Summary: Seamus and Dean met in first year. They were friends. Best friends. The very best of friends, even, and that was how it always would be. The world of magic was a gentle wave and then roiling madness around them, but throughout it all that one thing would never change.

From first year to seventh, together or apart, some things were constant.

Rating: M

Tags: Seamus/Dean, Canon Era, Episodic - across seven books, Coming Out, Homophobia (WARNING for this tag), Friends-to-Lovers, Multiple POV


A/N: His guys! Just as a heads up that I feel obligated to include, this is a bit of a slow starter and a bit jumpy around but I swear - or at least I hope - that it gets better throughout as the story becomes less of an introduction and more Seamus and Dean's. Similarly, though this chapter is the entirety of the first year from their POV, the chapters do get longer and the years span over several chapter. If you like this pairing, and the writing style doesn't distress you too much, please give it a change. Thank you!


Disclaimer: This story and all of its characters belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this - at all; seriously, none - but hope it's up to scratch anyway!


Chapter 1: First Year

"I'm half and half. Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The table erupted into laughter and the sandy-haired boy who had spoken in a thick Irish accent broke into a grin at the chorus of amusement he'd elicited. Dean found himself smiling from the seat beside him, scooping another spoonful of pudding and cream into his mouth. He had to pause just for a moment to savour the taste; he didn't know who did the cooking at this school but they were fantastic.

Dean wasn't the only one to appreciate it – even the sandy-haired boy who seemed to be a bit of a chatterbox had paused after his contribution. The dinner with its appearing and disappearing platters, the hall itself with the suspended candles and the night-sky scene overhead, the sea of bubbling students and the table of stately professors at the far end of the room dressed in robes that should have looked out of place and utterly ridiculous except that they didn't. All of it. All of it was captivating.

There was so much to see and so many people to watch that Dean was torn between his dinner and dragging his gaze around himself without pause. The boy on one his other side with vivid red hair who looked like the younger brother of one Gryffindor's self-proclaimed prefects was tucking into his meal with such gusto that Dean thought he might choke himself, but he was grinning throughout it and staring about himself with similarly wide eyes. Two girls from his year who had been appointed Gryffindors just before him were ooh-ing and ahh-ing, their heads tucked together and giggling as though they'd already become fast friends.

Stretching down the length of the table, the rest of his house garbed in the black robes of their uniform with red and gold ties were chattering uproariously amidst their bites so loudly that Dean could hardly hear himself think. A pair of redheaded twins a little way from him in particular were cackling manically and inducing some sort of hysteria in those around them for some joke or other that had their fellow students slapping the table and banging their goblets. They were actual goblets, Dean had realised with jaw-dropping surprise when he'd first seen them, of what appeared to be actual gold. It was so old-fashioned and expensive and cool that Dean had simply held the stem of his own for a long moment before drinking, fascinated and not entirely sure he should be touching what his fellow students handled so carelessly.

The redheaded prefect was engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with the bushy-haired girl from Dean year whose name he couldn't remember and he caught words of "magic" and "read in a textbook" that immediately made Dean regret that he hadn't looked more closely at his own books. Smiles spread across every face as though those around him were actually happy to be back at school. And why wouldn't they be? It was a magic school for magic people, magic people that learned magic. Even the fellow first year across from Dean, a round faced boy with a perpetual crease of worry in his brow that had earlier mumbled a relieved something of, "Thank Merlin I'm in Gryffindor otherwise my gran would have…" seemed to be enjoying himself.

Merlin. The boy invoked Merlin. Dean still couldn't believe that and yet…

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The thought still made Dean shake his head, even after months of knowing that magic was really real. Getting his letter, meeting the Deputy Headmistress Professor McGonagall, visiting the Muggle marketplace of Diagon Alley and everything that followed – he would have thought it all some rather elaborate dream if only it hadn't lasted for so long. Dean considered himself a little but of a sceptic if anything. He'd never been taken with any sort of fantasy and his mother was as much of the embodiment of an atheist as could possibly exist. He'd never believed in such things.

Things certainly had taken a turn when he'd been told he was a wizard. An actual wizard.

