The last chapter up for a bit, I've got a ton of stuff on the go for the next couple weeks. It didn't quiiiite turn out how I was planning, and it was the hardest one to write so far, but this way felt better.

It was Thursday afternoon when Madam Pomfrey finally let Seamus go – he'd had to levitate an apple to a satisfactory height to prove he was well enough to go, a test which he'd scoffed at at first, but which had proven to be more difficult than he could have imagined.

Pomfrey had tutted at him after his first three tries. "Magic is not as easily replenished as a bone is fixed. Do try to avoid other such foolish displays in the future."

"Not like I planned it," he'd grumbled.

There was only one other student in the infirmary at the time, a young Hufflepuff whose nose had grown to elephantine proportions due to a Potions mishap, and he was currently reading a comic book intently, his trunk turning the pages. Pomfrey had stepped close to Seamus' bed, almost too close, and she had leaned down, a small smile playing on her lips that Seamus would have sworn was conspiratorial.

"There was a student once, like you," she'd said, her normally clipped and professional voice nearly a whisper. "Years and years ago, a Ravenclaw."

"Madam Pomfrey, it's not a special skill or anything, you know I set fire to things when I get frustrated, I've been here often enough for it. Been like that since I was a kid." He'd been exasperated with the whole thing. Neville had looked at him in awe when he'd come to the infirmary not long after Smith, and even Anthony and Hannah had regarded with something like admiration, and a bit like fear.

"That's how it started for her too, except with electricity. Static, lightning bolts… Those injuries were harder to heal than burns."

Seamus had looked up at the healer, his interest sparked. "How did it end?"

"Well," Pomfrey had said, smoothing down her robes primly, "she got very good at it. She could control it."

And then she'd rushed off to help a student who had just limped in with a decidedly wooden leg. Maple, by the looks of it.

Now, Seamus was walking back to Gryffindor Tower, a talkative Neville at his side, feeling finally well-rested and much less sore.

"How much homework do I need to do?" he asked, somewhat fearing the answer.

"Oh," Neville said, waving his hand, "we took care of it."

Seamus' footsteps faltered in shock before catching up to his friend. "What? What do you mean?"

"Uh, well, we found your Transfiguration essay in your bag, so gave that the McGonagall, and Mike finished up your Potions and brought that to Sluggy, and he said something about Arithmancy, I think maybe Padma did that. You did miss a test in Muggle Studies, but it wasn't planned or anything, and I think the old cow gave it to us just to spite you."

Shrugging his shoulder, Neville smirked, and Seamus gaped at him.

"What, did you think we were going to let you fall behind like that? Lav's got a list of what you need to do for next week. I think Flitwick and Babbling might give you a bit of a rest, but Vector and McGonagall probably won't, nevermind the Carrows. By the way, we've moved on from Inferi to murderous wards for your home."

"Neville… You really didn't have to. I lost my temper; I deserve to have some consequences. It could have been anyone I lit on fire."

Neville looked around cautiously, checking who was around. No one, it seemed – the corridors were deserted. Even the paintings were unusually quiet. "Well, it wasn't just anyone, it was the Carrows. I think you're going to have consequences and not the kind we can save you from."

"Detention, you mean?" It had been a while since Seamus' last session, three weeks at least, a chilly Tuesday night spent in a damp dungeon while Crabbe and Goyle rained their fists and boots down on him for a snarky comment that hadn't been worth it.

"Yeah. They haven't said anything, but… We don't think they're going to let it go."

"No," Seamus said as they rounded the last corner before the corridor that let to their tower, "they'll hold the grudge. Hey, how's the prefect situation going?"

"Oh yeah, they announced it yesterday. We had to pretend to be surprised, though I'm pretty sure most of the profs saw right through us. Ernie is not a good actor." Neville chuckled. They'd arrived at the Fat Lady, who rolled her eyes them.

"Well, at least you two live here," she said, huffing as she crossed her arms.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Uh, wait, what is it? Right. Embers. Thanks, and uh, don't tell the Carrows or anyone about all this?" Neville addressed the Fat Lady, who sighed loudly.

"Of course not, but it's not much of a password if anyone knows about it, now is it?" She swung open to reveal a nearly empty common room, save for a few third-years tucked away near the roaring fireplace.

"Embers, Nev? And what do you mean, all this?"

The other man grinned, but said nothing, choosing instead to lead the way up the stairs to their dormitory. As they climbed steadily, the sounds of chatter and laughter reached Seamus' ears, louder and louder.

"Neville…"

Neville just pushed open the door to their room, where they were met with at least a dozen people, lounging on the beds and on the old stone windowsills, lying on the floor around the stove, which was flickering with flames and heat.

