Three years and eight months before the Battle, August 1994.

"I think I like you."

The sounds of screeching brakes, wobbly tires and feet frantically scratching the ground. Seamus stopped his own rusty bike a dozen yards away, a lot more gracefully, and looked over his shoulder back to his friend.

"You alright mate?" he shouted.

Dean looked at him quizzically, with furrowed eyebrows and tilted head. He had the same bemused look as when Ron told them that their nicest teacher ever was actually a blood-thirsty werewolf, though this time there were no magical creatures anywhere in sight. The most magical thing about their surroundings were the ancient bikes and how they didn't crash underneath them, but Seamus had a pretty good guess that the thing that confused Dean the most at the moment were not pedal driven two wheelers.

Just as Seamus was about to shout a very clever insult comparing Dean's cycling skills to a toad on a unicycle, the said toad started to move, kicking himself forwards, his long legs having no trouble reaching the ground below his too-small loaned bicycle.

This time Seamus had absolutely no excuse not to laugh at the ridiculous sight – he was only human, after all -, but Dean's serious face didn't change a bit.

"Where's this coming from?" Dean shouted as he made his way.

Seamus shrugged. "Dunno. Felt like it."

Dean stopped next to him and rolled his eyes. "You just can't say stuff like that out of the blue, Shay. What if I'd crashed with something?"

"With what? With the field on our left side? With the field on our right side? Or with one of the many, many other vehicles on this road?"

"I honestly can't believe how empty this road is. We live in the 20th century, it's a tiny island – "

"Oi!"

"- a perfectly well-sized island, there should be other people around somewhere."

"Sure there are. Just not here, crashing with you."

"Well, what if you'd said that on somewhere with actual civilization? I'd be dead, Shay. Dead and buried."

"I thought you wanted to be cremated."

"That's not the point! Just… next time, use a little delicacy, or some shit. I don't know."

"Want me to write me a poem?"

Dean took a second too long to answer that.

"No, I amn't writing you a fucking sonnet, Dean!"

With those words a wide smile finally revealed itself on his best friends face, that special smile that only showed when Seamus was doing or saying something exceptionally stupid, when Dean couldn't pretend to be all smart and composed anymore and just went with the feeling and Seamus was really good at going with the feeling, that's how this whole mess started, and funnily enough when that happened his mind just keeps on going and going and going until they both stop laughing or smiling and Dean finally became his normal self and pulled Seamus back to Earth, but this time that didn't seem to happen, as Dean didn't do what he normally does, and instead of bringing him down to Earth like he was supposed to, Dean took him

up

up

up!

to the skies. Seamus's thoughts were air and his stomach was full of butterflies and his cheeks were burning brighter than the August sun in the sky.

He knew that that Dean had never done this before either, as the whole thing was short and sweet and awkward and totally not at all like in the movies, but he felt all giddy and warm just thinking about how Dean had chosen him instead of anyone else in the whole wide universe.

Dean finally did what he was supposed to do from the start, stopping Seamus's thoughts from their endless waltzing, when he obviously forgot what a beanstalk of a human being he was and forgot to balance his bike as he was bent halfway towards Seamus. The bikes clanked against each other and Dean nearly fell on his arse a second time, causing Seamus to erupt in laughter and forgetting to breathe and wheezing like a donkey.

Dean finally regained his balance and gently smacked Seamus on the back of his head.

"Way to ruin a moment, Shay."

His voice was reprimanding but his dark eyes were warm and the smile on his lips was the one that Seamus liked to think of his and his only, the one Dean never gave to anyone else. It was a smile he saw when Seamus complimented him, or when they sat next to each other in front of the fireplace in the common room, or when Seamus blurted out something silly on an abandoned Irish road.

"How was that my fault!" Seamus laughed.

"Dunno. Felt like it."

Seamus grinned and gave a playful kick to Dean's front wheel. "You wanker."

The ride home should've taken an hour or so, but the sun had long ago set when they finally saw Seamus's ma waiting at the front door with her arms crossed and a loud enough voice to wake the entire county, but for this once neither of them seemed to care.

He had no idea how he found him. He certainly didn't want to be found.

