It wasn't until the summer holidays between his fifth and sixth year that Dean Thomas got another, rather more poetic answer to the race question that had pestered him on occasion ever since that History of Magic lesson.

Sabina – with her black lace dress, heavy eyeliner and the second ear piercing she'd managed to hide from their mum but not from Dean – was going through something of a Goth phase, which never ceased to amuse Dean; not just because she could hardly wear rice powder foundation, but also because she was subscribing to the cliché of the middle-class, suburban child with a world-weary ennui on her shoulders.

A little part of Dean agreed with her, though. London was in his lungs, in his veins; the rolling green hills and heavy mists of Hogsmeade could only hold him for so long. He liked the smells from the street-side vendors near the theatres, he liked the weird cobbled roads of Covent Garden and the ridiculously narrow alleys that usually led to nowhere but sometimes held treasure at their end. He liked the smell of exhaust fumes mixing with food scents, and the pigeons, and the fact that even when it felt like the place was a city-sized greenhouse, everyone would still carry an umbrella or a jacket 'just in case the weather changed'. He liked the way the Underground felt like an inverted version of London. He even enjoyed watching the tourists walking around the city, some of them bored and sweaty, but most of them pointing at things much like children in a sweet shop, their faces lit up with wonder and their mouths open. Dean showed them around whenever he could; it made him feel even prouder to be living here, to hail from this magnificent beast of a city.

"Come on, Dean!" Sabina shouted at him from across the bridge. Dean rolled his eyes and picked up his pace. They had just made it to Camden Lock; Sabina wanted to look at some more of the market stalls to see if she could pick up something interesting. Dean stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and rolled his shoulders backwards, sniffing appreciatively as they passed the food stalls. He was just wondering how they could make their way back so that they could pick up some food from here when he walked into Sabina's back. He poked her shoulder hard.

"What are you doing, Sabina? I thought you wanted..." He looked up at what had made his little sister stop and the words died in his throat. Three young men, almost as identical as the Weasley twins with their shaved heads, bovver boots and hostile expressions, were sitting on those little motorbike seats and sneering at his sister; Dean was forcibly reminded of the way Malfoy looked at Hermione in the corridors.

"Lie out too long in the sun, Morticia?" the shortest one shouted at her. His friends fell about laughing. A few people nearby looked at them nervously, but didn't seem too inclined to do anything. Dean felt Sabina shrivel and tense and expand all at the same time. Her arms wrapped themselves around her body defensively, but she drew herself to her full – and considerable – height and raised her head high.

"I'm so Goth I was born black," she replied casually, but Dean could see her fingers digging into her arm. "And you're a complete and utter fuckwit, so if you don't mind I'll be going now, in case you infect me with it." The nervous-looking bystanders smiled at her; a few even clapped. Sabina walked away at a brisk pace with a ramrod straight back, silently expecting Dean to follow, which he did. As Sabina browsed the silver jewellery stalls with shaking hands and a frown that inspired in Dean a feeling to go back and make that skinhead eat his own shredded testicles, a sudden thought popped into his head: in the Muggle world, you wore your difference on your skin for everyone to see. In the wizarding world, whatever made you an outsider lurked in your blood and your family tree, waiting to betray you.

The December of sixth year found Dean in a relationship with Ginny Weasley; this particular night, they were taking advantage of an unused classroom somewhere frighteningly near to the Slytherins' pit. To tell the truth, Dean wasn't exactly sure how it had even happened, only that it was good. Brilliant, really. Ginny certainly lived up to her reputation as... well. Not a slag, because for all that people said that she was never without a boyfriend, she was actually pretty discerning. But she was someone who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go for it, which was actually rather refreshing. Besides, the Hogwarts rumour mill was a pretty vicious one; they were a few hundred teenagers locked up in a castle on the Scottish moors, how else would it be? Ginny didn't care, though, which was one of the things he loved about her, along with the way she was slipping her tongue into his mouth...

Dean had only ever gone out with or kissed two other girls before Ginny: Lisa Turpin from Ravenclaw and Parvati from his own house (he felt it wasn't very honest to include Hermione on this list as they had only ever been and only ever would be friends). Lisa had been too bookish for him, not in the warm, helpful way Hermione was, but in the uptight, stuffy manner Hermione would have been had she not had Harry and Ron as best friends. She had wanted to spend all of their time together in the library or debating over obscure historical events, and whenever he moved in to kiss her or hold her hand, rather than respond or even brush him away, she simply let it happen as if it was something faintly repellent but necessary, like going to the dentist. Dean didn't enjoy being made to feel like some kind of predator for wanting to show her affection, so that had ended quickly.