The sorting ceremony, as Dean had learned it was called, had flowed with practiced efficiency as though it had been conducted many times before. Which it probably had, Dean thought. He hadn't taken the time to do more than flick briefly through most of his textbooks – it had all been rather daunting to behold, and what little he'd read had barely stuck – but he had gleaned the fact that Hogwarts itself was apparently over a thousand years old. A thousand years… Dean didn't think that any school in the entire world could possibly be that old. And this one taught magic.

Magic that I'm going to learn.

That thought itself was wondrous. Who'd have thought? Not Dean, and certainly not his mother, who had contemplated detachedly and in stupefaction the day McGonagall had paid him a visit that perhaps Dean's dad had been a wizard after all. Either that or Dean was a Muggleborn, as they were called. He didn't care which but it would have been nice to know, even if it didn't really change anything all that much.

The feast of the sorting ceremony and the return of students tapered out after what could have been hours as easily as it could have been minutes. With an abrupt disappearance that caused Dean to start slightly – he noticed that the girl with the bushy hair similarly flinched – the pudding disappeared. As if awaiting the absence of food, the headmaster, a stately, elderly man called Dumbledore with an impressively long white beard tucked into his belt, rose to his feet to offer his welcome.

It was a short welcome, barely a speech at all. Short and bubbling with merriment and kindness radiating through the headmaster's half-moon spectacles that Dean could feel even from across the room. It was followed immediately by what was apparently the school song that itself faded into the mournful drawling tones of the red-headed twins that had caused such jovial laughter earlier in the night. Their warbling voices echoed throughout the hall to the general amusement of every student and most of the teachers. Dean found himself exchanging a grin once more with the sandy-haired Irish boy at his side; he couldn't quite remember his name, having lost it somewhere amidst the flurry of other names being exchanged but it hardly seemed to matter. He doubted anything could shake his good humour at that moment.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore finally sighed as the twins finished. He made a show of clapping and wiping at his eyes as though in heartfelt appreciation for a performance. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

Giggles still rung through the hall as, in a lurching rise, the entirety of the Great Hall started to their feet to depart for the evening. Dean followed the lead of those around him, eyes drawn to the red-haired prefect as he coaxed the first years after him. Percy, he said his name was; he'd finally managed to detach himself from that bushy-haired girl's clutches. Finding himself falling into step beside the sandy-haired boy, Dean followed Percy's beckoning gestures and trailed from the hall.

The rest of the school was just as impressive as the Entrance Hall and adjacent Great Hall was. Dean clambered up wide stone staircases that apparently 'liked to change', evidence of which he saw and heard of from the startled cries of his fellows as one such staircase dislodged itself from the landing moments after the last of them had hopped from it. Dean stared wide eyed down the endless corridors, gaze raking across the flickering torches in their sconces that served to brightly illuminate every wall and stairwell they ascended, and widened further still when they passed by portraits that actually talked. Moving pictures, as though they were movies. Would the wonders never cease?

Dean would love to show his mother. He could only share an appreciative grin with the boy beside him, but that was nearly good enough.

Apparently such wonders weren't the whole of it, if the brief appearance of a jeering poltergeist called Peeves was any indication. Or at least the sound of one cackling in announcement of his presence, for Dean didn't see it at first. He was only aware of what it was at all for Percy's long-suffering whisper of, "Peeves the poltergeist." Then he raised his voice commandingly. "Peeves, show yourself."

A poltergeist? Dean didn't really know what that was, could only make assumptions, and was still struggling with his initial surprise at glimpsing the ghosts they'd met briefly in the Great Hall. He was hardly prepared for Peeves' arrival when a sound like a balloon being released rebounded down the hallway. An instant later there was a pop and a translucent little man with dark eyes and a leering expression sprung into existence just before their group, legs crossed as he hung suspended in the air. A pair of walking sticks hung from his hands which Dean, in the midst of his renewed awe, didn't quite understand. How was he even holding them? Dean didn't know, knew very little about ghosts and certainly hadn't believed in them before tonight, but maybe poltergeists were the exception to the rule?

"Ooooooh, ickle firsties! What fun!" The poltergeist whooped as it whizzed overhead. Dean couldn't help but duck, and was detachedly relieved that he wasn't the only one; he didn't want to look like the naïve magicless boy that he most certainly was. The sandy-haired boy actually fell to his knees at his side, though he was grinning and giggling more than he appeared to be worried.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this," Percy called as the poltergeist made a loop and charged back towards them with mad cackles of 'snip and snap and trip and trap'. "I mean it!"

