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Somebody to Lean On

 

 

 

"We should have poker night here every week," Neville's words were slurred, the side effect of the few drinks he'd imbibed already.  He was a self-confirmed lightweight with no delusions about it, not that it stopped the boys from taking the piss every opportunity they got.

 

What had previously been a bi-weekly occurrence at the Leaky since leaving Hogwarts had shifted to their home with Seamus and Dean taking a flat in London.  The first game had started a night while they were all staying at Hogwarts, helping with the restoration, and everybody but Harry and Ron using the benefit of the library to revise for their NEWT exams that had been pushed back a few weeks from their normal sitting date.  It had started with a trickle of each of them into the common room, unable to sleep for a variety of reasons.  Nerves over their NEWTS, nerves over being in the castle still which held as many unpleasant memories as pleasant ones, and nightmares that most of them were more than entitled to – not that any of them were admitting to actually having them of course, had been the reasons for the informal assembly.  Rather than doing anything productive like read their charms textbook like Hermione had suggested when she'd stumbled down one night, they'd brought out a deck of cards instead.

 

"'magine we will," Seamus said, placing the cigar he had no real intention of smoking in his mouth just for effect, "since you tossers don't have a proper abode for us to gather at."

 

He pointed at Ron, "Lives with your mum," motioned to Harry, "lives with Ron's mum," nodded at Neville, "still with the apron strings to your Gran," the last earning an indignant, "Oi!" from the man he'd addressed.  Looking at Dean, he added, "And if I hadn't strong-armed this one here, he'd be as pitiable as you poor sods."

 

"I think it was you who horned in on me getting a flat," Dean remarked with a role of his eyes, "I would have perfectly content with a nice one bedroom near the Leaky, but noooo, somebody decided I wasn't allowed to live alone."

 

It probably was true enough, considering Dean had been smothered at home by concerned mothers and sisters who had never really understood what the problem had been that had made him run away, nor exactly what happened in between despite their own visit from the Death Eaters.  In spite of that however, they knew enough to know they were thrilled he was home and safe, and wouldn't let a spare minute go by without letting him know it, or trying to protect him besides.  Of course Seamus had made the Thomas' home his too, much to the chagrin of his own indulgent and rather over protective family, in a similar fashion refusing to be parted from Dean now that he was back and safe.  Between the lot of them, they were slowly driving the boy nutters.

 

Unlike the blood relatives though, it never occurred to Seamus that Dean might object to his making the move with him – or at least enough that he would try and forbid it, not that Seamus was going to give him the chance.

 

And Dean hadn't, not really – even with everything else that was between them, just grumbled every once in awhile.

 

"Somebody decided you'd be living in squalor with your head up in the clouds painting all the time, so he better come along to take care of things," Seamus took the cigar from his mouth, pointing it at Dean before clenching the prop between his teeth again.

 

It was a cover and a challenge all in one.  It was Dean's plan to make it as an artist, it always had been, and he hadn't changed it despite having the ability to do anything else he wanted.  Seamus – and probably his mum and sisters – were the only ones who knew he hadn't painted anything since before he'd been on the run during the last year, hadn't even tried.  It was like there was some kind of block there that they weren't allowed to talk about, some issues that were better left alone.  It had nothing to do with potential squalor; Dean just needed somebody to support him though he would never ask, and though Seamus' income bartending at the Laughing Dragon pub wasn't exactly going to get him invited to any fancy affairs, it and tips were enough to afford a place until Dean sorted it out.  Of course too, there was the matter of the other kind of support, the kind that couldn't be quantified, and the kind that Seamus was fumbling his way through learning to provide.  And, like he had done every time the topic was even broached in the most subtle manner, his roommate side-stepped it.

 

"Like you cook and clean," Dean snorted, "do you even remember how to cast a  Scourgify, let alone make anything more complicated than beans on toast?"

 

It was true enough, and Seamus gave a cheeky grin, "Ordered the take-out tonight didn't I?  Worked the floo all by my lonesome and everything."

 

Dean shook his head, as unlike Seamus he was actually the domesticated sort who would have made his own bloody curry instead of ordering it from the Patil's restaurant, "I blame it on your mum.  Coddled you she did, all those years. Forget the past tense, all these years.   And you have the nerve to talk about Neville's apron strings."