Parvati had been perfect apart from two things. First, she didn't get on with Seamus, and on the whole, anyone who didn't pass muster with Seamus didn't pass muster with him. That had been strange; both of them liked and disliked most of the same things and both talked nineteen to the dozen about everything and nothing, but obviously, a fundamental something or other was missing and the two of them just didn't click. And the other (Dean still felt guilty for thinking it, but it was true) was a rather more... ahem, private matter. He still winced just thinking about it.

Ginny sighed from on top of him and moved his hands underneath her jumper. He was surprised at the size of her breasts; they filled his hands and then some, which was saying something given his mutant fingers. Obviously, Hogwarts-issue cloaks hid much more than awkward boners. She kissed her way down his neck and hurriedly pulled both of their shirts off; Dean had no time to be surprised because she kissed him again, her hands moving up and down over his back. Her touch was that of a veteran and the warm skin-to-skin contact was lovely, like the heat of sunshine. The softness of her body was infinitely better than the cold hardness of the desk he was sitting on, and Dean shifted so that his arse wouldn't go numb and moved Ginny a little so that she was sitting directly on top of his hard-on. She moved her hips in a slinky parody of the rumba, knowing exactly what Dean wanted. Dean groaned at the friction and kissed the gap between her breasts, letting his tongue lave the skin there. She pushed his head into her chest, sighing his name like a prayer into his hair.

When he arrived back in the Room Room, ahead of Ginny so as not to alert the Weasley brother who also happened to be his rather volatile roommate, the first thing Dean did was look around for Seamus. Not finding him there, he went up to the boys' dormitory.

"Hello, stranger." Seamus' distinctive lilt came from somewhere behind his curtains, and a second later his head popped out. He was grinning widely. "So?"

Dean couldn't help but smile back. "So?" he asked innocently.

"What have you and young Ms Weasley been getting up to?"

Dean pulled his school uniform off and changed into a new pair of pyjama bottoms and a favourite but worn old jumper; the sometimes ridiculously cold conditions in the castle during winter didn't allow for Dean's usual night-time habit of only wearing pyjama bottoms to bed.

"I rather think, Mr Finnigan, that that is a matter between me and Ms Weasley."

Seamus narrowed his eyes at him. "Come on, Dean! Spill. We're best mates, I'm going through a dry spell and you're honour-bound to tell me. Besides, no one else is here. Ron and Harry are in the Room Room and Neville is... I don't know, seducing Devil's Snare by moonlight or something." Dean snorted. "It's just us two."

Dean looked at him again, properly this time. He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, leaning forward on the heels of his hands in anticipation. He hadn't noticed that Seamus had grown taller yet again; his limbs were longer and there was a gangly, newborn foal look to him that hadn't been there before. His hair was still long at the front and short at the back, but the hair that was usually gelled or spelled up in a quiff style was falling across the expansive sweep of his freckle-dusted cheekbone. And his eyes, as blue-green and as odd and as beautiful as ever, were staring up at him.

"Dean? Is something wrong?"

Dean snapped back to himself; Seamus must have noticed him staring. "Nothing's wrong." After a moment's hesitation, he rifled through his trunk, pulled out a huge bar of Honeydukes chocolate and said, "Budge up."

He got into Seamus' bed, ignoring the fact that they were probably far too old for this behaviour by now, and drew the curtains. Seamus looked at him askance as he put a huge piece of chocolate in his mouth.

"They're going to notice that we're in here together," Seamus noted around the chocolate. "Your curtains aren't drawn."

Dean shrugged. "Not something I'm particularly worried about. Are you?"

Seamus shook his head. They ate in companionable silence for a while, when Seamus asked: "How is it going with you and Ginny, then?"

Dean looked at him, amused. "It's going okay. Why all this interest in my love life?"

Seamus shrugged, inspecting his fingernails. "I just feel as if we never tell each other stuff anymore. Or just do stuff together."

Dean felt a huge surge of guilt; he realised that it had been a while since they'd done anything together, just the two of them. "God, Seamus I'm sorry, I didn't realise... I..." He didn't know what else to say, so fell silent.

Seamus shrugged. "No, I understand. I mean, Ginny's your girlfriend, but I don't want... I..." Seamus took a deep breath. "I miss us. You know? Getting pissed on a Friday afternoon, putting annoying shit in Ron's bed and watching him go crazy... even the creepy stare you give me when you draw me and think I haven't noticed," Seamus dug at him slyly.

Dean ducked his head behind a hand. "It's not a creepy stare!"

"You're like feckin' Magwitch when you get that glint in your eye."

Dean hit him. "I'm an artist! I have to see every detail."

