Six years before the Battle, Christmas.

Seamus had a best friend.

His name was Dean, and he was English and had a funny accent, and he was good at drawing and once made a very unflattering portrait of Dumbledore and his ridiculous hat that made Seamus laugh until his stomach hurt and he had a hard time breathing and then Ron told them to shut up as it was in the middle of a night and he even threw a pillow at him but that only made them laugh twice as hard.

They met on the very first day at the Great Hall, when they sat next to each other and turned out they both think that pumpkin juice is disgusting and there were so many desserts at the table that they wouldn't fit one plate so they decided to each fill their plates with only some of them and then switch plates so they could taste as many things as possible. Then Dean said that he had bought too many sweets at the train and was too afraid to eat most of them after a frog came out one of them and he had never wanted to eat a frog in the first place and so he asked if Seamus wanted to share, and of course he did and because they had beds next to each other they sat on Dean's bed and ate lots and then his bedsheets were all covered up in crumbs and chocolate, but while Dean had gone to wash his teeth the bedsheets had somehow been changed and they were both a bit scared about who had been there, but then Ron who had five older brothers told that the house elves did that and that there was nothing to be scared about.

So that's how they met and became friends.

He'd never had a best friend before. He'd had good friends, lots of them, who lend him their homework so he could copy them, and his teachers probably knew but they were too depressed with their adult problems like mortgages and their husband's secret mistresses to care. Dean didn't let him copy a single word, but he always has time to explain the problem until Seamus understood is as well, and in return Seamus taught him all sorts of stuff from the Wizarding world that they didn't teach in London. How to play the exploding snap, Quidditch rules and how to not fall off a broom, about the pixies in their back yard and how sometimes he and da caught them in jars and let them out when his ma had her back turned and didn't notice and then they made their escape and then they hid sometimes in the garden, sometimes under the stairwell, and once his da drove them to the closest town and bought him ice cream. His ma was very good at paybacks though, so it was all right. That kinda stuff, important things.

Seamus's ma liked that Seamus had such a good friend at school. He knew she had been afraid that he'd have a hard time making friends, as he talked too much and listened too little and people usually didn't like that, but Dean didn't mind, and Seamus did give him time to speak up too when he wanted, so it all worked out. Their families bumped into each other at the train station when the Christmas break started, and the whole way back his ma talked about what a nice friend he had and he had much better manners than Seamus and then Seamus made an ugly face and then she made one back, and then she said how pretty Dean's ma was and asked what they talked about on the train. And then suddenly they were back home, and Seamus was disappointed that there was no snow like in Hogwarts, but on the other hand there were no murderous trolls either so it all evens out in the end.

Seamus finishes telling all this to his da, who smiles at him over his newspaper before turning the page and says what a nice story it was, and then Seamus fills his lungs again with air and starts to tell all about his classes, and his da doesn't interrupt him even once as he is a very good listener, and real smart too, able to go through three papers and make evening snacks and eat and brush his teeth and still listen to Seamus at the same time. Not many people had as good parents as he did, and Seamus made a note to tell all about their good qualities to Dean when they'd meet again.

"Well, aren't you happy today," Miss Knight said and raised her eyebrow. Seamus smiled.

"It's a beautiful morning."

"It's raining sleet."

"Well, there's beauty in all sorts of things, that's what you've told me."

Miss Knight's knitting needles stopped clinking and she huffed. "I have not! I have impeccable taste; I'd never say such lies. Now, tell me, this wouldn't have anything to do with your mystery project?"

"It might," he grinned. Miss Knight winked and threw another skein at him.

"Try another colour. Bring a little life into it."

"Yessir!"

After Christmas Miss Knight had returned and seen the new and improved Seamus Finnigan, she had taken any opportunity to keep up his good mood. Today's activity: knitting a scarf. It was barely cold enough to wear a scarf outside, but it was a such a nice idea from Miss Knight that he couldn't possibly have said no. He had never even touched knitting needles, or a ball of yarn, or had any desires to learn the current activity, but who was he to say no to Miss Knight? She seemed so excited to spend time with him, most likely as she'd already gotten used to having people around after her two weeks in Dublin. Perhaps Seamus wasn't as exciting company, but he was better than the telly and sleeping Louie who'd otherwise keep her company.