Dean switched his gaze between Percy and Peeves as the poltergeist slowed to a stop with a visible pout. Only for a moment, however, before he stuck his tongue out and, in a flip of transparent limbs, shot off down the corridor in the opposite direction he'd come with a mocking shriek. "Not the Baron, be kind to poor Peeves-ey. Have a heart!" He disappeared around the corner in a smear of gossamer blue and white, the sound of a distant suit of armour clattering down the hallway.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," Percy informed them as they all straightened. Dean, quite without realising he'd done it, was hauling his unconsciously-dubbed companion to standing once more. Or maybe the boy had simply latched onto him to clamber to his feet – Dean wasn't quite sure which. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him. He won't even listen to us prefects." Then Percy turned and led them onwards.

"Me uncail found a poltergeist in his house one time," the sandy-haired boy stage-whispered at Dean's side, leaning into him as they continued in Percy's wake. Dean glanced towards him and couldn't help but return the smile he was afforded. The other boy positively bubbled with mischief. He had very blue eyes that seemed to glow with merriment. "Right tossers, they are, like. Reckon I could learn how he got rid of it and give it a go?"

Dean thought it might have been a rhetorical question but he shrugged anyway and felt his smile widen as the boy picked up his step in a skip and beckoned him on alongside him. At least Dean wasn't the only one excited; the other boy had said at least half his family was magical and he was still enthusiastic. Maybe the awe and slight intimidation muffled beneath excitement wasn't solely reserved for the non-magical kids? The thought was heartening.

He was distracted as Percy pulled them to a stop with an announcement of, "Here we are." Apparently he'd been leading them to the entrance of what would be their 'Gryffindor Tower', but there was no such entrance that Dean could see, and he did look. Nothing but an enormous picture depicting a very fat and very pinkly-clad woman that smiled benevolently at their approach. Dean exchanged a glance with the boy at his side, raising an eyebrow questioningly, but the boy only offered an exaggerated shrug in reply.

When Percy spoke the words "Caput Draconis", however, the smiling and waving portrait somehow managed to unhook itself from the wall at one edge and swing open like a door. Dean blinked with almost predictable surprise as he peered over Percy's younger brother's shoulder. Beyond was a short little tunnel spilling out into a room. A room of reds and gold, crackling fireplace and plush crimson couches.

Feeling much like a herded sheep, Dean followed his fellow first years with wide-eyed and turning gaze to suck up every aspect of the room's interior until Percy, leading the way, called them all to attention. He barely listened as they were directed to the first year dormitories, eyes grazing around the circular room of what was very definitely a tower.

"Girls on the left… boys on the right…"

The couches were thick and wide, forming a half-circle around the fizzling fire, each lumped with more pillows than would have made it feasible to sit upon.

"… can find your trunks already at your bed…"

Shelves holding what appeared to be ancient books that bowed the shelves beneath them stretched across the wall opposite the radiant fire. On either side of the entrance into the common room, two wide, cork noticeboards were pegged with little more than a few scraps of paper pinned to each.

"… any troubles and you can approach myself… fellow housemates will always offer a hand…"

The ceiling was tall, the windows long and stretching nearly to the roof, and just the common room itself could surely fit every Gryffindor that had been seated at the table within its walls. Everything was bedecked in red and gold, vibrant and warm and rich, even the tapestries that adorned every inch of wall that wasn't consumed by windows or those moving portraits. Dean immediately decided that he liked it. Red had always been one of his favourite colours.

"… suggest you take yourselves up to your dormitories to settle in. Classes start tomorrow, don't forget."

Dean barely heard Percy's spiel, which he recognised as unusual for himself because he almost always listened to instructions and did what he was told. It was only when the boy he'd had been unconsciously partnered with for the entire trip from the Great Hall made a move with a half-glance in his direction that he called himself to attention and followed his lead up a spiralling staircase, passing into a room with five four-poster beds immaculately made without a glimmer of a crease. They were all draped in red velvet curtains, the theme only seeming to make the room warmer.