"I have to see every detail!" Seamus imitated him with a pompous voice, earning him a whack with a pillow this time. "Bet that's what you tell all the girls. Or is it my arse you're chasing after? I always knew you had a thing for me, Thomas." He flicked his hair back. "It's the curse of the Irish. Insufferably charming and bloody irresistible."

Dean stared at him for an incredulous second, before cracking up. He couldn't even stop laughing when Seamus stopped flicking his hair as if he had a twitch in his neck and started looking offended. "Insufferably charming? More like always irritating!" he managed to gasp out between laughs. Seamus hit him.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, I'm taking the chocolate."

"It's my chocolate, you prick!"

"It's my bed."

Dean elbowed him hard and lay on his back under the covers, indicating for Seamus to do the same. A small voice in his head reflected that it was a just a little bit odd to be spending his Saturday night in bed with his male best friend instead of the naked and comely arms of, you know, his girlfriend, but Dean silenced it. He wouldn't be without Seamus right now, not for anything.

Trying to be surreptitious, he shifted towards Seamus and took a deep breath. That innocent, almost talcum-powdery smell was still there. Some things never changed.

It had been several hours and Dean Thomas was still trying not to cry. He was well on his way to hating this new life, a life with floating candles and an apparently invisible ceiling and stupid hats that sang stupid rhyming songs. He missed his mum and his step-dad. He even missed Sabina, even though she was annoying and always tried to help him with his drawings but only ended up ruining them.

He didn't like the way that even familiar things were suddenly turned completely upside down; apparently, there was a whole new train platform at King's Cross that he hadn't even known about, even though he went there all the time with his family when his favourite uncle came into town. There was a heavy weight in his pocket where his wand was, unfamiliar and awkward. The fish he was eating (which had appeared out of nowhere and tasted nowhere near as good as it would have had it been cooked by his mum) stuck in his throat and he took of a sip of the not-actually-that-bad pumpkin juice.

"Cheer up! You look like you've been whacked on the nose with a rusty poker." He looked up to see where the thick Irish brogue was coming from and saw a cheerful boy sitting across from him with sandy hair that looked ruffled from exertion and eyes that couldn't decide whether they were sea blue or pale green. Dean stared, but didn't reply. The boy wasn't discouraged.

"What's your name?"

"Dean. Dean Thomas."

The boy laughed. "That sounds like two first names. My name's Seamus Finnigan. I'm Irish, as you can probably tell. You know I didn't know me mam was a witch? Nor did my da. I think she only told him when my letter came! Are your family wizards and witches?"

Dean shook his head mutely after this torrent of words.

Seamus nodded sagely. "Explains a lot. You look a bit dazed." He grinned and Dean felt his own mouth give a small answering smile.

"I am. I mean, one day that McGonagall lady just turned up on my doorstep. And then BAM. Hello, you're a wizard. Here's a wand and instructions on how to get to your new school." He poked his food around. "I'm not going to be able to do any of the work or anything. I don't know anything."

"Rubbish," Seamus said firmly. "I'm guessing we'll start from the basics, anyway. And I don't think anyone has a real advantage. You see that girl with the huge hair and the teeth?" Seamus waved his fork vaguely to the left; Dean looked and saw the smartly dressed girl with the bossy voice he'd seen on the train. She was listening intently to something a boy with curly red hair was saying. "She's Muggle-born. She had no idea she was a witch until McGonagall turned up, and look at her now, babbling away with a Prefect about Transfiguration."

Dean still didn't say anything.

"Don't worry." Seamus frowned, leaning over the table and taking his hand casually. "Hey, when we get up to the dormitory, bagsie a bed next to mine, 'kay? I've got loads of sweets left over from the carriage. You look like you need them."

Dean nodded and smiled.

He knew he was in trouble when he heard voices approaching, but then Ginny put her leg between his and all rational thought flew out of the window.

"Ginny..."

She grinned into his mouth and pulled his head closer to hers. His hand was sliding slowly up to cup her breast when the voices suddenly became crystal clear and: 'OI!'

Ginny wrenched herself away from him in shock at the sound of her brother's voice, staring at Ron in horror. When she saw Harry was with him, a strange expression flitted over her face, an odd mixture of triumph and guilt. Harry was staring back at her as if he'd never seen her before. Dean recognised that look. His heart sank a little.

There was a tense silence hanging in the air, and Ron and Ginny looked fit to kill each other. Dean thought he should make a quick exit before curses were thrown about.

"See you, Ron, Harry..."

Ron didn't even acknowledge his existence, while Harry glared at him. Somewhat wounded and irritated, Dean returned the look with interest. He forced himself to walk all the way to Gryffindor Tower without breaking into a run and when he reached the boys' dormitories, he threw himself into his bed and lay on his back with a pillow over his face, waiting for the shit to hit the fan.