"I knew you'd enjoy this," Miss Knight said contently. Her own work looked like lace, while his looked more like a lump than a scarf, but she was exactly right. He was having fun and he gladly admitted as much to her.

"You look happier now, compared to few months ago."

"I am happier. Lots more."

"Is there any specific reason?"

He had avoided the question for months, before he'd finally prepared a good enough answer for her. Something vague enough to not say any details, but enough that she should be satisfied.

"I got some bad news at the wedding, that's all. Now I have a plan to fix things."

"I like this new Seamus with a plan," Miss Knight smiled without looking away from her own work. "Plans are good. Plans keep you going."

And that was the truth. Ever since Hogwarts, Seamus hadn't had a single plan more complex than deciding what to eat next. He'd had nothing to strive for. Nothing to get him out of the bed in the mornings besides his odd jobs and hunger. Now he had something more. And yes, maybe this plan wasn't exactly what he had meant on Christmas Day, but a plan is a plan, and that's more than he had had for years, and that had to count for something, right?

"Speaking of my mystery plan, I'll be gone next Tuesday. Should be back by evening, but I can't make it to lunch."

Miss Knight put down her needles and leant towards him. "Well now you have me intrigued. I need details."

Seamus smirked. "Can't you give you many, otherwise it wouldn't be a mystery plan, would it?"

"You're doing this to tease me, aren't you? First you tempt a poor, bored old widower with an exciting plan, only to break my heart."

"I forgot you went to theatre school."

"I did, I graduated, and now I'm using my skills to manipulate you. Just make this easier on both of us and spit it out."

"You devil."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Seamus didn't know how much to tell. The more he told her, the more it would hurt to come back with a tail between his legs if things didn't work out. He took a few seconds to pick up a fallen stitch before his explanation. "Well, I'm meeting someone. From school. Someone who can help me. I met her briefly at the wedding, but before that I hadn't seen her in five years."

"And now you're nervous."

"Of course I'm bloody nervous! My whole plan depends on her help."

"Well, in that case I'll remember to pray extra hard for your success."

"I didn't know you're a proper Catholic."

"I'm not, but I might be, just this once," she winked at him. Seamus burst out laughing.

"You're such a heathen, Miss Knight. My parents would've had a heart attack if they'd heard you!"

"Proper Christians then, I take it?"

"Yeah, they were," Seamus smiled and continued his ugly scarf. Miss Knight's needles had gone silent. "Never heard either of them say a single curse word, either. Not pushy, though. I wasn't a devout like them, but they didn't mind. Said that God loved all of us equally either way, and that was that."

"Sound like good people," she said as her needles started to work again. "Do you mind me asking – "

"Fire. 1997."

"I'm sorry, love."

He smiled. "It's fine. It's been a long time. You would've liked them. Well, if you like me as you claim you do – "

Miss Knight scoffed and rolled her eyes, smile tugging at her lips. Seamus continued: "– then you would've liked my ma. Two peas in a pod, they said. I look just like her, and she talked too much too, and we agreed on everything. Da was patient and calm and kind. Gave good advice, too."

He had to stop talking to hunt a slipped stitch from his work. Miss Knight said nothing as well, and for a while they sat in comfortable silence, until he found the courage to speak again.

"I know I amn't exactly easy to be around, Miss Knight. I know I'm moody, and I can't do much, but I really appreciate all you've done for me, even though you've had no reason to." He gulped and looked at her from the corner of his eye, not brave enough to face her properly. "You're a good person too."

Another skein hit his head. Miss Knight didn't look at him, but the sight of her still made him grin.

"Silly boy, making an old lady cry in front of guests. No manners whatsoever."

For the first time in years Seamus had a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. It was too early to call it happiness, but there was something of it he recognized, something he'd thought to be lost forever for him.

He felt loved.

Gone was Hermione's sleek bun from the wedding, replaced by her more familiar frizzy curls. She wore neat, pressed robes, and looked more proper than all her co-workers combined. Dress for the job you want, not the job you have, and all that. She closed the door to her office behind him and gestured him to sit, taking her own place on the other side of the desk.

"It's been a while. How have you been?" he asked his carefully rehearsed line. He hadn't exactly had much tact to begin with, and years in practical isolation hadn't really helped. He just really wanted this to work.