Everyone seemed to deflate as soon as they stepped through the door. Dean felt himself sag slightly, as though the excitement of the evening had finally hit him with a blow of weariness when the closing of their dormitory door silenced the distant, animated chatter of his older housemates. Percy's younger brother – Dean abruptly remembered his name was Ron – was already making his way towards one of the beds, checking the trunk that stood propped at the end as though identifying it as his own before flopping onto the mattress alongside. The other boy, the one with the scar on his head who Dean knew was named Harry simply because there seemed to be a whole lot of hype about him, did the same with the bed next to him and the pair fell to murmuring quietly to one another. They'd clearly gotten off to a good start.

The round-faced boy who had mumbled about his gran found his own bed a moment later, leaving only Dean and the sandy-haired boy standing side-by-side just inside the door. Dean cast the shorter boy a glance and they exchanged another smile in a sort of perfunctory manner.

"So, erm," the boy began, scratching the side of his head as though slightly confused. He gestured to the other two spare beds. "Guess those're ours, like?"

Dean shrugged, nodding. The other boy was just making small talk and he – no, that wasn't right. Dean would have to fix that. "Yeah, I guess so. Listen, sorry but I didn't catch your name before." He offered a smile, biting back the touch of sheepishness that accompanied his admission and hoping he hadn't just made an error and put a foot in his mouth. His mum had always taught him to be polite and he didn't know if witches and wizards took more offence to slights like forgetting names.

The other boy didn't appear to take offence in the slightest, however. Instead, he grinned widely in a way that made his vibrant smile seem to take up his whole face. "'S alright. I can't remember yours either." Then he stuck out a hand in a manner that was probably a little bit too adult for an eleven-year-old but Dean responded to in kind all the same, grinning in return. The other boy's smile and open friendliness was sort of infectious. "I'm Seamus Finnigan. Nice to meet you."

Dean nodded his agreement to the sentiment, pumping Seamus' hand eagerly. "You too. I'm Dean. Dean Thomas."

Seamus somehow grinned wider, as though the offer of a name meant something more than Dean perceived it. "Alright, Dean. So long as you're not an ass, like, I'm sure we'll get along just right."

For some reason, despite the backhandedness of the offer of friendship, Dean felt warmed by the sentiment. His first night and he'd already made a friend of sorts. Things were looking up.


Professor Flitwick was a small, bright and cheery man with a squeaky voice. Dean had heard that apparently he was part-goblin or something, which he found a little disconcerting – goblins in the fairy tales he'd heard growing up were always mean little critters – but Flitwick would probably have to be one of the nicest professors that he'd come across. Certainly nicer than Professor Snape, and far less intimidating than McGonagall.

Two weeks into term and Dean found that he was just starting to ease into the swing of things. Magical displays still caused his eyebrows to rise incredulously at times, but less often than they once had. It was simply that, after seeing some of the things he'd seen in just his first few days at Hogwarts, Dean thought he might be able to imagine anything was possible with magic.

The Charms lesson for that day was their first attempt at casting magic in Flitwick's class. They'd previously just been learning the basics of theory, which Dean supposed might have been interesting except that he didn't really grasp much of it. He certainly lacked the eagerness of that Hermione girl, who seemed to have a quota of questions that she needed to fill every class. Dean was more looking forward to actually practicing magic for the first time. Transfiguration's matchsticks into needles wasn't anything quite so exciting as the Levitation Charm that they would be trying that day.

"Swish and flick," Flitwick repeated for what must have been the hundredth time. "The wand movement is as integral as the incantation. Unless both are conducted appropriately then the spell will not be appropriately performed. Now, once again, repeating after me: Wingardium Leviosa."

"Wingardium Leviosa," Dean parroted alongside the rest of his classmates. The foreign words tangled his tongue slightly and he wasn't sure if he said them properly, but he didn't think he sounded all that different to Seamus and Neville seated on either side of him.

"Splendid," Flitwick squeaked, beaming widely at the class. "Off you go, then."

Dean picked up his wand from the table and turned his attention to the feather that was the only other thing on his desk. He spared a glance towards Seamus at his side, who met his gaze with a shrug.

"So we just, like, do it?" He asked, dropping his gaze back to his feather.

Dean shrugged in turn. "I guess." He peered past Seamus at Harry on his other side, at Ron and Hermione, the latter of who was already staring with focused concentration at her feather as though mentally preparing herself for her spell. He spared another glance for Neville at his other side who eyed his own feather as though he was worried it would bite him, then back to Seamus. "Um… do you want to go first?"

