A/N: This was written for the Houses Competition in Round 1 for Slytherin House. Deamus if you want ;)

Prompt: (short story) forgotten memory

Word count (not including A/N): 1,667

All it had taken was two days. Two days into the Carrows' reign before Dean knew that he couldn't stay.

He didn't know for certain whether he had magical blood or not, but it wasn't worth it to risk it. The Ministry's Muggleborn Registration Commission was being put into action by the end of the week. Dean couldn't stay.

He could escape relatively easily through the Room of Requirement (on the first night of school Ginny had already established a safe-house for muggleborns and any "blood traitors" who wouldn't stand for the Carrows' rules), and he knew about a few groups that were stationed around certain towns to help escapees. But just one thing was holding him back. Seamus.

Seamus, who had been Dean's best friend since day one. Seamus, who was the only person who truly understood him and the only person Dean truly understood in turn. Seamus, who brought the only light to Dean's life in these dark times, since his mother had been killed in a "random" explosion (the Ministry had gone to hell; neither officials nor the Prophet acknowledged Voldemort's hate crimes as what they were). Seamus, who couldn't run away.

His mother had forbidden it, forcing her son to vow, to make the Unbreakable Vow, that he wouldn't run. She claimed that it was safer, that he wouldn't be at risk of punishment if he couldn't run. But punishment was unavoidable at Hogwarts for anyone and everyone. So Dean ran. Without Seamus.

.oOo.

Sitting in the forest of his namesake with Ted Dirk, Gornuk, and Griphook, he scratched aimlessly at a spare piece of parchment with a Muggle pencil. He had been worried sick about Seamus, berating himself for leaving his best friend with those sick people, leaving him in danger and with no way of escape. Dean's mind drifted off to the last time he saw Seamus, in the Room of Requirement….

"You're leaving," Seamus said. It wasn't a question.

"Yeah…." Dean looked down, knowing he was to blame for leaving Seamus to the Carrows' wrath. "Listen, Shay, I'm really sorry about… everything. I'll try to write or contact you or-"

"Don't be sorry," Seamus replied gruffly, though it was clear that he was hurt and wanted to go with Dean badly. "The circumstances are what they are, you wouldn't be able to change them. Just…" he finally made eye contact with Dean. He could see the worry and the pain in the sandy-haired boy's eyes. Finally, he left only two parting words. "Be careful." Dean didn't need the "for me" to be spoken aloud to hear it.

"You too," Dean whispered to the wind as he climbed through Ariana Dumbledore's portrait.

Dean snapped out of his reverie before he started crying. He glanced down at his parchment as Ted passed him a sausage link. Taking a small bite (he needed to savor it while it lasted; who knew when they would find food next), he decided to draw Seamus to calm himself and keep his hands occupied.

He started by outlining the head, trying his best to get the immaculate angle of Seamus' jawline perfect, but he knew he would never be able to do it justice, even with all of the practice he had secretly had in the common room. But when it got to the actual features, the hair and the nose and the eyes and the lips, Dean paused. He couldn't remember what Seamus looked like. Disturbed, for Dean had always remembered what Seamus had looked like without trouble, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Seamus' face. But all he came up with was that last time they had met, with Seamus turning away and saying dejectedly, "Be careful." Dean couldn't remember his face.

Dean stood up quickly and walked behind the tree he was sleeping by (they didn't have tents). He sat leaning against the trunk, trying and trying to remember Seamus' face and failing every time. He couldn't remember. All he had was the memory of when he had escaped Hogwarts. But without being able to see Seamus' face clearly, it felt like a significant part of the memory was missing, gone, forgotten, and it just made the memory that much sadder. As hard as Dean tried, he couldn't get that forgotten memory out of his head, and tears streamed silently and consistently down his face for the whole time he was on watch duty that night.

.oOo.

Dean was cheering, but his mind was elsewhere. Harry had defeated Voldemort and the war was over, and they had won, but Dean Thomas' worries had not settled. His mind was on Seamus.