 

As Seamus took the mature route and stuck out his tongue, Harry turned to Neville, "Besides, why are you so keen on our games being held here?  Last time we were at the Leaky you spent half the game wandering over the bar to get drinks just so you could stare down Hannah's rather low-cut top.  If anything I thought you'd be petitioning we bump things up to meeting every week."

 

They all swiveled to look at Neville, who had flushed a shade of scarlet. "I don't know what you're talking about!"  His protest was immediate, but lacked the heat to make it even mildly believable, and was met with guffaws and teasing from the blokes around him.  Not that any of them had really noticed anything save Harry it seemed.  Of course the topic of conversation then switched to the size and curvature of Hannah Abbott's knockers – and Seamus chimed in himself, because they were some beautiful ones.  She'd taken out a loan from Gringotts to try and restore the pub to some of its previous glory and level of business, which was an admirable goal, especially considering its former manager and owner had fled.  Also a bit of a shame, when the nice and quiet nature of the pub these days had been the reason they had met there.

 

"Hermione still going back and properly getting her NEWTs?" Seamus asked Ron, dealing the cards to the lot of them, "Bloody whacked she is, don't know anybody who'd willingly go to school when they don't have to."

 

Ron nodded adding, "She is completely nutters, I mean…" he broke off, flushing, "I mean, she's not nutters, she's perfectly sane.  Commendable really, wanting to finish her education properly and be as qualified as possible for whatever job she chooses to take afterwards.  Learning for learning sake isn't a bad thing either."  His voice was stiff, obviously parroting another's words, and they all snickered as they realized he was probably repeating everything she had said when he dared to question her decision.

 

"Mate," Harry said with a roll of his eyes, "there are no extendable ears listening in here.  We all know Hermione's nutters, you're allowed to say it without having your snogging privileges cut off for a month."

 

Ron cursed with a dark look on his face, giving a menacing look towards his friend.  Then, suddenly, it lightened considerably, and he looked condescendingly towards all of them.  "Not just snogging privileges I'm worried about, course," he said in what, for Ron, passed as a subtle tone.  They all gaped at him, not exactly slow on the uptake, and more shocked then they would have been if Harry had announced a similar implication with Ginny.  There wasn't a one amongst them who wouldn't have expected the sometimes annoying, and always uptight, curly-haired one to be the sort to be – as Ron himself had drunkenly said once – a bit of a cock-blocker.

 

Harry turned a bit green, "Things I didn't need to know…"

 

The smug look Ron sported was rather annoying, "Not like you wankers are getting anything are you?  And I do mean 'wankers' literally."  He pointed sternly at Harry, "And you better not be getting anything.  If you ever do, I certainly don't want to hear about it, we clear?  Hermione might be a friend to you, but Ginny is an actual sister to me, so the only thing I want to hear is going on between you two is hand-holding and chaste pecks on the cheek."

 

It was obvious Harry was going to counter, just to annoy if nothing else, but Dean interjected first. "Can't say I'm keen on hearing about any of it either," he remarked mildy, reaching for a handful of cheese fries Neville had brought, courtesy of the Longbottom house elf.

 

The boy who had died and then lived again had the decency to look slightly abashed.  He and Dean had always managed to keep it from being a point of contention between them, he and Ginny, but that didn't mean Seamus didn't know exactly how Dean felt on the subject.  He'd been the one to go after him when Dean took off while Harry and Ginny had snogged in the common room hadn't he?  If he'd been Dean, he might have been a little bit tempted to go sock Harry in the nose, at least once – but the more mild-tempered boy had been content with sulking for a little bit, even if Harry had not really bothered to consult him or apologize ever.  It was true Dean had never really liked Ginny all that much as a girlfriend, but she had been his bird, and Harry had been a friend and dormmate.

 

Rather then let it get awkward, Seamus shook his head, "Not able to talk about sex at the poker table?  It's almost as bad as a silence in the locker room.  Neville, you're going to have to act like a proper bloke for once and shag Hannah so we have somebody who isn't an ex, relative, or like a relative to talk about."

 

"I would never talk about it," Neville said indignantly.