Seamus smiled his wide smile that he seemed unable to drop for long. Dean had become more than familiar with that expression over the past weeks. True to his word, Seamus seemed to have endeavoured to make Dean his friend, a happy coincidence for Dean for he felt the urge to befriend Seamus just as much. Harry and Ron really had become best friends in a very short amount of time and though Neville was nice enough he seemed disinclined to pursue any particular kind of friendship with them. He tended to watch his fellow students as warily as he now did his feather.

Seamus was different. He was a loud person, seeming largely incapable of keeping quiet for too long, and seemed to spout just about every thought that came to his mind. Dean didn't find it as annoying as he would have perhaps suspected he might have. Everyone in Dean's family was fairly quietly spoken, even his youngest sister June who could talk someone's ear of in her whispering voice. Seamus was of a different strain of speech entirely, and Dean actually found he quite liked spending time with the other boy.

Besides that, Seamus seemed largely fearless. Whether it was a by-product of growing up around magic or something innately embedded in his personality, Dean wasn't sure, but for whatever reason he threw himself into whatever spell-casting they were permitted to conduct with vigour and enthusiasm. They hadn't been permitted to try all that much as of yet but when they had Seamus was usually one of the first to make his attempt. He rarely got it right the first time, or even the tenth time, but he never seemed prepared to stop trying.

Just as he was in that moment, his wand raised over his feather and taking a deep breath. "Wingardium Levio-sah," Seamus incanted with a swish and flick of his wand. It looked a little mangled, but Dean hardly felt it his place to correct him. He wasn't all too good at any of this wand-waving either.

The feather didn't rise but, as Dean had come to suspect was typical of Seamus, he didn't pause and didn't seem deterred in the least before trying again. Dean set about attempting his own spell. Seamus' words rung in his ears, confident even as he too failed.

"Wingardium Levio-sah. Wingardium Levio-sah. Wingardium Leviosah."

To Dean's ears he thought Seamus' words might have been a little mangled too, but he wasn't sure. Instead, he fixed his attention back to his own feather and muttered the incantation.

He tried. And he failed just as anti-climatically as Seamus had. Perhaps fortunately, Seamus' good humour and persistence seemed to shunt any such failures to the side, disregarding them and moving past them. Seamus was good for that, too. He didn't even seem to notice that Dean had failed so much as sparing him another smile as though pleased that he'd made the attempt at all. It was sort of encouraging.

Seamus was good for that too. Dean found the sort-of-encouragement of his new friend to be almost more useful that the formal instructions of his professors.

Dean didn't manage the Levitation Charm. Maybe he would have had he continued with his attempts, just as Hermione managed to barely minutes into the class, but he wasn't sure. He'd never know either, for about halfway through class Seamus exploded.

Or at least his feather exploded. Dean wasn't quite sure how he managed to cause an explosion from a Levitation Charm, but he did. Halfway through his own reattempt at casting, from the corner of his eye he saw Seamus flick his wand perhaps a little too sharply and –

Pop-CRACK!

Shrieks sprung into the air at the same time a plume of smoke erupted from Seamus' feather, enveloping him in a cloud. Dean snapped his attention towards him in time to se a brief burst of flame die and hear Seamus' squawk followed a moment later by a cough. He was stunned for a moment – Dean had never seen a magical explosion before – but as the surprise from his classmates faded into amusement he felt his own shock die and quickly helped his friend to wave the smoke aside.

Seamus looked like he'd rolled in a fireplace. Dark ash sprinkled his hair and smeared his cheeks in a pattern that almost looked like war paint. Dean couldn't help but grin at the sight of it, his smile widening as Seamus met his expression and giggled in turn. "That was so cool!"

"Mr Finnigan, what did you –?"

Swinging his attention towards Flitwick as the little professor hastened across the room, Dean attempted to bite back his smile. At his side, Seamus similarly struggled to adopt an expression of contrition. He didn't quite manage. "Sorry, Professor. I'm not sure what I did, like, but, erm… I think…"

Flickwick tutted but he looked more resigned than worried, accepting rather than frustrated. Dean had to wonder just how many other students had exploded something in his class that he didn't appear the least bit concerned. Shaking his head, Flitwick propped his hands on his hips and sighed. "Well, it's happened before," he said, confirming Dean's suspicions. "Although not quite so early in the term for a first year, I'll have you know. I think you'll be taking yourself to the Hospital Wing now, Mr Finnigan, just in case. I don't want that burn on your chin to become infected."