"A neighbour pointed me at the right direction," Neville said and shifted his weight around awkwardly.

"Huh." Seamus didn't know how Neville knew where he lived, but that's what you get with wizards. Never-ending mysteries.

"Can I… Can I come in?" Neville asked.

Seamus didn't want to let him in. "…sure."

If Neville had anything to say about Seamus's minimalistic, very thrift-store like interior design, he sure didn't say anything. He actually had the honour of being Seamus's very first guest ever, in fact. Even Miss Knight had never come in, partly due to lack of invitation and partly for knowing exactly what it would be like. Seamus just didn't really see the point in buying things, really. Sure, he was broke every day of the year, but those were just things, after all. Everything his parents ever owned went up in flames and left nothing behind, and now Seamus couldn't for the life of him even remember what their kitchen or living room or even his own room looked like. Why buy things when they would be forgotten in a few years anyway?

Movement in the corner of his eye woke him up again, as Neville hovered in the front hall, unsure what to do.

"Tea?" he remembered to ask before rushing to the kitchen without waiting for an answer. Quiet footsteps followed him.

The sounds of running water and chair legs screeching the floor filled the awkward silence neither of them was willing to break first. There was a time when one of them couldn't shut up and the other one was too kind to let the silence linger, but that was then.

Right. Eye contact. That's a thing. Have you never met an actual human being before, Seamus? You idiot.

"How was the honeymoon?" Seamus blurted out.

Neville's eyes light up. "Brilliant! We had such a great time. I've never been abroad, you know? Even if it was only The Netherlands, it still felt so far away. Hannah really helped me out there, considering… you know."

That Dean's rotten body was found a few days before you left.

He had run out of things to do and absentmindedly kept going through his near-empty pantry in a pathetic excuse not to turn to meet his former friend.

"Tulips," he muttered as his finger traced the dusty shelves. His ma had always loved them, especially purple ones. His da used to buy her a bouquet so large that she could hardly hold it for her birthday and their anniversary, and then she'd call him with sweet names and Seamus would gag in the corner but now after they're gone the good memories feel warm, and -

"You never came to the funeral."

Ah. There he is. The new, braver Neville. Straight to the point. No stuttering, no hesitation. Broke the silence and my thoughts, just like that.

The kettle whistled as Seamus answered.

"Why bother," he shrugged. "He's been dead for over five years. His parents hated me. Didn't want to ruin the day for them."

He waited for Neville to say something, but he didn't. In the uncomfortable silence Seamus continued to prepare their cheap teas, not looking at the other silent man.

Shit. Milk's expired.

He poured tiny mountains of sugar into the cheap tea and put one cup in front of Neville, the other one next to the sink where he stood, in the farthest possible corner from his past. Neither cup was touched.

Neville didn't look at him, but Seamus couldn't look away. The neatly pressed robes, full cheeks and soft belly just screamed health and happiness that he himself hadn't had in his entire adult life.

"When the death eaters stopped coming, so did food and water. He could've been saved, but no. Everyone was too happy to celebrate and mourn and celebrate more to do proper investigations until it was too late. They didn't even try. I knew he was dead. His family were idiots, trying to deceive themselves. No fucking way Dean just left the country and magic behind. He wouldn't've done that to me. He wouldn't."

Neville's fingers were twisting around each other, anxious, and Seamus almost felt pity for him.

"Want some Jaffa cakes?" he asked, not moving a muscle to get them.

"Seamus…"

"Why did you come here?"

Neville didn't touch the cup laid in front of him. Seamus sipped his tea, cold rage inside of him.

Who are you to come here. I didn't want to see you. You didn't obviously want to see me. It's been five years. Move on, Neville. Stop being such a nice guy for one day in your life.

"I talked to Hermione."

Of course you did. That goody two-shoes Hermione. She never knew how to mind her own business.

"Is that so."

"And I agree with her. At the wedding you did seem a bit… off, and then you didn't come to the funeral, and we didn't hear a thing."

"I told you. The funeral was pointless. And frankly, I didn't even want to come to your wedding. Nothing personal, I just don't want anything to do with magic ever again."

"But – "

"You knew about me and Dean, didn't you? Back in school?"