 

They all rolled their eyes, because Neville really wouldn't.  It wasn't even that he was uncomfortable with the topic of sex, because he apparently wasn't a prude.  He was just a bit of a wanker in how much of a gentleman he was.  He'd seen Luna for a few months right after school, and they'd never even known if he'd so much kissed her.  It was pathetic, really it was, that annoyingly strict moral and chivalrous code the boy had.  It was supposed to be the point in having male friends; poker, belching, no talk about feelings, talking about Quidditch until you were blue in the face, complaining about significant others, and living vicariously through the voracious sex lives of your friends – made up or otherwise.

 

Seamus' attention was distracted by Dean, even as Harry went into a spiel about how exactly Ginny was driving him around the bend with all the hints she kept dropping about marriage.  If he didn't know him better, he would have thought the downtrodden look on his face had to do with the topic switching back to his ex-girlfriend, but since Seamus knew him better then he knew the back of his own hand, he knew it wasn't the case.  It was the way of things these days, the way it had been since Dean had returned from being on the run.  No explanation, no rhyme or reason, he just slipped into moments of melancholy and reflection – even when having a fun night with the blokes.  Though Seamus had learned coddling like Dean's mum had tried didn't work, he still had no idea how to break it, and how to make those moods go away.

 

It fucking killed him that he couldn't.  Given that it had always been his lot in life to take care of and cheer up Dean Thomas.

 

"Oi mate," he went the practical route of giving him a task, tossing a cheese fry at his friend, "grab me a beer, yeah?  Getting rather parched here, and I'll start to like you all a lot less if I start to sober up."

 

It didn't put a smile on Dean's face, but it broke the moment of contemplation out of force, so it was a start. "You can cast a spell to levitate a bottle," he snorted, even as he pulled out his own wand and waved it around, bringing the beer to an even stop in front of Seamus.

 

"I could," he acknowledged, prying off the top, "or rather, I could try.  As much as I love a good pint though, I choose not to have the smell of it seeping into our kitchen floor."

 

His tone was light-hearted, and though he had wanted a drink, Seamus' main intent had been to get Dean's attention focused back on them, not whatever daydreams he wallowed in.  It was a bloody exhausting task, worrying about Dean, and despite hearing the saddest of sad stories as a bartender he wasn't much qualified as a psychologist.  Still, he made it a full time job for Dean himself, and when the boys came over especially because he wasn't going to let the bloke look weak in front of the others.  Harry and Ron especially – they were friends, but they weren't really friends.   They'd proved that time and again, and things weren't going to magically change now that school was done, or just because they sat a few poker matches together.

 

"I bid twenty galleons," Neville announced drunkenly, shoving the near entirety of his pile worth twice that much into the center of the table, shifting the direction of Seamus' thoughts.

 

Shaking his head, he went back to the futile effort of trying to teach a drunken man the proper way to actually play poker.  Again.

 

 

******

 

 

Neville, Harry and Ron were long gone by the time three in the morning rolled around – safely home by foot after two disastrous attempts at apparition.

 

Seamus for his part was cuddled starkers in his bed, dreaming his favourite dream of becoming starting chaser for the Pride of Portree when the cries woke him.  It was a niggling sensation at first, intruding into his deep sleep, until they finally broke through and woke him entirely.  It took a moment to get his bearings, then Seamus sighed in defeat, closing his eyes – not to make another attempt at sleep, but in resignation.  Instead he allowed himself only a moment before slipping from his bed and slipping on a pair of pants and not much else before padding down the hall.

 

Pausing in the entrance of the other doorway, it was obvious Dean hadn't awakened from sleep yet.  He tossed and turned in the sheets, a sheen of sweat on his face as he moaned and then cried out.  It was always a variation on the same, cries for his mom and sisters, for 'Ted', terror of Greyback – or things much less intelligible.  Seamus never knew what they meant, because Dean never wanted to talk about them, and not being a bird he wasn't going to make him.   Conventional wisdom probably said that would make them go away, but Dean wanted to avoid talk, and as stubborn as Seamus was that wasn't one fight he was picking.

 

Fourth time that week, and Seamus did the same thing he always did.

 

Yawning widely in the way of one who was practiced at this routine, though it didn't belie his concern, he stumbled over to the bed still half asleep himself and slid under the covers beside Dean.  Elbowing his friend lightly, he grabbed the spare pillow and folded it under his head, trying to get comfortable.

