Title: Rainy Day Romance

Author: frkwerewolf

Fandom: Harry Potter

Pairing: Seamus/Dean

Rating: PG-13

Summary: They say romances start on a sunny day in the spring. Well, they are full of crap.

They say that horror stories always start on a dark and dreary night, while romances start on a sunny day in the spring. Well, they -- who ever 'they' are -- are full of crap. Because this romance didn't start on a sunny day, and there were no flowers blooming. In fact, it had been raining for three days straight.

"This is so boring!" Seamus exclaimed, falling back onto his bed. Dean ignored his friend and continued to stare out the window, a sketchpad in one hand and a pencil in the other. Seamus remained on the bed for a moment longer before bouncing off and onto his feet. He glided -- for Seamus never actually walked, he's got too much energy -- over to Dean's side and took a peek at the exposed page.

"Why don't you go challenge Ron to a game of chess?" Dean asked, not bothering to cover up his drawing, which was only in the development stage.

"He always beats me." Seamus whined, pushing Dean over so he could join him at the window seat. He pressed against Dean's back and peered over his shoulder, watching as Dean made preliminary sketches on the paper.

Dean's breath paused in his chest at the feel of Seamus against him, but he quickly pushed the idea away before it was even able to surface. Clearing his throat, Dean attempted to focus on his picture, but Seamus' heat kept making its self known in the back of his head.

"Hey, what's that?" Seamus asked, pointing at the sketch in Dean's hand.

"Huh? Oh, it's a head."

"Doesn't look like one." Seamus told him. "Looks like an egg with lines through it."

"It's the beginning of a head." Dean explained, giving off the air of calm. "It helps you measure where everything goes."

"I would think that'd be obvious." Seamus said, grinning.

"Well, not everyone can draw the perfect stick figure, Seamus." Dean replied, smirking.

"I draw very nice stick figures!" Seamus insisted. A silence ran through them, before Seamus broke it by pointing at something else. "What's that?"

"It's a hand." Dean replied, pushing Seamus' own hand away to sketch in eyes.

"Oh." Seamus rested his chin on Dean's shoulder, watching him with an amount of focus he usually didn't have. Dean found himself oddly comforted by this. "So... Who is it?"

"Who?" Dean asked, not really paying attention.

"The person your drawing." Seamus said. Dean stilled for a moment, his body stiffening, before he relaxed and continued his artwork.

"No one in particular." Dean mumbled.

"Yeah, right." Seamus replied. "You always have visuals when you do this stuff. You don't have a visual. So, either you draw this person a lot or... I dunno. Just tell me who it is."

"It's no one. No one important." Dean defended.

"Uh-huh." Seamus nodded, not at all convinced. But he did quiet down, which Dean was thankful for. Seamus snuggled closer to Dean, his head practically buried in Dean's neck. Dean felt his heart flutter for a moment, before he gathered his wits about him.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather play chess with Ron?" Dean asked, ignoring the odd squeak that appeared in his voice.

"Positive. I'm comfortable." Seamus whispered, sending a slight shiver down Dean's spine that he tried to ignore. "Are you cold? You should move away from the window."

"I'm fine." Dean replied. Seamus didn't say anything, instead he continued to watch Dean with an intense expression. "What?"

"Nothing." Seamus broke into a wide grin.

"You're an oddity." Dean told him.

"Don't tell me your just noticing this!" Seamus exclaimed in shock.

"No. I do believe I noticed it on the Hogwarts train in first year, when you tripped on the carpet and fell into my compartment." Dean said, smiling.

"You'd think as wizards they'd be able to fix a tear in the carpet, but no! It's still there." Seamus huffed. Dean rolled his eyes in response. "So... Who are you drawing?"

"You never give up, do you?" Dean asked, amused.

"I'm just curious!" Seamus told him. He suddenly stood up and reached for the sketchpad. Dean held onto it tightly, keeping the Irish boy from yanking it out of his hands. "Come on!"

"No!"

"Come on!" Seamus repeated, his voice reaching a high pitch whine.

"No." Dean replied, laughing

"Please?" Seamus begged. Dean just shook his head.

"Geeze, Seamus, desperate?" A voice asked.

"Huh?" Seamus asked, confused. Ron smirked over at them from the doorway. Dean rolled his eyes, taking his sketchpad from Seamus. He calmly put it away, along with his pencils. Seamus was still looking at Ron with a confused expression. "What do you mean by that?"

"For someone who always making dirty jokes, you'd think he would notice when one is directed at him." Ron muttered to Dean.