"Seamus!" someone cried – Terry – and then his ears were assaulted with whoops and cheers from those gathered. Lavender ran to hug him, and then Ernie stepped up to shake his hand, and Parvati to kiss his cheek, Anthony to clap him on the back, Jack Sloper to salute him… They were all there, all his friends, and the remaining fatigue he'd been feeling faded away as he took in their smiling faces.

"Well," he said as they somewhat quieted down, "I should slip into comas more often."

"How did you do that?" said Susan from the back. She was sitting on the sill, braiding Hannah's hair, who was tucked between her legs, smiling widely.

"Dunno, luck o' the Irish?" There was a smattering of appreciative laughter.

They spent the evening talking, giggling, joking, ranting and swearing, and Seamus wondered at them all. They were all so young, and so… enthusiastic. Sloper's voice was still on the tail-end of puberty, and cracked when he laughed and talked about battle strategies. Lavender sucked on strawberry-pineapple flavoured sugar quills while she explained her plans for further education, her mouth stained a brilliant chemical red. Luna told them the tale of a Chizpurfle circus her father had once found in their backyard, and she told it with such absolute certainty, a tiny part of Seamus couldn't help but believe it too.

Soon, too soon, most of the students gathered slinked off to their respective dormitories, leaving only a small number – Neville, Hannah, Anthony, Luna, Lavender.

The chill of Ginny's absence felt its way up Seamus' spine. He hadn't seen her all night, and he almost hadn't noticed, as the others seemed intent on not mentioning her.

Neville and Hannah, who were laughing about something or other, were currently occupying Seamus' bed, Hannah's head on Neville's shoulder, Lavender's candy stuck between her teeth, blonde hair spilling out over his chest. Luna and Anthony had a long piece of parchment out and were writing something together, crossing things out, whispering.

"What are you two doing?" Lavender called to them from where she was sitting at the foot of Seamus' bed with him, their legs entwined.

"Hmm, you'll find out—" Anthony began.

"Wednesday," Luna finished, before gasping and pointing to something on the parchment. Anthony grinned at her, nodding.

"Yes, that'll do nicely," he said, bending down to write some more.

"Nev, do you know what they're up to?" Hannah asked. She fed him a bit of a cherry licorice wand.

"Course, but it's a surprise." He tweaked her on the nose, and she ducked her head, smiling.

"Ack, you two. Get a room!" Seamus cried, wrinkling his nose in a facsimile of disgust. Neville just blushed, a red so bright it was still visible under the shadow of Seamus' four-poster.

"This is a room," Neville called out. "You just happen to live in it occasionally."

"Yeah yeah, I'll try not to blow up any more professors. Someone needs to chaperone," Seamus quipped easily, but absent-minded. He was staring at his coin, turning it over and over, wondering if Dean was doing the same. Michael had explained to him that because of the new charms he'd placed on the Galleons, there was no way to send a specific message to Dean's, but Seamus contemplated sending one to the whole lot, bugger who else read it. It's not like there was space for more than a few words anyway. He didn't even know what he'd send if he could. There was no way he could find the words for how much he missed Dean.

"Hey, who's on duty tonight? I'll send out the message," he said, rubbing the coin with his fingers.

"You got enough magic for that?" Lavender said softly. She'd been reading Dean's letter, and held it tightly in her hands.

Seamus shrugged. "If not, you will."

"We've got Gin, that's Cleansweep, and Ernie, Knight, and Terry… Uh… Shit, I can't remember," Neville said. Seamus knew he'd been practicing the names in his absence, but Neville's memory had never exactly been stellar.

"Digger," Anthony supplied helpfully, "because he used to dig a lot of holes as a kid."

"That's odd," Seamus murmured as he sent off the three separate messages, one to Gryffindor, one to Hufflepuff and one to Ravenclaw.

"He likes geology," said Anthony, his words muffled by the quill in his mouth.

The words disappeared slowly on the coin as Seamus watched. "Hey, where is Ginny?"

It was silent for a few seconds, but for the crackle of the flames in the stove. Lavender folded Dean's letter and sighed.

"She's been… moody," she said carefully, placing the parchment back into her friend's hands. "Hasn't really said why. She made us run ten laps around the Room yesterday at training."

"Oh," Luna's voice floated over to where Seamus sat, "she's very worried about Harry, you know, and Ron and Hermione, and jealous that Seamus got a letter from Dean, and angry that Harry hasn't contacted her at all, and frustrated because she misses Dean too, of course, and she thinks it was very dangerous of him to send the letter to you. And one of her dormmates snores, so she hasn't been sleeping."

Anthony stared at her, amused. "She said all that to you?"

"Well, the snoring, yes," said Luna, as if it was all very obvious.