Dean glanced once more to Seamus, noticing the slight redness on his chin that he hadn't noticed before. Only for his attention to be drawn back to Flitwick when he was addressed directly. "Mr Thomas, could you perhaps accompany him?"

Nodding immediately, Dean rose to his feet as Seamus did. They hastened from the room after Seamus had shared a grin with Harry and Ron. They both looked more admiring of his accidental explosion than concerned.

"That was so cool," Seamus said once more as they reached the relative privacy of the empty corridor, his grin widening once more. He turned his excited smile towards Dean and again Dean couldn't help but grin in return. "I've never intentionally exploded something before."

"Intentionally?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"With me wand, I mean. I didn't actually mean to blow up me feather, like."

"With your wand?" Dean repeated, frowning slightly in confusion as they turned the corner and hastened in the direction of the Hospital Wing. "You've exploded something without it before?"

Seamus shrugged as though it was hardly consequential. "Yeah. Me first show of accidental magic I blew up me dad's car."

Dean stumbled mid-step before an incredulous laugh burst from his lips. "You blew up your dad's car?'

Seamus nodded, not in the slightest bit repentant. Dean wasn't sure if he admired that or was concerned for the fact; he would have been horrified if he'd blown up his stepdad's car. "Accidental, you know? Still, even though it was an accident this time too, it just felt kind of cooler."

Dean shook his head. He felt another laugh building and couldn't bring himself to withhold it. The two of them spent most of the trip to the Hospital Wing dissolving into laughter, only able to stop when they fell beneath Pomfrey's stern gaze and Seamus had to explain what happened.

Really, Dean considered as he waited near the doors into the hospital while Pomfrey fussed and scolded, Seamus was maybe a little bit insane. But even so, Dean found that he quite liked his new friend.


"Bloody hell, Seamus, what did you do?"

Glancing up from his lunch, Dean's attention drew to Ron at his exclamation then to Seamus as he made his way along the Gryffindor table to his side. A frown immediately settled on his face and without a word he scooted along the bench a little to make room for him at his side. Seamus flashed him a tight smile before dropping down into the chair next to him.

He looked… well, like he'd been in an explosion of sorts is what it looked like. A smudge of ash streaked across his entire left cheek, some of his eyebrow looked to have been singed, and his blond hair was sticking up oddly, darkened above the grime of his face as though it too hadn't escaped whatever had afflicted him. He looked a mess, which Dean had come to realise was typical of Seamus – he cared little for how he looked and when he dressed in his full uniform at all it was more than likely lacking in an appropriately woven tie. Thankfully, however, he didn't appear gravely injured.

"Did you explode something again?" Ron pressed from across the table, abandoning his lunch momentarily to poke at Seamus for attention. A teasing smile was already spreading across his face. "Seriously? You did, didn't you? You're really bad with that, aren't you?"

Seamus paused in helping himself to the jug of pumpkin juice to spear Ron with a glare. "It's none of your business, Weasley."

"I'm just asking –"

"And I'm just telling, it's none of your business." He lowered the jug down onto the table hard enough that it splashed slightly over the lip and Ron, apparently sensing the looming storm, sat back slightly in his seat and raised both hands in placation. Though he spared Seamus one more teasing grin, he didn't speak again and turned back to Harry at his side who himself was engrossed in something in the Daily Prophet spread before him.

That was just the way it was. Ron was best friends with Harry, and had also become friends with Hermione Granger, while Dean was friends with Seamus. Neville tended to drift a little between the two of them, as they weren't exactly exclusive in their friendships – Dean liked the other boys in his dorm and found them all really amiable in different kinds of ways – but that was just how it was. Ron and Harry. Dean and Seamus. And Neville. It was how it worked.

And just as it worked, it also happened that each was rapidly coming to the realisation that of all of them, Seamus was probably the most volatile. Dean, being something of the calmest of the lot of them – though how that had been realised Dean wasn't quite sure – he was usually the most likely to deal with that volatility. Not that Dean minded. Seamus was his friend, after all. He liked him just as much as the other boys. Probably more, for that matter.