If Hermione felt dubious of his sudden good manners, she certainly didn't show it. "The work never stops, does it?" she laughed. "With my own work, and with S.P.E.W., and with the promotion process, I feel like I haven't been this stressed since… well, I'm always stressed, so I should be used to this by now, shouldn't I?"

Seamus nodded in total agreement. "I suppose holiday's not an option for you?"

"The violations against non-humans don't take holidays, so neither do I," she answered seriously, but her eyes revealed the humour in her words. "Now, Seamus, what brings you to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I need a time-turner."

Oh. Welp. That was a bit more direct than planned.

The silence pressed heavy on his shoulders. He could hear his heart beating, his short breaths and the pain in his chest and the memory of the warm hope leaving his body, Hermione's eyes prickling like a thousand knives on his quivering body, and so much more until it became unbearable. He wanted to avert his eyes, but couldn't, not when he was this close.

"You know I can't do that."

"I knew you'd say that, so I became prepared," Seamus said too fast and pulled out the file he'd brought with him. "I have it all planned out. I know how it works. You can't be seen, and time still moves forward even when you're in the past – like, your body is older than it should be, I know that, Harry told me – "

"Seamus…"

"I have nothing but time! I can wait with my ma and da and Dean, so that's settled, I'll make sure he won't get out to mess with the timeline and that sorta stuff. I already found a hiding spot, a really good one, in the Muggle world, so that's all settled – "

"You have to listen to me."

"No," Seamus raised his voice. "No. You have to listen to me. There's no danger here. I've been planning this for months. I have a place. I have a way to support us. You wouldn't hear a thing about us until we re-entered the current time. We wouldn't mess the timeline, as their killers are already dead too, right? My parents burned alive and Dean… He was alive during the battle, you know that. Then he was forgotten, and he died of thirst and hunger while the rest of you were celebrating. The Order and the Ministry killed him just as much as the Death Eaters. Dean did nothing, nothing wrong, and you have no right to punish him for your own incompetence. I can make this right if you just – "

"SEAMUS!" Hermione bellowed. At some point she had stood up and planted her palms on the table, and he had no idea when, he really had gotten lost in himself, and shit he's still not back, he should listen, but it's just so difficult when everything he's been thinking of and working for and living for months was so close, why did she have to –

"Come back, Seamus. Listen to me."

"I'm listening, Hermione, but – "

"There are no time-turners. Not a single one left."

"There's always something left. A family heirloom in someone's cupboard, or something, if you just look enough."

"I have looked enough. I was part of a task force that hunted them all down."

"You missed one."

"Even if we did, how could you find something that we couldn't? The Department spent years on that project. We got them all."

"Why would you do that."

"You know why. We can't bring back the dead, Seamus. You aren't the only one who's tried this. My own husband did, and I had the same answer to him too. We can't."

"It wasn't someone you loved who died."

Hermione shut her eyes and shook her head. "No. I guess not. But even they learned to move on. You – "

"Well, maybe they didn't love them enough," Seamus spat out.

She didn't say anything for a whole minute.

"That's not fair," her accusing voice said somewhere far away.

Seamus didn't understand anything, why didn't she see, it was all perfect, and a voice that sounded like his shouted, but it surely couldn't have been him, he wouldn't have said those things out loud, not to her, not to anyone - "Fair? Who are you to talk to me about fairness? You're so incredibly selfish! You're not even trying to help me! Of course you wouldn't, you have a great job and a great husband and a proper future, of course you can't even try to think of what my shitshow of a life is, I need this and you're not – "

"Seamus!"

"- you have no idea, no idea how much I've worked for this and how much I want this. No idea. This is all I have, and you're not even trying -"

"No, I don't have any idea, but I need you to breathe, just come back here and sit down, I'm not going anywhere – see, isn't that better? Just take deep breaths, try to relax, you're going to be alright."

Breathing? Inhale onetwothreefour – hold - exhale onetwothreefour – inhale onetwofour – hold – hold – inhale –

shit

shitshitshit

"Try again, it's alright," he heard a whisper as a gentle hand smoothed his back in rhythm with the words. "Just – stay put for a minute, I'll get us some tea, alright?"

A time somewhere between a second and a day passed before he felt a hot cup between put between his hands. She doesn't let go of the cup before making sure he has a proper grip, and afterwards Seamus has no idea how long this interaction, or his waiting, or the silence surrounding them lasted.

