Team: Holyhead Harpies

Position: Chaser 3

Prompt: Broken porcelain - Write about someone being cursed.

Optional Prompts:

[character] Dean Thomas

[dialogue] "What's the deal with you always wanting to ruin your own life?"

[word] short

Trigger Warnings: Major character death (spoilerz), casual mention of dismemberment, very angsty, slight AU

Word count: 1649

Well, well, well. Second year with the Harpies! The team is looking a little bit different this year but it's already shaping up to be a blast. To start things off, a little Deanmus tragedy, just to keep us in our regular programming. It's going to be a slight AU (for romance's sake) but otherwise I think we're good. As long as you heed the warnings. Heeeeeeeeed them!

Big beta thanks to owlwayssandforever, DobbyRocksSocks and arcane illusions and huge love to all the Harpies!

The explosion had caught them both by surprise. Though Dean had learned by now to always expect things to go haywire, there had never been a mistake of this magnitude before. He coughed as dust invaded his nostrils, eyes red and running from the smoke. He was lucky to have been outside at the time, on his way back from Gringotts, but he knew Seamus was somewhere amongst the rubble.

Ever since they'd gotten that order for the Wizarding Cup, Seamus had barely left his lab. They had both fought tooth and nail to establish Firestarter Fireworks but the business had been Seamus' baby. Being recognised by such an organisation was a dream come true - and the short notice had made him all the more devoted.

"How come you're so good at making everything explode?"

Seamus coughed, the smoking cauldron in front of him a visible culprit. "What can I say, Dean, it's a Merlin-given gift."

Dean huffed, his fuse too short for careless jokes as he tried to salvage his half-burnt Potion books. Snape had just moved on from berating the two of them and that was enough to ruin the first year's day.

"Well, maybe you should put that talent to better use than destroying my school supplies."

People on the street were screaming and wailing but Dean did not spare them a second glance before he rushed into the remnants of the shop. Seamus had always had a knack for putting his life in danger since everything seemed to blow up around him but this time Dean was worried he might have finally succeeded.

"Seamus?" he called out, coughing up the last letters as the smoke rushed into his lungs.

He yelled his name again, to no avail. Even if Seamus responded, the noise on the street was deafening. He stepped with caution over to where the lab used to be, eyes sharp, focused to catch the slightest bit of movement.

Nothing. Nothing. Noth-

There.

Dean thought his heart was going to burst. It was surely beating too fast to function properly. Why did they have to do this stupid boggart lesson?

He'd already been terrified after facing down his own demon. His adrenaline hadn't yet subsided when Seamus stepped in front of the cupboard, wand at the ready. And when a dark-skinned boy stepped out, everyone had fallen into a puzzled silence.

And when the boy caught on fire, everyone gasped with alarm. But the real terror was waiting until Seamus shouted the incantation.

Dean still couldn't tell what had gone wrong – but something had, horribly so. The spell had misfired, knocking onto a beam and causing a fire that spread quickly to engulf the whole front of the classroom. Panic ran amok as students rushed to the back of the room in an effort to shield themselves, some crying, some screaming, and everyone mentally saying their goodbyes.

It took ages for Professor Lupin to calm them down and, as soon as they were excused, Dean grabbed Seamus' arm and pulled him outside to an alcove.

"What's the matter with you, Finnigan?! Are you trying to get us all killed? What's the deal with you always wanting to ruin your own life?"

Tears were still streaking his soot-covered face and the fear in the short man's expression was, for the first time, genuine. He tended to find his accidents amusing but this time around he seemed truly shaken.

"It wasn't my fault!" He squealed, turning his head to the side to cough into his sweater. "I can't," he paused to cough again, almost heaving, "I don't, I'm-".

The cough overtook him again, and Dean had to hold him up as he shook, his body wracked by violent convulsions.

"Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey. We've been through enough for one day."

His wand lay forgotten by the side as Dean dug with his bare hands through the rubble. His nails had broken, and his skin was torn and bleeding, but he was too shaken to use magic, to be civilised. He was running on nothing but instinct, his magic too unstable to be harnessed. He felt no pain, no exhaustion as he dug and dug and dug, the slight wobble he had noticed in the pile enough to keep his hope fueled.