"Thank you, Luna," said a tight voice, and they all looked up to see Ginny at the door, her hands clenched tightly at her side, clad in grey pyjama bottoms with hold around the ankles and an old orange Cannons shirt, a shirt that Seamus knew belonged to Ron. "With the racket you were making earlier, I'm surprised McGonagall hasn't been 'round to tell you all to go home."

"It's not even past curfew yet," Anthony said, gesturing with the quill, but his grin faded when he saw Ginny's rigid posture and firm fists.

"Seamus. Glad to see you're doing better." She still had not moved from the doorway, and her cold tone was not as pleasantly inquiring as the words would have suggested.

"Look, Gin," Seamus said, pushing himself up off the floor to face her. He cursed his shortcomings in height – Ginny was at least an inch taller than him, and she knew it. "I know you're worried about Harry and Ron—" he eyed her orange shirt with comprehension "—but you know it's best if they don't contact you."

"Dean found a way," she said, holding his eyes steady.

"It was stupid, you know that. He shouldn't have done it. He could have led bloody Snatchers right to my mam's house. For all I know, he did. Haven't even had a chance to write to her yet."

She said nothing.

"Ginny, I know what it's like. I'm worried sick too. Think I've been sleeping well? Think I don't have nightmares? I do. Fine, be angry. But don't take it out on them!" He waved his arms around the room. Neville sat up straighter.

"No, you don't know what it's like," she said coldly, her knuckles whitening. "That's my brother out there, and my best friend, and my… well, Harry. You don't know."

He felt a flash of anger – not the fiery kind, but the kind that would leave him tired and shaking and frustrated after it passed.

"Oh, cheers!" he cried, a sardonic smile gracing his face, and before he could stop himself and consider the consequences: "You've found three for the price of one!"

Silence. Ginny's mouth widened with her eyes, and he heard Lavender suck in a sharp breath. A quill dropped to the floor, and he realized his mistake.

"Dean's not… You and Dean, you're not…" Ginny stammered, unclenching her hands slowly.

"Oh goddamn," Seamus swore, more at himself than at her, "no. All right? No. We're not. Dean's straight." He was intensely aware of his friends staring at him, and suddenly he felt too hot in his clothes and in his skin.

"But you wish…?"

"Not a peep out of you, Brown, thank you. Just forget it. I should never have said anything."

Ginny blinked at him, her brown eyes softening, then, seeming to decide something, she nodded once. "Let's go for a walk," she said abruptly.

That stopped him short. "I… okay." It was only eight, and curfew not for an hour yet. Lavender and Hannah would be heading up the Room of Requirement shortly with Mandy Brocklehurst and Andrew Kirke to work on splints and tourniquets, Anthony and Luna were too busy plotting to be interesting, and Neville had declared earlier that he was going to finish his Magical Creatures essay tonight, damn it, though Seamus thought he might alternate with pining after Hannah left.

Ginny turned and made her way down, not even checking to see if he followed. Which he did, after a beat and a look around at the others, who all seemed… sad. Even Luna smiled at him in a way that could only be classified as wistful, and Anthony gave him a thumbs-up that was probably supposed to be encouraging, but ended up looking only a little bit awkward and childish.

::

They walked through the corridors aimlessly, uncomfortable silence reigning over them for the first few minutes. Seamus was sure he saw a flash of red curls hiding behind plump 15th-century noblewizards arguing in their frame about whether or not the earth was flat or round, and he made a mental note to find Mo this weekend and ask her about spying around for him.

"Seamus," Ginny started suddenly as they rounded a corner onto another empty hallway, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I was so angry with you."

He shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, I was in the infirmary for most of it, so no hard feelings."

"I know. I just didn't mean to… cheapen your friendship with Dean."

He thought about this for a second. Was that really what she'd done? No, he concluded. Not on purpose, anyway, not in any way that counted. "It's all right," he said quietly. "I know it's hard for people to understand our relationship."

It went deeper than friendship, closer to brotherhood. Hell, even their mothers had become close friends because of them. And Dean's father was the closest thing to one Seamus had anymore, ever since… well, since the summer before fifth year.

Ginny huffed something like laughter. "I was always jealous of you, you know that? Last year, with Dean. He just, you know, thought about you constantly. It was always 'Oh, Seamus would love this' and 'Seamus once did this' and 'Seamus and I'… Always knew he loved you in a way that he'd never love me, or any girl, for that matter."

That hurt in a way she could not have anticipated; he knew she was just trying to make him feel better, but her words twisted something deep in his chest. He felt it in his throat, a hard, bitter lump.

"Funny, that," he said, but without a hint of humour. His face twisted in a grimace that he'd intended to be a smile – he couldn't find the energy to fix it. "I was jealous of you."