Neville seemed startled at the sudden change of topic, and momentarily forgot to avoid Seamus's eyes. "We had our guesses. And then there were the rumours."

"Well, the rumours spread outside the school, you know. Somehow. And it turned out that the stereotype of bigoted Catholic parents wasn't true with mine, but Dean's was a different case. His ma kept watch on him after that. We didn't know, obviously. Then one Easter Holiday she caught us – nothing bad, really, but enough for her. Threw me out and a month later Ginny asked Dean out, so that was that. He really liked her, so he was happy, his ma was happy, whatever."

"I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. Why would you have?"

"We were friends. That's why."

Seamus didn't answer. Neville sighed and put his head in his hands.

"His sister asked after you, at the funeral," he changed the subject. "The tall one."

"Charlotte? She was nice."

"I was thinking, and Hermione too, that it might be good to meet with her. Like, get closure, or something."

"Nah. Don't think so."

"…you're not even thinking about it?"

Seamus has thought about it, but even the thought of it gives him so much anxiety that he would rather be locked up in the same room with the Carrows again than think about that a second longer. He was done. He finally knew what had happened. That was closure enough for him. It had to be.

"I just feel like a fool," he admitted out loud. The tone of his voice came up flippant, not at all matching the screaming void in his head, when the reality slowly crept up to him.

"Why?"

Seamus chuckled.

"This should be closure enough. I've always known that he didn't make it, but finally there's proof. And I get that for the rest of you this is enough, but to me this is not proof that he's dead, but that I've wasted five years being a depressed fuck while the rest of the world has moved on and I haven't, even when I should've been the first to do that, and it just – "

"Shay, calm down, you're doing it again."

"- thanks."

Neville smiled sadly at him.

"My mind has always been like this."

"I know."

"It just goes on and on and on."

"I know."

"He knew how to make it slow down."

"I know, Shay."

"I just feel so stupid. Being so stuck. He wouldn't have been like this, you know, if it had been me who was lost. He really did love Ginny. He could've loved a bunch of others. It sucks knowing that he was the only one for me and I wasn't the same for him, and that I still think about him."

"Just because he loved Ginny doesn't mean that he didn't love you too."

"I know. Still sucks, though. That I wasn't as special to him as he was to me."

"…yeah."

"And it sucks that I didn't feel this when ma and da and Lav died. They were here, then they were not, end of story."

"You didn't have to wait five years for news about them."

"I didn't have to wait five years with Dean either. I always knew."

"It's not the same."

"…no. But they're all dead, in the end, and I'm a shitty son and a friend."

"That's not true."

Seamus almost reminded him of the shit Seamus put Harry through on their sixth year, but what good that could've done? He knew he was not perfect, but he was not shitty either, and sometimes he was a really fucking brilliant son and a friend, and all these thoughts at the same time in his head gave him a headache that he just couldn't handle, not with his former friend in his shitty kitchen and drinking shitty tea and Seamus being a shitty host, and now he's doing it again, and he just wants his boring, muggle life back when all was easy and all was well.

"Thanks for the visit, but I think you should leave."

"Seamus…"

Seamus took the still full cup in front of his old friend and emptied its contents into the sink.

"Merry Christmas, Neville."

"You're not giving him enough credit, you know," Neville stated. "You were his best friend. You were special. I hope you know that."

A bit later he hears his front door bang shut. Neville was gone, back to his own happy life and his wife and his friends and his career and Seamus had none of those things.

He was left alone with his failure of a life and he had only himself to blame and wasn't that just the greatest Christmas present one could give oneself – the truth.

Pop, say his shoulders when they are torn from their sockets.

Snap, say his fingers when they break one by one.

"Please," says his treacherous mouth begging for mercy.

Squish, says the knife when the blade flays his skin.

Crackle, say his parents skins when they are all burnt and crispy.

Ching, say the Christmas bells somewhere in distance.

Boo-hoo, says the woman with yellow teeth when his screams fill the room.

, says his mind when the spell is over.

and then the memory is over and he's back in the real world, in the hollow shell of flesh and blood he used to call home.

"Are you sure you'll be alright? Do you have enough food?"

