Dean is thin now. Much too thin. His collarbone juts out at an awkward angle and Seamus can count his ribs. His eyes are different, too haunted almost. It's as if the colour has left them completely. He doesn't go out, he can't trust anyone and he hardly speaks to anybody but Seamus and Luna, sometimes. He's forgotten how to laugh. Dean knows it, too. He knows the war has affected him physically and emotionally, and he isn't as good as hiding it as Seamus is.
Seamus has scars too; long and pink on his back from what Dean suspects is a whip. Sea can no longer see properly out of his left eye and everytime he bends down a certain way, he cries out in pain. His swear words are still the same as Before though, and his laughter is still as loud and boisterous as ever. He stills teases Dean, still likes a good game of Exploding Snap, still rolls his Rs the same way. He pretends as if nothing has happened to him, but Dean knows he ha dit the worst out of nearly everyone at Hogwarts. Dean doesn't ask why. If Sea wanted to tell him, he would.
Only Dean knows that Seamus wakes up in a cold sweat every night, tears running down his face. Seamus is just as broken as Dean is, but Sea has always been the better actor.
Dean doesn't know who's worse. He is just a mere shell of his former self. He can only smile around Seamus or Luna and he hasn't picked up a paintbrush in months. He is afraid to live again, but at least he acknowledges the pain. Seamus has hidden everything away. He doesn't mention his physical scars and ignores the emotional ones. He never says anything at night when he creeps into Dean's room and crawls into his bed, ears still ringing with distant screams and curses. He avoids everything, doesn't even bother reading the Quibbler anymore. Instead, he spends his nights in trashy clubs flirting with muggle men and drinking until he passes out. He never drank so much Before.
They are both broken, horribly so, into hundreds of little pieces. One for each day they spent apart, one for each well-aimed Crucio, one for each time they cried. A piece for every day Dean went hungry and every night he dreamed of Seamus. A piece for each time Seamus was forced to hurt Neville or Lavender for things no one could ever control. And every day, another part of them breaks off painfully.
A piece for the time Dean wakes up afraid, desperately yelling 'Seamus!' but the flat is empty; Seamus went out again.
A piece or more when Seamus attends his father's funeral in Ireland, hugging his mother tightly and fighting back sobs.
A piece for Fred
for Colin
for Mad-Eye
for Lupin
for Nymphadora, whom Dean had heard so much about from Ted.
A piece for every time someone asks 'Are you okay?' and Seamus says 'I'm fine.'
They are nothing but pieces, scattered everywhere and hard to mend. It helps, though, each time Seamus comes home sober and finds Dean waiting with a hug and sometimes a kiss. Each time Deans smiles and each time Seamus answers 'no' instead. The pieces keep breaking off but they are healing, fixing one another slowly but surely. And even though Dean doesn't laugh and Seamus does nothing but, maybe soon they will be whole again, or as whole as one can be after the ordeals they've survived. Maybe that's more important, perhaps it's the thing that matters most;
They survived. And it can always be worse.