"Oh, Seamus…"

"Ah, for fuck's sake, I don't want your pity. I know he's straight. Painfully straight. Feels stupid anyway, talking about this while he's, they're, you know, out there. Wherever they are."

Ginny looked down at her slippered feet. "It's just so… frustrating. I wish I could do something to help them. I wish I knew where they are, or even what they're doing."

"I know. And I've only got Mam and Nana left at home, and Dean's as good as a brother, so if anything happens to him…"

"Yeah. It doesn't get any easier the more people there are in your family, trust me." Her words, though they could have held a bitter, defensive edge, did not, and rang out desolately in the empty corridor.

Seamus stopped suddenly, and Ginny jerked back to look at him. He ran his hand through his hair in a display of agitation. "Oh fuck, Sullivan!" Clenching his fist, he swore again, this time in Irish.

She widened her eyes in amusement. "Your owl? Neville sent him home, after. Took a crap right there on Gryffindor table though, and he pecked at my toast." She laughed outright, a lovely, trilling sound he hadn't expected to hear tonight. Relieved, he began to walk again. The air in the castle was chilly; the snow from the other day had melted, but Seamus could taste it in the air, he could feel it coming in his mariner's bones.

"Thank God. Yeah, sorry about that, he's an asshole," he said, smiling. "Bane of my mother's existence, that bloody bird."

They walked on without speaking for a few minutes, comfortably. Ginny, despite her relationships with Seamus' dormmates and all the time she'd spent around him, had never figured a big part in his life, and if he were to admit it, he'd say that he had only begun to consider a real friend this year. She had a dry sense of humour that could compete nicely with Harry's and stand up to the twins' own more obnoxious brand. Neville counted on her, maybe more than she knew, to hold him up when his confidence waned, and Jesus, she was a terror with a jinx and a genius on a broomstick.

"Ginny—"

"Seamus—"

They tittered softly as they spoke together. "You go," Seamus said.

"I just wanted to say that… Really, I'm glad Dean is all right. I miss him too, you know."

"Ah. Dunno if he's all right, but he's alive, so that's something." He looked up at the paintings, snoozing in their frames. He remembered Dean at eleven, grabbing hold of Seamus' arm dragging him down every corridor they could manage, to look at all the works of art, and to talk to their occupants, still amazed at the magic surrounding them all. Seamus had been more interested in flying lessons and meeting as many students as he could, determined to speak to pretty girls and make new friends. Dean had followed him in those excursions too, when Seamus had gone to sit with different Gryffindors and Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs in the Great Hall at meal times (and even Slytherin once, though that hadn't gone too well) or in the library.

"What were you going to say?" Ginny said, startling him out of his melancholic reminiscing.

He stopped his walking to stare at an image of a small dory tilting dangerously on a tempestuous and grey ocean, the waves lapping against the frame violently. Dean would know what style it was, what approximate year it was painted, the kind of paint used, how many spells were cast to make it move… Seamus just wished he could smell the salt.

"I wanted to ask you if you were all right." He touched her shoulder as she looked on to the image too. A storm that would never be quelled, a dinghy that would never reach the shore. Crossing her arms tightly – the air was sharp, and her skin was covered in gooseflesh – Ginny sighed.

"If we're being honest, not really."

He decided against pressing for details. She would share them when she wanted to.

The little wooden dory nearly went under as a particularly large wave crashed into its side, though Seamus supposed it would never really sink, and it had been bobbing up and down on the same angry, spitting sea for hundreds of years. Turning his searching gaze to the woman beside him (for she was a woman now, you can't be a soldier training for war and still be just a girl), he saw tears glittering in her normally bright brown eyes.

"Gin—"

She turned and kissed him in one rapid movement, right on the mouth, and it was warm and soft and tasted like the ocean he missed so much. He didn't deepen the kiss, and neither did she; they left it as is, open-mouthed and soothing. Her hands twisted behind his neck and he pulled away, thumbing the tears on her freckled cheek.

She buried her face in his neck, hugging him tightly, and he knew then that he understood.

"Let's go back," he murmured into her hair after some time – minutes, hours, it didn't matter.

With his arm tightly around her shoulders they made their slow way back to the common room, talking softly about the castle's gossip, last night's training, Hannah and Neville's budding relationship. She explained to him her ideas for spells that would perform well on brooms, and he in turn told her what Dean had meant in his letter about magic not working properly in the Ireland countryside, where centuries of ancient natural magic was weaved into the fabric of the place so tightly it barely left room for anything else.

They were so deep in discussion that they didn't notice at first someone's rapid, clicking footsteps behind them, and when they did finally realize, turning quickly to find the source, it was too late.

"Well, well, well," said Pansy Parkinson, "if it isn't Hogwarts' resident fire-breather. Just the man I was looking for."