Oh, how he wished the explosion had taken him out too. When the rubble fell away to reveal the bleeding man, Dean wholeheartedly begged for a God he didn't believe in to smite him on the spot.

Seamus' face was burned - badly - and the blood running from the open wound in his cranium covered whatever expanse of intact skin he had left. Dean's eyes travelled down to the man's torso, only to discover his left arm was torn below the shoulder. His legs were still covered under boulders of concrete and their state remained unknown but Dean did not need to see any more of the damage to understand the situation was dire. He just hoped it was salvageable.

After a frantic scramble for his wand, he fired off a quick Patronus to St. Mungo's and turned his attention back to the unconscious man. Only, Seamus wasn't unconscious; deep brown eyes were staring into his soul, their usual spark hidden behind clear pain but still faintly visible. His days on the run had taught him well as Dean carefully stabilised the shorter man's neck with a spell before lifting Seamus' head and placing it on his lap.

"What's the deal with you always wanting to ruin your own life?"

Dean hadn't meant to sound so accusatory, but the tears scalding his cheeks brought forth a rage he hadn't thought himself capable of. Ever since he met the short, stubby Irish boy that first day at Hogwarts, he had witnessed accident after accident, to the point where he had wondered more than once if there was nothing accidental after all. He had developed a friendship knowing all the risks and he had fallen in love despite worrying day in and day out. Worrying that this day would never come.

Seamus coughed, his body lifting off the ground with the force of his spasms, blood dribbling out of his mouth and spraying the rubble around them with red. Dean muttered more spells under his breath though the bleeding never seemed to cease. He went to summon another Patronus but Seamus' hand stilled his, fingers barely strong enough to wrap around his wrist.

"Stop trying to save me, wizard." No matter what he went through, Seamus just never seemed to lose his spirit. Dean chuckled, leaning his head down to place a chaste kiss on one of the few patches of hair Seamus had left.

"Ever since I met you, you keep trying to blow yourself up. I'm not letting you succeed, you hear me?" Seamus' hand fell by his side and Dean summoned the pearly white salamander, barely in control of his own memories.

"It's not your call. Ever since-", the wounded wizard was interrupted by another violent cough, "I've been cursed ever since I was a wee lad. I wanted to-", cough, "I wanted to tell you but-"

"What are you on about, you nutter?" Curse? What curse? Had he been right all along? Had there been a reason for all of Seamus' unexpected mess-ups?

"The Finnigans were cursed once upon a time, a blood curse. We never know when it manifests until it happens. And when it does, we can't even mention it. First, your throat closes and then, the more you try, you feel like you can't breathe. It will choke you before you can utter anything. We already have a short lifespan so every extra day we get is a gift. I tried to tell you after the boggart incident but it stopped me. You thought it was smoke inhalation, remember?"

"And what about now? Why can you suddenly tell me?" Dean was afraid he already knew the answer and he wasn't sure he was strong enough to hear it. He couldn't even bear the thought of losing the man that had made himself his whole world.

"I guess the curse can tell it can't do me any more harm, huh? Pretty clever, for a curse. Guess that's where all my brains went." Seamus tried to laugh but it was more a grimace of his former joy than anything. "It messed with my magic, I can't explain how. I've been cursed by fire and by fire I will die. That's what my gran told me after my first incident. I set her curtains on fire. She was the only one that knew. If she could only see me now."

Another cough, this time stronger, longer lasting, taking more life out of the Irish man than he had left to give. Dean muttered numbing spell after numbing spell, some instinctual part of him aware that there was only one thing he could do for his lover now. He kissed Seamus' head again, his lips lingering, greedy for the fading warmth of the skin beneath them.

"She'll not see you any time soon, you got that? You're not going anywhere, Seamus Finnigan, you hear me?" He choked on his words, emotion welling up in his throat. He reached down to grip Seamus' hand in his, tangling their fingers in a vain effort to tether the fading man to his own life force. Because he would, if he could, he would die a thousand deaths to breathe life back into the man laying on his lap.

"I love you too, you big idiot. And I wouldn't change a thing."

Burned, stubby fingers squeezed long, dark ones one last time before the cold took over. There were no more words to be said. And as the cold settled over Seamus' body, the dam in Dean's heart broke at last.

The curse had won.