tomorrow for me?"

"What?" He asked slightly louder and much more incredulous than intended; Seamus didn't seem to mind, he just smiled a bit, not opening his hazel-green eyes. "Why?"

"'Cause I can't go."

"So?"

"I need-" He yawned widely, "-you to say thanks for me, 'kay?"

"Uh…?" He shot Pomfrey a helpless look, and she merely shrugged, "… I guess so. What for?"

"Oh." Seamus said with a little secretive smile, "He'll know."

"…Right…"

"Thanks, Dean." He muttered, dropping the wrist.

"Yea." Dean said, frowning. "No problem."

-----

'Mass? He wants me to go to Mass? Is he absolutely freaking insane!'

"Yes." He said out loud, "Yes he is."

"Who is what?"

"Uh … nothing."

Ginny raised a doubtful eyebrow, but just muttered, "Sure." And turned back to her homework. "What are you doing up so early?" She asked absently.

"Going to Mass."

She froze on the spot, and then slowly turned towards him, eyes wide.

"Mass?"

"Yep."

"As in … Church?"

"That's the one, yes."

"As in … Dean-I-Hate-Conformists-And-All-Forms-Of-Organised-Religion-Thomas is going to Church?"

"I don't hate organised religion."

"Really?" She said, lowering her quill and crossing her freckled arms over her chest, "That's funny, cause last week you were complaining about the, and I quote, 'Bloody Bible Thumpers who were trying to save me from immortal damnation -- again.'"

"Well…" He said, feeling heat rush to his cheeks, "You would be a little bitter too if the buggers kept telling yelling 'Jesus can heal you! He can save you from your demonic urges!'"

"Hmm, yes, well you put them in their place, I imagine." She said lightly.

"Damn straight." Dean nodded with satisfaction. The look on their faces when he loudly exclaimed 'I happen to like my demonic urges, thank-you-very-much.' was worth being bothered by the morons. Almost.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Well, have fun."

"I plan on it." He said stubbornly, "What are you doing up so early?"

"I'm always up early." She stated, picking her quill up again and dipping it into the black ink.

"Oh…"

"Mom has us up early in the summers, and I guess it just stuck. Everyone else can sleep in but me. And Bill, I think." She continued, scratching something out on her parchment. "You should be leaving soon, it starts at 8:30."

"How do you know?"

"Early riser, remember. Seamus is down here every Sunday morning with me." She looked up from her homework; "Hey … Is he going to be all right?"

Dean shrugged and looked away. "Yea, Pomfrey. He was a little ...weird last night. I think it was just the Potion, though."

Ginny nodded remorsefully. "I'll go visit him later."

"Good." Dean said, tying the laces on his trainers. "Ok, I'm off."

"Right." Ginny said offhandedly, her quill scratching.

"Hey Gin." He asked purely out of morbid curiosity, remembering something that Lavender had said the day before.

"Mmhmm?"

"Are you … dating Harry?"

She raised her eyebrows, and then snorted a little. "Uh, no?"

"Why?"

"Just … No 'Chemistry'."

"Oh."

"You better hurry."

"Right," He said, making his way towards the portrait hole, feeling the ever-growing pit dread growing in his stomach.

He was certain that this would be an experience that he would never forget, and felt doomed as he climbed down the many flights of stairs towards the entrance hall.

Oh … if only he knew…

------

TBC

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Posted October 15