Dean watched Seamus silently for a moment out of the corner of his eyes as he resolutely ignored him and everyone else at the table, spooning shepherds pie onto his plate with lips pressed firmly together as though conveying his disinclination to speak to anyone. Dean found himself frowning slightly the longer he watched. It was true that Seamus didn't appear particularly injured, but there was a slight redness to the skin beneath the ashy streak on his face and across the back of his right hand that could have been a mild burn. Again? He'd had trouble with fire magic again?

If Dean had learned something about his best friend of two months it was that he was rather… explosive. When it came to witches and wizards, fire unfortunately just happened to be a by-product of that explosiveness.

"Hey, Seam?"

Seamus ignored Dean for a moment, perhaps pretending that he hadn't heard him. Dean understood his friend well enough after just a short time to know that this was often how he acted in his disgruntlement. Finally, as Dean maintained his own expectant silence, Seamus sighed heavily, lowered his fork from where he'd been poking at but not eating his lunch, and rolled his head towards Dean. His expression was deceptively bland. "What?"

"Do you have any of that cream that Pomfrey gave you last time?"

Seamus blinked silently for a moment before sighing heavily and shaking his head. He seemed to slump slightly, fading from his anger as a hand twitched halfway up to his cheek before dropping back to his fork. "It's up in the dormitory."

"Didn't she say to keep it with you?" Dean asked. "Just in case of emergencies?"

"Yeah. I just forgot it."

There passed a moment of silence between them. Dean didn't point out the obvious, that if so then maybe he could probably try not to forget it. That maybe Seamus could use one of those Rememberall things that Neville had if he was really so forgetful. Which, though Seamus might tease Neville good-naturedly for just like the rest of them in their dormitory, he nearly was. Forgetful, a little clumsy, and a bit of a danger with his wand when it came to spell-casting simply because half the time he exploded something. It had taken him barely half a year for Pomfrey to allot him his very own jar Burn Cream.

Dean watched Seamus for a little longer as he went back to poking at his pie. He didn't seem inclined to continue their discussion, and Dean wouldn't push him. He had a younger half-sister who was like that; irrational when she was disgruntled, or embarrassed, or angry, and she'd never responded well to gentle attempts at peeling down the hastily erected walls that surrounded him. Dean wasn't all that good with calming his sister down – he left that job to his mum – but he knew when to back off.

Instead, Dean tapped his own fork against his half-empty plate briefly before making a decision. With a muttered, "I'll be right back", he climbed backwards off the bench and hastened from the hall, barely sparing a glance behind him at Seamus' call of, "Where are you going?"

Dean returned barely five minutes later and placed the scavenged Burn Cream surreptitiously upon the table at Seamus' side. He didn't glance Seamus' way, didn't breathe a word of suggestion or to indicate what he'd done, but instead picked up his fork and continued eating his own lunch. He could feel Seamus turn his attention towards the jar, up to Dean, then down to the jar again.

A long moment of pause passed before Seamus finally spoke. "Thanks," he mumbled.

That was all. Just that one word, and without even a touch of anger to it. But from the corner of his eyes, as Dean watched Seamus slip the jar into his pocket, presumably to use later, he saw him smile slightly. Such a simple thing and Seamus was all better again.

Dean's mum always carried Band-Aids and hand cream around in her purse with her everywhere. Maybe Dean should start doing the same thing?


As soon as they stepped out of the Pomfrey's hospital, Seamus released a heavy, exasperated sigh. Dean glanced towards him, feeling a smile spread across his face at the shaking head, the rolling eyes and the pompous world-weariness. "What?" He asked.

"Honestly," Seamus said emphatically. "He looks like he's gone and tried to explode himself, like."

"So just like you do, then?"

Seamus frowned at him but it was without any real heat and Dean found his grin widening. "Shut up, Thomas," he said. The smile he couldn't seem to contain a moment later went quite a ways to dampening the supposed harshness of his words.