 

"Seamus?" Dean muttered his name, half in surprise and the panic born of nightmares – half of embarrassment.  "What the bloody hell?"

 

It was an act, all a bloody act, but Seamus only murmured gruffly, "I was cold, shove over.  Don't know how you managed to get the only comfortable room in the house."

 

"Annoying prat," Dean said without heat, and Seamus could hear as his breath steadied and his body relaxed into the old springs of the bed.

 

Neither of them mentioned that it was warm outside and even he was perfectly capable of casting a warming charm, or transfiguring a thicker blanket if it was actually needed.  It satisfied pride, and it let Seamus help him when he wouldn't have accepted it explicitly stated – the nightmares only going away when he had somebody in bed with him.  Seamus knew it was a farce, Dean knew it was a farce, but they played it out anyway.  If you didn't talk about the problem, it wasn't there, and Dean had never really been one for confrontation anyway – literal or more figurative.  Seamus fought his own battles, and Dean's for him as well.  Then again, Seamus wasn't much for words either.

 

Besides, there was a precedent that made the ruse work.  He'd been that annoying from first year on when he actually got cold at Hogwarts.

 

"You work tomorrow?" Dean asked, trying to inject some amount of normalcy in an attempt to avoid retreating into sleep again.

 

"Mmm hmm," Seamus murmured his assent, "bloody day shift.  Nothing more exciting than that stooped old wizard who tips like it's still the 1800s."  He knew they sounded like a ridiculously domesticated married couple, and it was enough to make him snort.  "You going to finally do something with those pretty pictures of yours?"  It was meant to be a prod, not a censure that might scare off Dean, so he didn't even make a quip about being the sole breadwinner in their living partnership.

 

The hesitation was minimal, but it was there before the lie that always came, "Mmm hmm."  Seamus knew he'd come home the next day to Dean reading on the couch or staring at a blank canvas.  Anybody else he'd chalk it up to being a lazy arse, but with Dean it signaled a problem. 

 

Like always, he waited for Dean's breath to even out beside him, for the other man to slide into sleep.  He needed that reassurance as much as Dean needed his presence.  Well, to say 'his' was probably flattering himself; Dean simply needed somebody to help ward off the dark.

 

And when his best mate slid closer to him unconsciously in sleep, needing the comfort of another body, Seamus closed his eyes and tried not to let his cock twitch in response.

 

 

******

 

 

"Never took you for a poof."

 

Seamus had downed enough pints to make locating the voice that seemed to be addressing him a difficult activity.  Fortunately, Lavender Brown simplified matters by plopping down in the chair next to him at one of the central tables in the Leaky.  It had been an impromptu gathering, a series of floo calls around that gathered members of Dumbledore's Army for a night of fun to listen to England's first round game in the World Cup on the wireless at the pub, the Muggle side of the pub closed "for repairs" after they'd promised Hannah they'd drink enough to make it worth her while.  England might have lost and been eliminated, as was their wont every four years, but the team had managed enough brilliant plays that called for a round of drinks every time.  Most of the others had taken themselves to the dance floor after the snitch had been caught.

 

'''m not," he said indignantly, taking affront, once he'd finally registered what her words meant.

 

She seemed to completely ignore his denial, musing to herself, "Well, to be fair, I always took you for a poof, but never had the guts to say it.  I mean, I suggested to Ron after our break up once he and Harry might be a little too close, and nearly had my head bitten off, so decided I best not say anything, so…"

 

Seamus interjected, "Lavender, I'm not a bloody poof.  I am a fine specimen of manhood who would shag you over the counter right now if you weren't so so friggin' uptight."

 

The quelling glance she offered didn't hamper him much.  He'd been needling her in a similar fashion since she'd decided third year to knee him in his sensitive area when he tried to get a little friendly after one of the Gryffindor Quidditch wins, so despite having Lavender Brown displeased with him he was grinning when she continued, "You're in love with Dean Thomas."  It was more a statement of fact than a question.

 

Well, he supposed the fact he was staring with some level of jealousy as Dean danced closely with Luna was enough to suggest it, and realizing that he broke his gaze away.