It only took Ron half an hour to come and find him after that thing with Ginny; that wasn't even been enough time for Seamus to come and find him and talk him out of his worries.

"Dean?"

Dean lifted the pillow off his face and sat up to see Ron standing at the foot of his bed, hands shaking in what must have been a conscious attempt not to hit him hard in the face. Dean supposed he couldn't blame him; God only knew what he would do if he found some young idiot wrapped around Sabina.

"Dean, I know you're not the...worst candidate for a brother-in-law... but Ginny's my younger sister," he said desperately. He scrubbed his face with a hand. "I need you to break up with her."

"No," Dean said immediately in a flat voice.

"Why not?" Ron exploded.

"Because Ginny's almost of age. She's fully capable of making her own decisions, and I don't think she'd like either of us deciding what's wrong and what's right for her like we're her parents." Dean shrugged and got up to face Ron. "As long as she wants to go out with me, we'll go out."

Ron made an angry face. "I'm not going to like it."

"No one's asking you to," Dean replied, wanting to laugh at Ron's over-protectiveness, which, while well-intentioned, was a bit over the top. He restrained himself. "Besides, if you spent less time running around after Ginny and trying to force her into a life of chastity, you'd have a better insight into what's going on in your own love life."

"What d'you mean by that?" Ron bristled. Anyone with a modicum of room sense knew that Ron felt very sensitive about his lack of success with women.

"Exactly what I said." Dean grinned, thinking of how everyone in Gryffindor knew that Ron and Hermione were completely in love with each other, yet the two of them continued to run circles around each other. He turned to leave for the Room Room when he heard:

"You're a sick bastard, you know that?"

Dean whipped around to face a blotchily red Ron, shaking even more than before, if it was possible.

"What?"

"Going around boasting about you and Hermione, when everyone knows how I–" He broke off here, and paused, an angry glint in his eye. Before Dean knew what was happening, Ron roared and leaped for him, getting a firm grip on his shoulders and tackling him down to the ground. Luckily, Dean was fast thanks not only to Quidditch, but to the football training he'd taken in the summer holidays; the only problem was that he and Ron were about matched in weight and height. Also, Ron probably had more experience rough-housing, thanks to his seventy million older brothers. Ron managed to get a lucky hook to Dean's mouth before Dean straddled Ron, pinning his arms to his sides with his legs.

"Ron, you're going to have to tell me what the fuck that was all about, because–"

"Don't fucking act as if you don't know!" Ron hissed violently, and this threw Dean. They weren't best friends, obviously, but Dean hadn't spent six years living with the boy without learning that when Ron got angry, everyone knew about it. This spitting, quiet fury was something to which Dean was unaccustomed. "You fucking kissed her in Fourth Year! I waited for her to tell me or even Harry, but she didn't and neither did you! How could you fucking betray me like that?"

Dean stared down at him, this teenage boy driven crazy with longings and feelings that he wasn't mature enough to understand or deal with. "You," he said quietly, "are a fucking idiot, Ron Weasley." Ron started wriggling again to try and get out from underneath him, but Dean whacked his breastbone and he fell still, looking shocked.

"Yeah, I kissed her in Fourth Year, but it wasn't romantic, not that I should have to justify my actions to you. You do know Hermione doesn't belong to you? She's a woman, Ron. All too soon, someone else is going to come along and notice that. Other boys already have! Or have you forgotten Krum? McLaggen?" Ron fell still and quiet, staring up at Dean as if he'd grown another head.

"Hermione would give herself to you in an instant," Dean continued gently. "But she bosses you about in every other area of your life, she won't want to boss you around for this. This has to come from you, Ron. She isn't going to wait around for you forever, you know."

Sensing that Ron wasn't going to sock him another one – his lip throbbed painfully – he got up and made his way to the Room Room, where he found expectant eyes turned to him.

"What?" he asked into the silence.

"Mate," Seamus breathed. "Where's Ron?"

Dean frowned and jerked a thumb behind him. "The dorm. Why?"

"We didn't think you'd get out of there alive," marvelled Colin Creevey at his elbow, camera at the ready.

"Oh, I don't know," Hermione piped up from a rather more distant corner of the Room Room. She looked up from her books with a small, secret smile. "Dean has a way of making people see things differently. You'd be surprised."

Seamus tugged on his wrist. "Something tells me you have a tale to tell, and that it's a juicy one. Come on. Spill."

Dean looked at his friend, Seamus of the kohl-rimmed, aqua-jade-turquoise eyes and the undecided hair and the easy grin. Something shifted in him and he felt at peace with everything, despite the argument he'd just had with Ron. Things would get better. They always did.