"I know how to feed myself, miss Knight," Seamus rolled his eyes and patted Louie in his arms. The tabby was purring contently; he had always liked Seamus for some reason. Miss Knight tutted disapprovingly. Seamus knew he looked like shit, sunken eyes and cheeks and dead-white skin, but that's pretty much a given after certain dreams.

"I just worry, that's all. Did I remember to pack Louie's toys?"

Seamus had never seen the cat to do anything more active than roll over when sleeping, but he still nodded towards the canvas bag in the corner. Just as miss Knight was about to ask another question a car drove into her driveway, and for the first time ever Seamus saw the mysterious, pug-faced, elusive Martin Knight. He was alone in his brand-new car, his family left behind in fancy Dublin that he so seldom left to see his mother in the countryside.

Miss Knight rushed to her son as fast as he could with her wobbly knees, hands stretched out to hug Martin. Seamus felt pleased to see that her son seemed just as happy to see his ma, judging by the wide grin and the tight embrace. Louie lifted his head for just a second to look at the man before closing his eyes and relaxing again.

"And this must be the famous Seamus Finnigan!" Martin smiled at him. It seemed a genuine smile, not at all what Seamus had expected.

"G'day," he replied back. "I'd shake hands but…" he nodded at Louie, who had no intention of moving anywhere. Martin laughed.

"I can't believe that cat's still alive! Always hated me, the bastard."

Louie shifted in Seamus's arms so that his back was pointedly turned against Martin. Seamus chuckled for the first time in ages, and even Miss Knight furrowed her brows at the strange sound.

Martin began hauling Miss Knight's bags into his fancy car, never losing his jovialness.

"So, what are your plans then, Seamus? Throwing a big party?"

Miss Knight threw a reprimanding look at her son, but only Seamus seemed to notice. She had given up years ago trying to pry his reasons for his self-isolation, but by now it was obvious that his family was no longer in the picture, and frankly, neither was anybody else.

"Nope, just me and my pal Louie," he answered as gleefully as he managed, which didn't amount to much.

"Isn't that popular these days? That the kids abandon all silly traditions like Christmas, secular and all that?"

Seamus had no idea what to say or if he was right. "Sure. I guess."

Martin patted him in the back as he passed by again. "I'm jealous! You have no idea what a hassle it is to organize a Christmas with three kids, in the middle of a city. The decorations, the gifts, the noise, the hassle – "

"The mother," Miss Knight reminded. Martin didn't look chastened at all.

"Exactly! I wish I could be in my 20s again and have a relaxing, quiet Christmas."

Seamus remembered what Christmas's used to be like, years ago, with his ma and da in the countryside. They always had peaceful holidays, even when he was an unruly and wild child. His da cooked and sang at the same time, his ma went crazy on decorations every year, and Seamus loved every second of it.

His parents were only charred, smouldering flesh and bone on Boxing Day. He heard about it the day after. However, as he was stuck with a bunch of psychopaths in Hogwarts, he never made it to the funeral. No matter. Alecto's tale of both events was descriptive enough for him to feel as if he'd really been there. No funerals for muggle-lovers and their filthy mates, apparently; just dump them anywhere.

"Ready to go!" Martin shouted cheerfully as he slammed the backdoor shut, startling Seamus. Louie hissed at him for his too tight a grip and he quickly loosened his hold. The cat still didn't leave his arms, only gave him a warning glance before resuming his nap. Miss Knight stood right in front of them, her hand gently patting Seamus' arm.

"Just a minute! I'll be right there," Miss Knight shouted over her shoulder. Martin shrugged and went inside the car, waving Seamus goodbye.

"Are you alright, love?" she asked him. He raised his eyebrows.

"Why wouldn't I be? I've got Louie here, couldn't be better."

"I'm not stupid, Seamus," she said in a surprisingly stern voice he hadn't heard before. "You've been different for months, ever since the wedding, but I still don't know why. You look like hell."

"Maybe it's none of your business."

For some reason he couldn't bring himself to feel ashamed.

Miss Knight sighed. She was too good a person; she didn't seem upset at all for his words. "No. It is not. I just worry, that's all. You haven't slept."

