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*SEPTEMBER 1, 1991- SEAMUS'S FIRST YEAR AT HOGWARTS*
Seamus, dragging his trunk out of the fireplace and brushing ash off his robes, turned around to gape at Platform 9 3/4.
The morning had been an average one. Seamus had rummaged through the cupboards in search for even a morsel of food and finding none as usual. He'd double checked his trunk to ensure that he had all of his belongings and waved at his mother (and being ignored like always) as she strolled out the door in her red, mid-thigh dress and high heals. Probably to another date.
Seamus had dragged his trunk into the fireplace and flooed to King's Cross, where he was now but not even going through his mom's scrapbooks a dozen times could prepare him for the glorious sight.
Families bustled about, dragging cages and trunks in their wake, as they kissed relatives goodbye. Seamus found himself longing for that, but he knew he'd never have it what with his abusive and jailed father and neglectful mother. He'd given up hope of having a loving family long ago.
Anyway, the beauty didn't end with the other witches and wizards, but the train itself was a shiny red that gleamed in the early morning sunlight.
Seamus, almost in a trance, wandered over to the train and pulled his light body and much heavier trunk onto the train. He proceeded to search for an empty compartment.
It didn't take long as he found one not even ten feet away from where he stood. After lugging his trunk onto the rack, he seated himself and nervously tapped his fingers on his leg as he waited for the time to come and he'd be off to heaven and away from hell.
"Can I sit here?" A quiet, shy voice said and Shay turned to see a very familiar looking boy standing in the doorway.
He was tall and thin with dark skin. His hair was black as night and curled itself in a way that would've made it impossible to brush if the boy hadn't kept it cut short, cropped right along his scalp. He wore Muggle clothes- a blue shirt, jeans, and sneakers and he was dragging his trunk behind him. But what startled Seamus most were his eyes- they were almost black, and they looked so familiar like a memory just out of reach.
"Sure," he replied. "I'm Seamus, Seamus Finnigan, but please, call me Shay."
Dean had had a very eventful month. First, he found out he was a wizard and was going to a Magic School in Scotland to learn spells and Potions and all sorts of cool stuff. Then he'd seen a kid run straight through a solid wall, which should've been impossible. And then he met the kid with the familiar name on the train.
It had taken Dean and his mother a good twenty minutes to find the platform, but once they did, he kissed her goodbye and boarded the locomotive. Most compartments were full, but he found one near the front with only one boy in it, staring at the window.
"Can I sit here?" Dean asked, shyly. He'd always been shy and the teasing hadn't helped his confidence. Classmates had always bullied him for being African American, for being the quiet kid that sat in the back of the room and drew all day instead of going out and watching movies or playing sports. He played football, but that fact was always overlooked due to his obsession with art.
The short boy turned and Dean found himself flinching at the sight. The boy had skin so pale it was almost translucent and some areas bore bruises, but nothing too severe. There were dark bruises under his eyes and his body was thin, his face gaunt. He wore baggy robes and old scuffed shoes that looked like they'd existed for several decades. The only healthy part about him were his eyes: light brown with a strange organish tint, giving it the resemblance to firewood.
"Sure," he replied with a slight Irish accent. "I'm Seamus, Seamus Finnigan. But please, call me Shay."
Why did that name seem so familiar? A very, very distant memory tugged at Dean's mind.
"I'm Dean, Dean Thomas," he greeted, trying to shove the familiarity with that name to the back of his mind for now.
They sat in awkward silence for a moment until Seamus, tired of absolute quiet, finally piped up.
"So... do you like Quidditch?" He asked.
Dean was confused. What on earth was that? Digging in a ditch? Who would even find that enjoyable?
"What's Quit-itch?" He said, trying to form the words with his lips and failing.
Seamus's jaw dropped. "You don't know what Quid- wait, are you Muggleborn?"
Dean nodded mutely.
"That explains it, but in the Wizarding World, it is practically a crime to not know what Quidditch is. Lucky for you, you have a fantastic friend like me to show you the ropes."
And then, Seamus launched into an entire explanation on a sport that is played entirely on broomsticks with colorful disks called Quaffles and a tiny golden ball named the snitch. By the end, Dean was contemplating his love for football over Quidditch.
A friendship was born on that day, one that would save both of their lives or end in ruin.
Time flew by and Seamus and Dean's bond grew more by the hour. There's a saying at Hogwarts that the first friend you make there will be your best friend for life, and Shay and Dean were unknowingly proving that theory.
Their friendship grew a little during their first lesson when Seamus blew up the classroom. After trying to levitate a feather and managing to set it aflame, the flashback started.
He was choking, gasping for air, coughing into his fist as smoke twisted around him in tendrils that threatened to suffocate him.
"Mommy! Daddy!" He cried but he knew no one was coming. "Please! Momma!"
Nothing. He was all alone.
The world was growing quieter, the crackling of flames and the sound of his own choked breathing fading faster and faster until the world was absolutely silent.
His vision was fading too, all the orange and red and yellow that licked at the furniture and curtains until there was nothing left was vanishing.
"Please," he whimpered right before his eyes closed and nothing was left, not even the heat of the fire that swirled around him like a hurricane of flames...
"Mr. Thomas, would you please take Mr. Finnigan to the Hospital Wing?" Professor Flitwick squeaked, sounding exasperated as if he expected Shay to set the feather alight and had done so on purpose.
"Sure, Professor. Come on, Shay." And then Dean was yanking him out of his chair and down the hall, but he only made it to the end of the Charms hall before turning to Shay with concerned eyes.
"What is it, Shay?"
Seamus didn't know why he did it. He'd only known Dean for two days-not even that actually! But he felt safe with him-safer than he ever had with his mom or dad. He hadn't experienced true safely since he'd been in the hospital with that nurse that he couldn't remember the name of and only the barest memory of what she looked like. But he remembered her voice and her way of getting him to the open up without trying. And now he was feeling that again with Dean Thomas.
He broke down. He told him everything from his father's abuse to the fire to his mother's neglect and depression. By the end, tears streamed down his cheeks and there was a voice in his head, telling him to stop, Dean didn't need to know all of this. But he couldn't. After years of having no one, Shay finally found someone that would listen.
Dean listened politely, his expressions going from suprise to anger (although Seamus knew logically that it wasn't directed at him, he still thought that) to sadness to concern.
"It's okay, Shay," Dean whispered, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "It's over now and he can never hurt you again."
Little did they know...
The times were peaceful for a little while. Dean and Shay were now great friends, maybe even more so than Ron and Harry, which means that they are as close as they could be as friends. They went home for the summer and Shay spent it alone in the house for the most part except for the rare occasions when his mom brought one of her one night stands home (she almost never did that because a lot of them were uncomfortable with her having a kid in the same house).
And then came the end of second year.
"Bye, Dean, I'll write," Shay said as he hugged his best mate goodbye before scurrying off towards the fireplaces.
"Mom, I'm home!" He called as soon as he stopped coughing. She probably wouldn't care,- she might not even be home- but he always did it because it was polite.
Walking into the living room, Seamus stopped in his tracks, his trunk chattering to the ground a couple of millimeters from his toes.
Because there, seated on the couch with Riley beside him, positively glowing with excitement she hadn't possessed in decades, was Seamus's father, Sean Finnigan.