"This is Seamus we are talking about." Dean told him, sending a fond look toward his best friend. With that said, he followed Ron out of the room.

"I'm so bored!" An Irish voice exclaimed from behind them.

xXx

One week later, and yet another rainy day. Dean was really starting to hate Scotland. Sighing, he pulled out his sketchpad from his trunk and positioned himself in his usual window seat, staring down at the Hogwarts grounds. He could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance. Narrowing his eyes, he could see the scarlet dots that were the Gryffindor House Team practicing. If he watched long enough, he could point out which one was Seamus.

He attempted to claim it was because he was Seamus' best friend, but he could reconigse Seamus' flying anywhere. Smiling to himself, he watched as Seamus played the part of Chaser, swerving between the other players. Dean wasn't really into Quidditch. He kept up with the house games, and quidditch practices, because of Seamus. Which, if he thought long enough on it was a bit odd. He remembered everything about his friend in the same manor that a devoted girlfriend remembered their loved one.

Which was silly, because Dean wasn't Seamus' girlfriend... Er, boyfriend.

Dean tore his eyes away from the rainy view of the Gryffindor Team and looked down at the sketchbook on his lap. He let his fingers traced the lion that had been designed into the leather-bound book before flipping it open and turning it to the appropriate page. He steadied the large pad on his knees and pulled out a 3B pencil, holding his tongue between his teeth.

He was still working when a mass of rain water, sandy blonde hair, and wet robes came bounding into the room. Seamus bounced over toward Dean, startling the black boy. Dean looked his friend up and down, raising an eyebrow. "You're wet."

"Well, yes. That tends to happen when it's raining." Seamus grinned. "I took a shower, but between the locker rooms and the castle I managed to get wet again. Go figure."

"Hmm." Dean replied.

"Well?" Seamus asked.

"Well, what?" Dean returned.

"I've asked you the same question every time I see you drawing. Who is it?" Seamus questioned, trying to peek over Dean's shoulder. Dean quickly snapped the sketchpad shut, sending Seamus an annoyed look. "Oh come on! I got to see it at the beginning!"

"Yes, but it's almost done." Dean informed him.

"Yeah, and then you wont let me see it at all." Seamus whined. "I should of never bought that thing for you. You don't let me see anything in it."

"...Just drop it, Seamus." Dean said with a soft warning tone. Seamus blinked in shock, but nodded. Clearing his throat, Dean pulled his wand out of his pocket. "Want me to dry you off?"

"Sure." Seamus said, staring at the floor. Dean quickly dried his clothes and hair.

"Seamus, I'm sorry. It's just embarrassing, okay?" Dean replied softly. "I don't want you to see it until I'm ready to show you."

"Yeah, okay." Seamus broke into a brilliant grin. Dean smiled and fell into the silence that was suddenly created around them. He remained quiet as Seamus took the sketchbook from his hands and set it on his bed. He held his breath as Seamus sat down and snuggled up against his back, his chin resting as usual on his shoulder. "Hey, you can see the pitch from here."

"Yeah." Dean replied in a slightly strangled voice.

"Did you watch us practice?" Seamus asked, apparently not noticing Dean's nervous expression. He scooted closer to Dean to allow himself a better look out the window. Dean gulped.

"Yeah, I watched it a bit." Dean told him, clearing his throat.

"So, what did you think of my flying?" Seamus asked, grinning. He turned to look at Dean, his chin still resting on Dean's shoulder.

"You flew nice..." Dean cleared his throat once more, very aware of Seamus steady gaze. "A bit of a daredevil, though."

"You saw the spin dive, huh?" Seamus' arm suddenly wrapped around Dean's waist. His breath catching in his throat, Dean twisted his neck to look Seamus in the eyes.

Dean had never experienced time standing still before. That is, until now. Seamus' hazel eyes almost glowed, and Dean couldn't help but notice the slight dash of freckles across his nose. Dean's lips twitched into an almost smile. He watched as Seamus gulped, his eyes darted across his own face before settling on his lips. Dean -- out of pure habit -- licked his lips while under the scrutiny. He couldn't of missed the small moan even if he had tried.

"Seamus?" Dean questioned. Seamus' eyes snapped up to his own, both locking.

"Yeah, Dean?" Seamus replied softly.

"Ummm..." Dean found himself at a lost for words. He didn't know what to say exactly and the silence was no longer comfortable. He bit his lip and looked away a moment. When he looked back, Seamus was staring at him with a strange look in his eyes. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but was broke off before he could begin with lips pressed against his own.