"And I want you to have a merry Christmas with your family and not worry about me. That's my present for you, yeah? I appreciate what you do for me, I really do, but even you deserve a break from – "

Seamus gulped, knowing he had driven himself into a corner.

From me.

"- from this dead little town and go enjoy city life."

Miss Knight always did seem to know what was going on inside his head. Seamus didn't entertain for a second that she didn't know what a bad lie that was, but she was too sweet to comment on it. Instead, she stood a little straighter and smiled her pretty wide smile, making the world just a little bit better with it.

"I think I will, actually! Martin's taking us all to the theatre. A Christmas Carol, obviously."

"He's a good son," Seamus smiled. Miss Knight grinned.

"The best. See you in two weeks then?"

"We'll be here," Seamus smiled back and lifted Louie's paw. The cat grumbled unhappily as Seamus waved his paw, but quickly went back to his slumber. Miss Knight pressed a kiss on top of Louie's head and ruffled Seamus's already messy hair.

"Now, be good boys, don't burn the house down, eat your veggies. Remember to call if you have anything you need, alright?"

"Alright."

And that was that.

Miss Knight didn't call him. Obviously. Why should she? She was having a wonderful Christmas with her wonderful family, why ruin the jolly mood? She had left him a gift – hand-knitted socks, just like every year, and just like every year, he absolutely loved them.

He could hear a loud clang from the kitchen, a sign that Louie should eat and so should he. The tabby gave him a heated look as it kept pushing the bowl against the wall, begging for attention and food. Seamus obliged and stayed kneeling next to his silent companion as the cat ate, not at all certain how his life had turned up like this.

"What do you think, Louie?" he asked. The cat didn't even glance at him.

"Maybe it's just easier to be sad, sometimes," he muttered.

It had been five years. Five lonely, miserable years. He never had grand plans for himself, but the Seamus of the past never could've even imagined this future for himself.

He still had Miss Knight, Louie, and the memories of the people he had loved.

Maybe it's easier to dwell on the past when everything was simpler and he was happy.

Maybe he didn't want to let go, because that would mean that he had nothing else to fill his thoughts.

Maybe the second he let go, he would have to face that he had no plans, no wishes, no dreams.

Louie forced his way between Seamus's kneeling legs and into his lap, ready to start his lunch nap, but not before seeking Seamus's patting hand with his headfirst.

Yeah. Maybe it was time.

He got four Christmas cards, three more than the previous year.

Lavender always gave the best cards. They were always yellow, like her favourite colour, no matter the occasion. Her own voice sang through the cards, over-enthusiastic and off-key but they were exactly like she was. A bit too much, but he had always liked that about her. Lavender was always true and kind, even if others couldn't see it.

The last year she had to bring the card to the Hospital Wing as he had been a blabbermouth as usual to the Carrows, and she had cried so much that the card was all blotchy and ugly and even her singing voice cracked once or twice.

Alecto threw the card away when she found it, just like Greyback had done to Lavender's broken corpse.

No, no, no – don't go there, we're trying to forget all that, moving on and all that.

One was from Miss Knight, with a Santa Claus on a tropical beach and a cocktail in his hand. The last three come in a bunch, and Seamus could guess that Neville had sent them all as he hadn't wanted to share Seamus' address. The first of the three was from Neville himself, hand-made with care, which was so Neville and Susan. The third one was from Hermione, but it was the fourth one that was of special interest for him.

It was a cheesy family portrait with season's greetings printed on top of the happy family. Harry had little James, as named by the backside of the card, on his lap, while Ginny leaned against her husband, both sitting in front of a massive Christmas tree on the side and the wall behind him decorated with dozens of pictures. It was so idyllic it nearly made him sick.

There was a picture of Ginny lifting the League Cup in the air, with her teammates cheering the background. Another was an old family picture, both twins still alive and well and grinning at the camera. About a million were about baby James, his chubby cheeks plastered everywhere on the wall.

Then Seamus saw the one picture that was going to change his winter.

A picture of Sirius Black behind the happy family, smiling wide, a hand around Harry's shoulders.

Sirius.

Seamus crumpled the photo and sprung up. He had plans to do.

He was going to bring Dean back.