The first time Dean had tried the apple pie served at the Great Hall's long Gryffindor table, he was quite sure he had never tasted anything so incredible in his entire life. He'd even voiced it amidst his amazement, to which his eleven-year-old best friend had been quick to disagree - saying something along the lines of "Yeh think that's good? It's got nothin' on me mam's apple pie, let me tell you." And he did tell him, in nearly excruciating detail, how his mother's Christmas apple pie was to die for - maybe even literally, and that Dean ought to try it sometime if ever given the chance.

A problem that always persisted with that, was of course the separation of the two best friends every holiday season. And so it went on like that every Christmas at Hogwarts, Seamus telling him about what he was missing out on, and Dean actually starting to truly wish he was somehow able to finally decide that for himself. Dean had even suggested that Seamus bring some back to Hogwarts with him, but was ensured that it had to be fresh in order to get the full effect.

Until their fifth year, when his best mate suddenly approached Dean as he was sketching idly in one of the Gryffindor Common Room's oversized, red armchairs. Their last DA meeting before the holidays had just let out, and he was in need of the calming distraction.

"I got an idea." Was all that Seamus said at fist, peering over Dean's shoulder to get a look at the messy outline of the Hippogriff on his friend's worn sketchpad.

"Hmm?" Dean answered distractedly - it was rarely a good thing when Seamus came to him uttering those very same words.

That reply hadn't satisfied him, naturally, and before Dean knew his friend was sitting right beside him - the armchair may be large, but it was hardly meant for two people, as so kindly demonstrated by the way that Seamus' entire body squeezed up against his own - peering around him in a way that partially blocked his view of his drawing.

"I said - I got an idea," he repeated, eyebrows raised.

Dean sighed, giving in as he closed his sketchpad and offered his full attention to the Irish boy, shimmying slightly against Seamus' weight that was practically crushing his shoulder. He had learned long ago that it was no use in brushing him off, both figuratively and literally.

"What is it?"

"So, get this - y'know how I tell yeh every year about me mam's pie, yeah?"

Of course. How could he forget? But Dean simply nodded, knowing all too well Seamus would continue without his verbal confirmation anyway.

"Well, I think I found a way for you t'finally try it. I mean, yeh're gonna have to talk to yehr parents first, of course, but I think it could actually work." The sheer enthusiasm present on Seamus' face was really something to behold, and Dean smiled in affection of it all.

"Oh yeah? How's that?" Dean asked, interest visibly peaked.

"Easy. You come to my house this Christmas. Not the whole break, maybe just a few days at most, but I figured mam could pick us up at Kings Cross and take us both back t'Ireland, and then she can just Floo you back to your house afterwards."

That... actually wasn't a bad idea. Dean considered it silently for a moment. His parents were lenient people, and so he was sure they wouldn't mind him being gone for just another few days as long as he was home for the majority of winter break. Plus, he'd already gotten to know Seamus' mother a bit when she took him and Seamus to the Quidditch World Cup the year before, and his so his parents would probably not be so wary about the idea.

As far as Dean was concerned, there was no reason this couldn't work. He'd always wanted to visit Seamus' place, after all, with all that his best friend has told him about their cozy little home in the Irish countryside. It would be interesting to see the place his best friend had grown up in, even more so when considering it was a magical household very unlike his own.

"Yeah," Deamus finally agreed, lighting up at the proposition. He was surprised Seamus had managed to stay quiet in the time it took him to consider it. "Yeah, I reckon that could definitely work."

Seamus outright beamed, practically springing up out of his seat in order to search around the Common Room for something. Before Dean had the chance to ask him what he was looking for, he'd already returned to instead sit on the arm of the large chair. In his hands was a simple piece of parchment, to which he promptly shoved in Dean's face.

"Here, yeh can write to them now."

Grinning, Dean didn't hesitate in taking it from his friend's hands, retrieving the pencil he'd settled away with his sketchbook and carefully smoothing the parchment across his knee. Seamus casually slipped from his seat on the chair arm to squeeze against Dean's side again, watching curiously as the taller boy began to write.


Seamus was right there by his side the morning his owl came back, breakfast soon forgotten as he excitedly read aloud the approving reply from his mother and father. And he was right by his side again on the train ride home, dozing lightly with his head rested on Dean's shoulder while Dean watched the snowy scenery pass by. The boy really didn't have much of a restriction for personal space. It was among one of the first things Dean had ever noticed about him all the way back in their first year.

As the train pulled into Platform 9 ¾, Dean carefully nudged Seamus awake, who went from zero to sixty in record speed. He truly didn't know anyone else who could go from completely idle to practically bouncing off the walls as quickly or dramatically as Seamus Finnigan did. He was nearly pushed out of the compartment by his best friend, who took the lead shortly after in search of his mum. They found her soon enough through the swarming crowd of reuniting students and parents, and she wasted no time at all in surging forward to wrap her only child in a bone-crushing hug.

