Chapter 2

„Sea, darling? Would ya please bring me tha cinnamon?" Seamus' mother shouted from the kitchen.

„Sure," Seamus answered, entered the storage room and looked through the shelves full of food. He found the cinnamon on the highest shelf. With a small sigh he reached out for it. He had to stand on his tip-toes, of course he had to, and even then he reached the shelf fairly hard.

Dean would've reached it easily, he thought and went to the kitchen. Dean Thomas was his best friend for six years now, and he happened to be about a hundred feet taller than him. Well, actually nearly everyone was taller than him, but he almost only noticed Dean, and sometimes it even happened that he would forget about all the others. Dean meant the most to him and exactly that was the problem.

A few months ago Seamus noticed his certain affection for his very best friend. It was a Monday afternoon, and they were sitting in the Gryffindor common room doing their homework. It was nothing special, really; Neville and Harry were trying to transfigure cushion into kittens, Dean wrote a text for Defence Against the Dark Arts, Ron was begging Hermione to let him copy her Potions essay and Seamus himself was struggling with the History of Magic thing he had to do. He was hungry and working rather slowly, and he was getting really pissed... until he looked up in the exact same moment as Dean, and their eyes met, and Dean shot him a quick smile, and he found himself staring at his paper again, turning red from head to toe. His brain was set on fire by this simple smile. He didn't dare to look up again, and that evening they went to bed without a single word. It felt awkward, and since then Seamus knew:

He was hopelessly in love with his best friend.

He didn't tell anyone, of course not; he was too afraid that the others wouldn't understand. Even more scared him the fact that he was certain he'd ruin Dean's and his friendship, and he knew that was not a loss he could bear. But the worst part were his parents.

They were strongly believing Catholics and they didn't appreciate gay love. They didn't even tolerate it. They found it disgusting and wrong, and from their opinion only straight love was true love. Which was rubbish. Seamus thought that people should be allowed to love whoever they wanted to, and that it should be okay.

So he was totally afraid of their reaction, but nonetheless today was going to be the day; he was going to tell them. He had to tell someone, he just couldn't keep it a secret any longer, and he was their only child, and it was Christmas, so they couldn't kick him out, could they?

With another sigh he approached his mother.

„Thanks hun," his mum said, taking the cinnamon. She was baking cookies for the next day, while his dad drank his daily glass of Brandy in front of the fireplace.

„Mam," Seamus said, watching the snowflakes slowly falling to the ground on the other side of the window. How peaceful they looked.

„Yes, hun?" she asked, still paying more attention to the dough than to him.

„Mam." he repeated, and something in his tone made her stop kneading and look up at him.

„What's t'matter, baby?" she asked, a little bit worried now.

„I think I fell in love with someone," he said, looking at her. She beamed.

„Really? Oh, that's wonderful! HAROLD! Our baby's in love with someone! Jesus, that's SO exciting! What's her name? Do we know her? Does she love you back? Well, I bet she does, she has to, you're such a handsome young man-"

„I don't know if he loves me back," Seamus interrupted her, his heart beating as fast as never before.

The silence in the room was nearly touchable. His mum was staring at him, eyes wide open in shock, and his dad sat in his armchair as if he was petrified. Seamus looked down at his shoes, blushing because he felt really uncomfortable. About a hundred years later his mum broke the silence. She blinked two times, shook her head as if it had been just a bad dream she could shake off by ignoring it, and talked again. Her voice was awfully loud and cheerful, but her trembling hands that continued to knead the dough taught her lies.

„Hey, that's still wonderful, don't worry, you'll just find out, probably she'd like to come over for New Year's Eve? She could even sleep in ya room, no prob! I'd just really like to meet her-"

„You've already met him," Seamus cut her off, a little bit angry now. Why did she ignore everything he said?

His mum stopped and looked away. She turned her back to him, but the loud sob that came out of her mouth told him she was crying. Before he was able to do anything, his father was standing next to him.

„What did you just say?" he asked angrily.

Seamus swallowed. His father's face was slowly growing red, and he seemed about to explode. But it was too late anyways.

„I'm gay," he said, surprisingly calm.

The glass broke as his father balled his hands to fists. Brandy splattered everywhere; his mum cried even more now, and before he knew what was happening, Seamus had a fist in his face. He let out a surprised cry and stumbled backwards, his hand automatically shooting up to his hurting eye. He didn't even have time to find out how bad the damage was, because his father hit him again. And again. And again.

He hit his head, his ribcage, his stomach, even his testicles. He hit him as if he could just beat it out of him. Seamus was too shocked to defend himself; his testicles hurt awfully, his stomach rebelled, the whole room seemed to twirl, he felt blood dripping and he couldn't really breathe. And there was no escape.

His father just would not stop beating him, his mother would not stop crying and the pain would not go away on it's own. Seamus didn't know how, but eventually he managed to elude his father, slip through the door, grab his wand and the trunk that was still fully packed, waiting in the hallway since he arrived a few hours ago, and get out. He didn't even close the door; he just ran, as fast as he could, and hoped his father wouldn't follow him.

After twenty painful minutes he stopped, heavily breathing and completely exhausted. He was covered in sweat, and now that he was outside in the cold he started to freeze easily. His head ached really bad; his left eye was swollen, his nose was bleeding and probably broken, his testicles felt mashed, his entire body hurt and every breath was a painful stitch. He somehow managed to stop crying and look around. He'd left his hometown far behind, and now he stood in a small forest in the middle of nowhere in Ireland, and it was already getting dark. He tried not to panick and swallowed a few times.

Should he go back? Search for the next house? Call someone he knew? None of the opportunities seemed as if it was going to work well, he decided. If he went back, his father would only beat him more and he wasn't sure if he'd survive the second time. If he started to search for the next house, he could be on the way for days because he didn't even know if there was a house located nearby. He could call someone he knew, but even that wouldn't really help him, because he didn't know where exactly he was. So there was only one thing he could do. He had to move on.

He didn't even dare to open his trunk and grab a jacket, or at least a warmer sweater, because his father's angry voice echoed in his head, calling him words that hurt even more than the beating itself. Seamus started to walk again, but stopped after a few metres. His legs hurt and he was tired, and hungry, and cold, and he had no place to go. He was alone. So terribly alone.

He pressed his hands on his ears, attempting to make his father stop calling him awful things, but only caused the voice to grow even louder. He screamed. And then he suddenly heard another voice.

„You know that you can count on me, right? Whatever your problem is, just come and be sure that I'll help you," it said. It took him a few moments to figure out that it was Dean's voice, and then he remembered how Dean had said these words to him before they left the Hogwarts Express only a few hours ago.

Dean. Could he really go there? Could he go to the boy he loved (who had no idea about that) because he was kicked out of his home for loving him?

He was doubting that hardly, but he was also too exhausted to think of another option. He took his wand, and his trunk, and then he apparated, leaving nothing but traces in the snow.

Seamus appeared again in the middle of a snowy London. He looked around, and thankfully no one was there, so no one had seen him; he was safe, or at least safer than he was in Ireland. After a few minutes of orienting he found out that he was only a few streets away from Dean's house. He was so close.

Totally exhausted, Seamus took his things and started to walk in the direction where he knew he'd find him. Hopefully he would be there before dinner. He was starving.

It started to snow heavier now. He could barely see something, with his left eye damaged and the right one full of white icy flakes whirling around, but he knew where he had to go. It was just that the more he walked, the more exhausted he was. Every step challenged the utmost from him, and every inch of his body hurt. And then he stumbled. And fell.

And here he was, lieing on the cold ground, crieing silently and rethinking too much before he eventually passed out.