Dean's pulse stopped, all he could hear was the rain hitting the window and the thunder echoing outside. Then Seamus pulled back and it was over, before Dean had even been able to respond. A look of horror had appeared on his friend's face.

"Oh, no." Seamus leaped off the window seat, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry."

With that, Seamus ran from the room. Dean remained sitting, his mouth gaping like a fish. He continued to stare at the door, though he didn't notice anything after that point. Not even when Harry came in and poked his arm to get his attention.

xXx

Seamus avoided him like the ten plagues of Egypt. Dean didn't know how to correct their broken friendship. He knew that he should just go up to Seamus and tell him the truth. After that kiss -- despite it's shortness -- Dean knew that Seamus must like him in that way. It should of sent waves of happiness through his very being, to have the one person he liked to like him back.

But Dean wasn't used to approaching people. He was the mediator. Seamus got into the fights, and he calmed him down. Seamus had the girlfriends, while he watched from a distance. Seamus was the active one. He was the loud one and the one who always managed to create a conversation out of nothing. Dean couldn't do that. He didn't know how.

So, once again Dean found himself at his window seat, sketchpad in hand. He didn't open it, though. He had finished his picture over the past week, while Seamus was ignoring him. It was raining again. Dean decided that he did, in fact, hate Scotland. All this rain was doing severe damage to his brain, emotions, and hair.

He heard someone enter the room, and judging but the uneasy silence that filled the air it was Seamus. Dean glanced over at him and watched as Seamus put away his books. The Irish boy didn't even look over. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Dean wanted to call after him. Or to chase him down to the common room and explain his behavior. But he didn't have an explanation. He was a wimp, pure and simple.

Dean snorted to himself and looked back out the window. The sun was hidden behind a mass of rain clouds, but Dean could see that it was getting dark. Soon, Seamus would be returning to the dorm to get into bed, all without talking to him. Dean sighed and looked down at the sketchbook that Seamus had bought him a long time ago. It was filled with artwork, all of which Dean had refused Seamus to see.

A sense of determination suddenly filled him, and standing he walked over to Seamus' bed. He pulled back the curtains and placed the book on top of Seamus' pillow. Taking a deep breath, he carefully pulled the curtains closed and returned to his window seat.

xXx

Dean laid in bed and concentrated on the sounds of the room. He could hear Neville snoring, interrupted by the quakes of thunder. Ron could be heard tossing around in his bed, while Harry had long ago learned to but a Silencing Charm up to keep out his nightmare induced screams. From Seamus' bed, he could hear the turn of pages.

This had been going on for some time, every since Seamus had gone to bed. Dean rolled over and attempted to force himself to sleep. He hoped his gesture had gotten it's point across, it would be really emb-

"Dean?" A voice whispered, breaking into Dean's inner thoughts. Dean turned onto his side and peared through the darkness at the small opening that had appeared in his bed curtains.

"Yeah, Seamus?" Dean asked.

"Can I..?" Seamus trailed off.

"Yes." Dean replied quickly. He watched as Seamus slipped onto his bed, holding Dean's sketchbook in one hand.

"I didn't know." Seamus told him, looking down at the book in his hands. "I never even suspected that was what you were drawing."

"Yeah, well..." Dean sat up, shrugging. "It's my favorite thing to draw."

"It is?" Seamus asked, a small smile fighting to appear on his face.

"Yeah, it is." Dean whispered. Dean watched as Seamus gulped before scooting closer to him. "I'm sorry."

"No, I am." Seamus replied. "I've been ignoring you all this time. We should of sat down and talked about it."

"I like you, Seamus." Dean said. Seamus broke into a wide grin and scooted even closer. Dean stared at the Irish boy's hands, which were gripping his sketchpad. His gaze slowly traveled up Seamus' arms until they reached his face. Their eyes locked, like a renewed memory of a week ago.

Slowly, Dean leaned his head forward, giving Seamus all the chance to pull back. Instead of doing just that, Seamus met him in the middle. Their lips touched softly, in a gentle manor, before pressing harder. Dean carefully bit down on Seamus' lower lip, creating a gasp from the other. When their tongues met, it was Dean who broke the kiss-induced silence with a moan.

Seamus tossed the sketchpad to the side, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck and pulling the darker boy closer. Neither noticed that the book had opened, to reveal Dean's completed picture. As Dean pressed Seamus back against the bed, the image of Seamus grinned up at them.