The short, Irish woman was like Seamus in nearly every way. Enthusiastic and carefree, he took a liking to her from the very start, much the same as he had with her son. After releasing Seamus, she immediately moved to pull Dean into an equally hearty embrace.

"Good t'see you again, dear," she told him in her heavy brogue, and Dean didn't miss the way that Seamus positively beamed at the interaction between his mother and best friend.

They arrived to the Finnigan household shortly before sunset, and already Dean was in awe about the way things operated. Nearly everything was based around the use of magic, from the dishes washing themselves in the sink to the duster casually sweeping the mantle of the fireplace they just walked out of, it was like nothing Dean had ever seen before.

It was with great satisfaction that Dean registered the distinct sent of freshly baked apple pie the minute he stepped foot into the house.

Their cottage-style home - which was trimmed entirely from top to bottom in a rather impressive display of holiday decor - was the textbook definition of cozy, and Dean felt oddly at home almost immediately. He had initially been worried, given Seamus and his mother's view on Harry's situation from the influence of the Daily Prophet, but the two had yet to breathe a word of any of it, and Dean vaguely suspected it would stay that way.

Seamus was beside himself in showing Dean around, who'd quite literally dragged him around from room to room until they reached his tiny bedroom, and fell back onto his double bed entirely in sync. It was there that they both seemed to deflate, effectively spent after the day's heightened level of energy.

Ms. Finnigan poked her head in a moment later, her wide grin prominent on her soft features. "Pie's comin' yehr way in a second, boys - figured yeh both were just itchin' t'have some."

Turning to his side to face Dean, Seamus grinned from ear to ear. "Is yehr mind ready to be blown?"

"Definitely," Dean laughed, cut short by the arrival of the pie in question, quite literally coming their way as it floated through the open bedroom door in the form of two, considerably sized pieces on separate plates.

They sat up at once, Seamus hollering an - exceptionally loud - expression of thanks to his mum before getting up just long enough to shut the door. He all but crash landed back onto the bed, eyes glued to the levitating dessert as he took the two plates in hand.

But instead of handing one to Dean, he paused. A brief look that Dean could not placed crossed his friend's features for a split second, gone as soon as it came, replaced by a rather smug grin.

"Well, if we're gonna do this, might as well do it right."

Dean was about to ask just what he meant by that, when Seamus promptly turned himself to face him, setting one plate on the nightstand next to his bed and scooting so close that their knees touched. Forking off a piece of the pie, his gaze on Dean's face proved so intent that it actually made the taller boy flush.

"Do you trust me?" Though his grin remained, the look in Seamus' eyes were sincere, and Dean swallowed thickly. He wasn't entirely sure what his best friend was planning, but he had a pretty good idea.

"Yeah," he answered, finally, forcing himself to meet Seamus' unwavering stare. They seemed to subconsciously lean closer to one another, and Dean's suspicion was confirmed all at once as the fork was brought right up to his face.

He blinked at it for a moment, and breathing deep though his nose, leaned forward the rest of the way to close his mouth around the fork. As he chewed, he was forced to squash the passing thought that other best mates surely didn't do things like feeding each other. But this was Seamus, and nothing proved strange him anymore.

Then, all thought was lost entirely as he registered the taste on his tongue, his eyes darting up to Seamus' face. His friend's grin was gone, replaced with a look that was searching and expecting at the same time, until Dean hummed in approval, and the corners of his friend's mouth tugged upwards again.

"So? Was I right, or what?" Either Seamus had forgotten the other plate that sat on the bedside table, or he was intent on causing Dean the most anguish he could manage, for he instead simply scooped up another bite and stuck the very same fork right into his own mouth. And if that wasn't bad enough, he lingered there far longer than necessary, licking the utensil clean in such a way that Dean was now positive he was doing on purpose.

The heat the skittered across his face was so intense, that there was no doubt in his mind that Seamus was able to see it despite the dimly lit room and Dean's dark skin. He hadn't realized he'd been staring with his mouth open until Seamus laughed, raising an amused eyebrow in Dean's direction. He didn't know it was possible for them to get any closer until Seamus did just that, noses mere inches from each other, their adjoined, quickening breaths mingling.

They seemed to come to a mutual agreement at the same moment, a sort of understanding that they didn't need to voice. It was how it always was between the two - as if they could read each other's minds without having to think twice about it.

Suddenly remembering that Seamus had asked him about his verdict on the pie, Dean sucked in a breath before answering. "Yeah... yeah, you were definitely right."

Apparently, that was all the encouragement Seamus needed before he was rushing forward to press their lips together, tentative in nature yet overwhelmingly sure, the lightest of touches more than enough to have Dean's mind reeling.

All in all, it turned out Seamus hadn't been exaggerating - his mum's apple pie really was the best he's ever had. But it was nothing compared to how it tasted on his best friend's lips.