Author's Note: I know that this is a story that is already posted – I wrote that version of The Proverbial Broom Closet as well, but I have lost my password to both that account and the email address associated with it. Thereby, when I decided to come back and re-write some of my old stories (Because let's face it, my old stuff sucked) I had to make a new account. I'll be re-writing this one, adding some chapters and generally smoothing it out so that it doesn't suck nearly so much. Enjoy!

All characters belong to the lovely Mrs. Rowling, who I believe lives in a beautiful house somewhere in England – and, as I do not, I can only assume that I can't be mistaken for her.

Harry Potter had an amazing arse.

Not that he had been…. Ya know… Looking or anything.

Seamus Finnigan didn't look at other men's arses, after all. Even so, he couldn't help but appreciate the way that the other Gryffindor had grown into his body over the summer. He had filled out considerably, no longer the short and scrawny boy of their youth. His skin was sun-kissed and he seemed to have put on an inch or two height wise. His clothes weren't nearly so baggy as had been his previous style, which Seamus had learned consisted mostly of old hand-me-downs from his rhino of a cousin. Instead, he wore a tailored emerald jumper – possibly of Mrs. Weasley's creation – and a pair of jeans that actually fit him. And showed off his arse, Seamus thought to himself, not for the first time this morning.

Yes, he had certainly come a long way from the short, thin boy of their fifth year. Seamus shook himself out of his stupor long enough to realize that he was standing in the middle of the platform, frowning to himself and pushing his trolley on down the train in search of an empty compartment. He couldn't help but wonder to himself exactly what possessed him to stare at another bloke for any length of time, especially for long enough to get caught up in the middle of a place like King's Cross. The Irishman quickly pushed the intruding thoughts away. It was just an observation. Nothing to get caught up on. Even a perfectly straight bloke like yourself can acknowledge that his friend is attractive. He told himself.

Half-way down the line, Seamus found (or rather, was pounced upon by) his best friend, Dean Thomas. The tall, African-American teen grinned broadly at him, helping him up off the floor and brushing him off before hauling him into the compartment that he had just been leaving.

"There you are!" Dean said, helping Seamus to stow his trunk in one of the overhead bins. "I was just about to come looking for you. How was your summer? Did you get your summer work done? I'm an inch short on that essay that Snape assigned us, I haven't got a clue on what to say. What did you write about?"

Seamus chuckled at his over-eager pal, giving his trunk one last shove to be sure that it wasn't going to topple out on their heads before he flopped unconventionally down across one of the seats. He spread out, being sure to take up as much room on the bench as he could so that no one else would invade 'his' space. "Whoa, slow down a minute, mate!" Seamus said, laughing. "I haven' even had time ta breath yet!"

Dean smirked, but stopped his endless questioning to give his friend time to settle in. He made himself comfortable on the seat opposite Seamus, propping his feet up on the edge of the other male's chair and giving him a look that dared him to object.

"Well then? How was your summer?" Dean pressed one the train gave a lurch and started off down the tracks.

Seamus shrugged, his eyes closed. "T'was alrigh'. Nothin' special." He replied in his thick accent, combing his sandy hair out of his face absently. If he were being truthful with himself, he was still somewhat caught up on why he had been so concerned about how attractive Harry Potter was. After all, there were plenty of lovely birds he could have been admiring in the amount of time he had wasted in checking out another bloke. Lavender Brown was always a treat on the eyes, and that Hermione Granger… well, she may have been insufferable to study with, but she gained quite the figure over the last few years, even he would be willing to admit.

Yet his mind just kept drifting to the way that those jeans had stretched across his friend's arse as he had stood across the platform from him, conversing with a group of red-haired people that could only have been the Weasleys.

The Irishman shook himself once again, pulling himself back into the present conversation. "And yours?" He questioned, opening the eyes that he hadn't realized he had shut so that he could cast a glance at his best friend. "How's your team going? Ya know, the muggle sock-ball one."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Soccer, Seamus. You'd think with your dad being a muggle you would know a little bit more about things like this." He muttered, shaking his head but grinning broadly none-the-less. If he were going to be honest, he found the other boy's mispronunciations endearing. Not that he would ever admit that to Seamus – he'd probably get punched for that. "And they're good – they're in the championship series this year!" He announced proudly, despite knowing that the other had asked purely for conversational purposes.

Seamus smiled, making an off comment about hoping they won before he was distracted by his thoughts once again.

Dean frowned. "What has you so preoccupied? I can smell your brain smoking from over here." He snarked, hoping to get a rise out of his friend. May as well have a little fun on the long ride to Hogwarts, yeah? Seamus blinked and shrugged. "Who's the lucky bird?" Dean pressed, pausing before he gave a sly grin. "Or dare I say, lad?"

Seamus gave his friend a confused glance, taking a moment to cotton on to what he was going on about before he seemed to understand. His expression darkened into a glare. "There is no she, and most certainly no he." He huffed, rolling over so that he was laying facing the back of the seat, and NOT his supposed best friend. He didn't want him to see the look of doubt on his face. No. Not doubt. Anger. You're not gay. He thought silently. "I'm not a fag."

He repeated it out loud for Dean's benefit.

"Are you telling me, or are you trying to convince yourself?" Dean questioned after a minute, confused by Seamus' behavior. Sure, the Irishman could be hot-headed at times, but he never acted as moody as he had been today. Surely something was going on, and if the way Seamus had bristled at the joke towards his sexuality, Dean could only assume that it had something to do with the subject matter.

But… No, that was ridiculous. Seamus had always been a player – a ladies man. He couldn't be having second thoughts about that, right? It just seemed to go against everything that the other man was.

"I'm not trying to convince anybody of anything. I'm just tired." Seamus replies sharply. Much more so than he had intended to. As he still had his back to the other male, he didn't see the puzzled expression that was being shot in his direction. He did, however, hear Dean get to his feet.

"Whatever, man. I'm going to go find the snack trolley – you want something?"

Seamus shook his head, and Dean left the compartment, sliding the door shut and effectively leaving the other male to his thoughts. Thoughts that were, thanks to Dean, much more confused that they had been before he had entered this damn train station.

**Well, that's it for the prologue – I've decided to break it up into chapters and build more of a lead up to their getting together. The first time I wrote this, it all seemed so slapped together, and I really didn't like how it all came to.

Not sure how many more chapters I'll add, but probably at least one to shove the rest of the story that's in the other version in – that's only if I don't get any people wanting more, that is. I'll add to if someone wants to read. ^^;

Anyways. Reviews are amazing, even the ones that tell me this sucked – so please leave one?