He felt embarrassed. Ashamed of himself, wanting to disappear and take this memory away from him and her both. The last five years or so had been filled with fuzzy memories and remnants of feelings, and the sudden onslaught of it all overwhelmed him until all he was were those old-new emotions of shame and anger and grief.

Shame for how he must look to her, someone from his past, someone who had never been more than a classmate, someone hardworking and successful and real.

Anger at her, for her inability to help and her kindness at someone who didn't deserve it. Anger at himself, for wasting the last few months on an impossible quest. Anger at himself for knowing, deep down, from the beginning that it had been a futile mission, a tale he told himself as a distraction from reality, a tale he somehow learned to believe. Anger at wasting all the years when the world moved on and he was too stuck in his own mind to see it.

Grief for accepting that his ma and da and Dean were truly gone and were never coming back and him wasting so many years to understand that.

"Are you sure? They're all gone?" he whispered. The cup had gone cold already.

He lifted his eyes just enough to see Hermione nod minutely.

"I'm so sorry. I… I want to help you. I really do, but I don't… I can't. I don't know how."

"It's fine," he whispers. "You tried. And – and I don't think if it would've helped, anyways. I don't know what I want. I've never known, to be honest."

He nodded and rose, leaving the still full cup on her desk. She didn't lift her eyes from her own cup.

"Thank you. For trying. And for the Christmas card."

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? I know we were never close, but if you ever need someone to listen, I'm – "

"Nah. Thanks, though. Just… say thanks to Neville for me. And sorry, too. He was a good friend."

His hand was already on the door handle when he found himself smiling.

"You know what, actually? All of the Wizarding world can, with all due respect, go fuck themselves."

He didn't care about what she thought. He didn't look back at her; his voice spoke words he didn't even knew he was thinking about, but the second he heard them he felt pure relief.

"Ever since the war I've lost all my waking hours to my thoughts, my sleep to the nightmares, my home, my aspirations, my mind. I want my home. I want my ma. I want my da. I want Dean.

"I want nothing to do with that world. The wizarding world isn't exactly known for its mental health system, is it now? But I couldn't exactly go to a muggle therapist, saying how my parents were burned alive in their own home by evil wizards and how my boyfriend was starved to death in the cellar of a magical manor and how my magic school was destroyed.

"I have no education. I never even graduated fucking middle school" he laughs, even though it's not funny at all. "I can't make do in the muggle world, but I don't want anything to do with the wizarding one either. I have no diplomas; I can apply to no muggle schools. I'm stuck. This world has done nothing for me. I want out."

She must've noticed the tears rolling on his cheeks and over his smiling lips, but she kept silent. He finally dared to meet her eyes as he talked to the brightest witch of their age in their last meeting.

"Will you be alright?" she whispered, her hands still holding her cooling mug.

And that was the question, wasn't it? A question he had no answer for.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I'm alive."

"That's good," she smiled at him.

Tulips. A fat tomcat brushing his legs. The clear sound of metal needles hitting each other. An old friend at his door. A tacky, wonderful Christmas card. Kind words from the brightest witch of their age. A hand letting go of the doorknob and feet guiding him back to a seat, newly brewed tea in a floral cup, and gentle hands grabbing his.

Knowing he had loved and been loved.

"Yeah. I think so too," Seamus whispered back, and that was his final answer.

Seamus never found out if Miss Knight was a light sleeper or maybe she'd just stayed awake until he came back. Nevertheless, when he knocked on her door at two in the morning, there she was, waiting for him with a gentle hug and gentle words as he wept on the shoulder of her yellow morning gown.

"It's all going to be alright, love."

They were all gone. Ma. Da. Dean. Lav. His childhood home. His desire to be a part of the wizarding world. Shay. Bunny.

What he still had were sketchbooks capturing the daily life of silly teenagers, first loves and Giant Squids. Memories of day trips and yellow fields and bicycle races at dusk. Plans for the future with an artist and a girl with golden hair and his parents that wanted nothing but their son to be happy.

Seamus had always been a good friend and an even better son. Who was he to go against their wishes?

A long-forgotten smile tugged the corners of his mouth as he answered:

"I know."

Funnily enough, this time he believed it.