When the fighting had stopped briefly for an hour so that Harry could be handed over to Voldemort, the rest of the light side had been tending to their wounded and dead, making sure loved ones were alive, for they had no intention of giving up their savior. Dean had looked and looked and looked, but he hadn't seen Seamus. In a way, this was comforting because he hadn't seen him on the line of cots carrying the fallen warriors or on the queue of waiting wounded, but Dean hadn't see him helping wounded or recovering on the steps like others who fought for themselves had.

And then the Dark Lord had come out of the forest to make the dreaded announcement: Harry Potter was dead. Was dead, not is, because by some miracle, Harry had come back to life and defeated the darkest wizard of all time for the last time.

People flooded Hogsmeade and the school grounds, cheering and screaming. Dean saw many people he knew, people he had grown up with, centaurs and goblins and wizards alike, and the mermaids had come up from the black lake while the giants made the ground tremble with their retreating footsteps, only serving to fuel the light side's excitement. But amidst the chaos, Dean could not see Seamus. He should have been right in the center smothering Harry with all of the hero's closest friends, but he wasn't. Yet no one noticed the Irishman's absence. The celebrations continued.

And it all lasted for around five minutes. Five minutes before people remembered that there wasn't just a victory, but also a cost. A cost that was lying on rows of cots inside the damaged castle, stiff, cold, hollow-eyed and lifeless. Dean prayed, along with many survivors praying for their loved ones, that Seamus was not included in the death toll.

Many people went back inside the castle to say goodbye to their dead before they were buried. People who had already lost everybody wandered around the grounds aimlessly, sharing firewhiskey and butterbeer. Dean went towards the lake.

He hadn't found Seamus yet, and he was starting to doubt he ever would. Careless of the mermaids and countless other creatures in the lake, he took off his shoes and swilled his feet in the water, reliving every good memory he could think of with Seamus. A coldness that had nothing to do with the water seeped into his chest.

He stood up suddenly, taking off running in his bare feet towards the Forest. No one stared. Except one.

The lanky, thin Irishman was indistinguishable if you had seen him at the beginning of the school year. His hair had been shaved in a buzz cut and his ribs showed prominently through his skin. His body was littered with scars and bruises: proof of the Carrows' abuse. He watched as the dark skinned boy sat down with his feet in the lake and think. Unlike the owner of the eyes that followed him, the runaway's hair was incredibly long, frizzy and out of control, with a little stubble growing on his chin. He too looked skinny and was covered in the same dust from the ancient walls of Hogwarts that many of the fighters were.

Seamus watched Dean grow sadder and sadder until his spine had curled in on itself and his head was almost touching his knees. Seamus almost jumped when Dean sprung up and ran towards the Forest. Not knowing what he was going to do, Seamus ran after him.

"Dean! Dean! Wait! Where are you going?!" He called, but Dean didn't hear him, or didn't want to. Seamus knew Dean was upset that he couldn't run away, but how far did that anger go?

It's not him, Dean thought as he ran as fast and as far as he could, away from the memories of Seamus. Seamus is gone. You're never going to see him again and it's your fault. You should have made run with you. A dark voice whispered the doubts and fears that Dean had built up over the year to him in a taunting but convincing voice.

Dean finally collapsed, out of breath in a clearing by the edge of the forest, not caring about potential dangers in any form. He just wanted Seamus back, but didn't dare to get his hopes up as he heard Seamus' voice haunting his mind. I wish you were real.

"Dean?" Seamus called. He didn't turn around. "Dean!" he called as he recognized his best friend. "Can you hear me? Are you hurt? It's me, Seamus!" No response. "Dean!" He cried one last time, getting desperate.

Dean finally succumbed to the games his mind was playing with him and turned to acknowledge the memory of Seamus. But he looked so real, so tangible, and it was too much. The tears finally spilled over, just as they had done so many times that part year under some random tree.

Trying to find words, Dan managed to garble out, "Alive?"

Seamus didn't need any more words to know exactly what Dean needed. "I'm standing right here aren't I?" Dean collapsed into happy tears.

And Seamus was there, comforting him, hugging him, holding him. Seamus placed a kiss on Dean's forehead as if it was the most natural thing in the world, a forgotten memory no longer.