LOST – December 2nd, 1997, Slytherin fireplace
A drawing—the only one Dean has ever given him. It is joyful and vibrant and beautiful, and it is Seamus. How does one manage to capture such life in a simple pencil sketch? Dean knew the winter of sixth year. He knew exactly how to draw Seamus' big, twinkly eyes, his freckles and his cheeks, which had been red from the cold weather.
It was a Christmas present; the best one Seamus has ever received. He didn't like it so much because it was him in the sketch, but because it showed that Dean Thomas, his best mate since they were 11, really cared about Seamus, knew him through and through. Even when Dean was dating Ginny or concentrating on Quidditch and schoolwork, he still took the time to draw Seamus, and so perfectly.
LOST – December 1994, Fourth year Gryffindor boys' dorm
They were young and happy and maybe a little drunk on the punch Fred and George had spiked. It was the night of the Yule Ball. Lavender looked stunning in the silky violet dress that felt so good against his skin. She looked even better with it off.
He's never regretted it.
LOST – March 3rd, 1998, Doonaha, Ireland
A heart attack, they told him when he found out in May. A heart attack took his father away. Seamus didn't go to the funeral. How could he? He hadn't even known one was needed. The owl had never reached him. His mother had had to face the death of her husband alone.
He's always regretted it.
LOST – December 2nd, 1997
Dean had to leave. He didn't want to, of course, but he had no choice. Seamus had very nearly forced him to pack a small rucksack and run away, with no help, no companion and no direction. Some muggleborns had already left or been taken away by Death Eaters. It was only a matter of time before Dean was taken too. A question of sooner or later.
So he left, leaving Seamus to wonder if he was still alive, what he was doing and especially why he didn't go with him. Seamus would lay awake at night and think about his best mate; those graceful artist hands, that deep and reassuring voice, those forest green eyes he'd inherited from a father he'd never known.
He'd remember their first year at Hogwarts, how Dean was so shy he'd only speak to the boys in their dorm and the Weasley twins.
He'd remember the first time Dean came to Ireland to visit Seamus for the summer when they were 12. How Seamus' father had taught them to fly fish and barbeque properly. They'd played football because Dean loved it as much as he loved Quidditch, which they'd tried to play too. They drank lemonade and swam in the pond near Seamus' country house and the following summer they did the same. Then every one after that.
When they were 15 Dean got his first girlfriend, that Hufflepuff Hannah Abbott, and Seamus was jealous of the time his best friend spent with her. They got past it quickly, though, because Hannah left Dean for 'being too quiet'. That had surprised Seamus because Dean was never quiet with him, he was talkative and funny.
Listening to Neville's snores, Seamus would think of the time Dean caught him snogging Blaise Zabini in and old classroom. Then two nights later, Susan Bones. Dean had only laughed and said 'At least you've no problem getting some.'
He would think about Dean's quiet sighs during Potions class and he would think about Dean's odd eating habits, always one thing at a time. He'd think about everything that made Dean Dean, from the ink stains on his hands to his inability to say the word 'wardrobe.' Seamus couldn't get to sleep at night because of the emptiness in the bed across the room. The sheets still smelled like Dean. He'd checked.
Two weeks after Dean left, Seamus realized something.
He was in love with his best mate. And his best mate was probably dead.
Seamus wanted to die too.
LOST – December 15th, 1997
His will to live, gone. Seamus was nothing but a shell. A zombie. He would pray every night to a god he wasn't sure existed for the Carrows to beat him just a little too hard. He deserved to die, didn't he? It was entirely his fault if Dean was no longer breathing. And then he had been stupid enough to fall in love with a dead man. Yes, he deserved to die.
He didn't want to kill himself. Killing yourself is the coward's way out, he would tell himself, and I am not a coward.
He didn't cry. Instead, he'd involve himself completely into Neville, Luna and Ginny's dangerous schemes. He hoped to provoke his truly evil teachers as often as possible. He wasn't afraid of the consequences, quite the opposite, and when they took out the whip he'd pretend to cry and scream so they'd lash him harder. They always did.
He came so close to death, inches from it, but no. Maybe it's not meant to be, he'd thought, if anything in this fucked up world is meant to be.
FOUND – May 2nd, 1998, Room of Requirement
At first, Seamus couldn't believe it. Dean couldn't be there, right there in the Room in front of him. Dean was dead, right?
Or not. It had taken them a moment to recognize each other, for Seamus was bruised and his face was swollen and Dean was skinny and gaunt. When Seamus did recognize Dean, he yelled his name and ran to him, hugging him like there was no tomorrow. He was there, actually there, solid and real and who knew if there would be a tomorrow? He'd squeezed his friend tightly, inhaling his scent, but far too soon they broke apart to plan their attack on the Carrows.
The battle was confusing and frightening, and Seamus fought with everything he had left. He wanted desperately to live, for Dean and for his parents and for the possibility of a tomorrow. Seamus had something to live for again.
And they won. Harry destroyed Lord Voldemort. It was glorious, it was electrifying, it was devastating. Fred. Colin. Professor Lupin. So many others. Gone. But Seamus was alive and so was Dean.
So was Dean.
That night had been hard. Harry, Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus went to their dorm together for the first time in nearly a year. They didn't speak. A heavy, mournful silence had reigned, weighing down upon their tongues. No one had even said anything when Seamus had softly slipped into Dean's bed. The boys had just nodded and went back to staring into space, alone with their thoughts.
Dean had looked at Seamus, green eyes lit by moonlight, and Seamus had stared back with wonder, hardly believing that Dean was alive. Seamus noticed Dean was crying and he embraced him tightly. Soon their tears melted together, like twin rivers flowing for everything they'd been through. They'd remembered the lives of those lost and they remembered their six months apart and then Dean had whispered 'I missed you' at the same time Seamus said 'We're alive' and that's how they fell asleep, in each other's arms and tears staining their faces.
They were alive, and for the following weeks they were more alive than they ever had been. The war wasn't over, not really, for there were still rogue Death Eaters to catch and Dementors to round up. They fought, they ran, they worked hard. Maybe the war would never be over. That's what it seemed like sometimes. They were alive, though, and they had each other. Seamus realized that Dean was his will to live, and of all the things he's lost, maybe it's best that the only thing he found again was Dean.