Dean laughed as they turned to make their way down the corridor and back to Gryffindor Tower. It was just the two of them, with Ron and Hermione remaining in the Hospital Wing alongside Harry, and Neville having already visited that morning. It was the first time that they'd been to see Harry after the – after whatever had happened in the depths of the school had sent him into Pomfrey's care. Rumour had it that the fabled He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a being of terror and power that Dean had heard more than enough about over the past year to be wary if not fearful of, had attacked him and Harry had fought him off. At least that was the story that was circulating through the rumour mill.

Really, if it had been anyone else, Dean would have been a bit sceptical that they would manage to face an apparently almighty Dark Wizard who was supposed to have been dead ten years ago but somehow just wasn't for a brief moment. Except that this was Harry, and Harry wasn't really the sort of person to lie about that sort of thing. He hadn't disputed any of the stories that Seamus had put to him in their meeting, and though Dean knew Ron was prone to exaggerations, Hermione wasn't and she had agreed with Harry's unspoken tale too.

Overall, the thought, the entire situation, was more than a little terrifying. Was it normal for witches and wizards? Could they do that, coming briefly back to life after they'd died? Dean had become acclimatised to the reality of ghosts and poltergeists, had heard tales of creatures called Inferi that sounded like nothing if not zombies to him, but coming back from the dead after a decade? That sounded a little far-fetched, not to mention horrifying.

Except that it could be, and likely even was, the truth. For really, what else could have caused Harry to end up like that in the Hospital Wing? They were in a bloody school after all, and even with the added element of magic Dean didn't think things like that just happened. Students didn't just up and injure themselves like that.

It was perhaps a good thing that, though Seamus had expressed his own open fear for the situation that Harry, Ron and Hermione had unwittingly presented to him, he'd bounced back quickly enough. He distracted Dean from his own nervous thoughts. Seamus was nothing if not resilient in just about every way, and he demonstrated that resilience as he chattered away at Dean's side, tongue flapping at a hundred miles a minute.

"Really, of course it would be Harry that it would happen to, right? I mean, he's always charging into things like that, isn't he, like?"

"How do you mean?" Dean asked.

Seamus shrugged. "Well, it's like with the whole thing in our first flying lesson, when he flew even though Hooch told us not to. Or in the actual quidditch game when he nearly fell off his broom, like. Or what about with the troll, what happened with Hermione and everything? Or with their detention, like – you know, they didn't actually tell me, but I overheard Ron saying about how the dragon they sent off just got to his brother Charles or something or other." Seamus raised an eyebrow expectantly. "Well?"

Dean blinked at that. He hadn't heard anything about a dragon, but Seamus had more of an ear for gossip than he did. Besides, when it was all spread out before him like that, Dean had to admit that Seamus was right and Harry – and Ron and Hermione for that matter – did seem to get themselves into a fix or two more often then everyone else did.

"You're probably right," he admitted, nodding.

"Too right I am," Seamus said with a sharp nod of his own head. "They're all high – high maintenance is what I reckon."

"High maintenance?"

"Too right. I'm glad I picked you to be my best friend, Dean. You're not crazy like they are."

Dean fully turned his head towards Seamus as they continued down the corridor. There was almost a criticism in his words, and perhaps it was a little cruel to Harry, Ron and Hermione. But even so, Dean couldn't help but let the flood of warmth elicited rise within him. "You 'picked me' to be your friend?" He asked, because to him it had seemed more like circumstance that they became so close while Harry and Ron had their own friendship and Neville seemed nothing if not hesitant to befriend anyone.

Seamus missed the touch of sarcasm in Dean's words and nodded firmly. "Yep, and I'm happy for that, like." He bumped his shoulder into Dean's as they walked, flashing him his usual wide grin. "So don't you go acting like a crazed loon too, alright?"

Dean chuckled but otherwise only nodded his head in agreement. It was backhanded affection following Seamus' backhanded compliment, but for some reason it still felt kind of nice. Dean had never had a friend quite as close to him as he was to Seamus before – to be expected, really, considering that he'd never been to boarding school before and had to spend almost every minute of every day alongside the same four boys. He didn't think he'd be able to suffer such persistent company even with his oldest sister, Millie, and he got on the best with her out of all of his half-siblings.

For some reason it wasn't like that with Seamus. More he than the other boys because, Seamus-proclaimed 'best friends' as they were, they tended to spend the most time together. And though he felt a little guilty for thinking it, Dean couldn't help but agree with Seamus' words.

He was glad that he'd been picked too.