 

Normally a statement like that would have won an automatic denial of sorts, but like it usually did, alcohol had lowered his defenses and made the idea of everything take on a soft pleasant notion.  All he could think about was how on the galleons she actually was for once, and how despite the fact he would like to cast a Silencio over her much too active mouth more often than not, Lavender was one of his best mates.  Well, at least as close as a girl could be, especially as a girl who did tend to annoy him a fair amount. 

 

"I am," he admitted, motioning for another drink.

 

She seemed taken aback at his outright admission, and for once that seemed to silence her for a few moments.  Still, it didn't take her long to declare triumphantly, "See, you are a poof!"

 

"I don't love men," Seamus enunciated each word carefully, since his tongue was feeling a little thick at that moment, "I love Dean Thomas, there is a difference.   Wasn't kidding about shagging you on the counter Brown, or any other location you might prefer.  Course we'd have to agree you couldn't talk the whole time, but…"

 

That statement earned him an elbow in the gut, which he dulled by taking another swig of his pint.  "Semantics," she muttered.

 

It wasn't really semantics, though he knew she probably thought that word was going to go right over his bloody head even sober.  It was fact.  Thoughts of male arses and pricks did nothing for him; he could ogle all he wanted the blokes showering after Quidditch and not get so much as a twitch from his little friend, and it wasn't like living in an all-male dorm had been a state of both torture and bliss.  Well, all right, to be fair it had.  Still, that was due to his best mate living in the dorm, who was the only bloke who could provoke that response.  Not that it was about the sexual pull exactly – well, not entirely anyway.

 

"Does he know?" Lavender asked, motioning towards where the topic of conversation had Luna in his arms, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

 

Seamus pondered the question.  "I don't know," he said companionably, "probably.  He's not a bloody moron."

 

Of course the fact he did shag girls when the mood struck and they fell for his apparently cute Irish accent clouded matters a little bit, but Seamus was fairly sure best mate status didn't cover the way things were between him and Dean, and Dean really wasn't dense.  Not that there was ever anything reciprocated – there wasn't as far as he could tell – but though Dean had never objected, simple mates didn't invite themselves into living with you and your family just to reassure themselves you were okay.  They didn't slip into your bed when you had nightmares.  And, well, they probably didn't get an erection when they heard you in the shower that they only sometimes remembered to cover up with a cushion.

 

Another answer that surprised her, and she was probably wondering if anybody had slipped some Veritaserum into his drink.  "Doesn't that make things awkward? And you living in a flat with him no less."

 

Seamus shrugged, "Why should it?"

 

The question seemed to stump her, and Lavender fumbled.  "Well…you love him."

 

"Not like I turn it into anything, love him without the sex and we get on just fine," Seamus rolled his eyes, slurring his words slightly.  "Don't love you do I Lav, but yet compliment your tits regularly and invite you to take advantage of me every chance I get, despite the fact I know you have very little interest – and yet you still hang around with me, even sneaking into the male dorms last year to cuddle in my bed when you were scared last year."

 

Her look turned threatening, "Which you are never going to tell anybody about."

 

It was true enough it had been easy for her to keep her presence hidden, considering Dean had been in hiding, Harry and Ron had been off playing at being heroes while they suffered at Hogwarts in their wake – but Neville hadn't been blinded by a conjunctivitis curse anytime in the near past.  Still, Seamus took his finger and crossed his heart. "Which I will never tell anybody about," he parroted her words back to her in reassurance. 

 

When he looked at Lavender, he smirked, adding, "And they really are lovely tits Lav.  Ron didn't know what he was giving up."

 

"Like you're ever going to get a look or feel of them," she rolled her eyes.

 

Seamus only winked, "Already did love, you sleep pretty soundly I'll have you know."

 

Their conversation degraded from there into an exchange of hitting, threatened hexes, and insults – and a few incidences of Seamus sliding off his stool since his balance was a little off.  Much as she could be a nosey and whiney pain in the arse, he was rather fond of Lavender.  Not so much that he envied Ron their relationship, since he had no desire to be 'Shay-shay' anytime in the near future, but more like…a brother, yes, that was the better description.  Well, a brother that ogled her arse, wanted to fondle her tits, and really would shag her if she said the word, so perhaps that description was out - but still, something with a little more of a familial element.

 

Once she'd managed to break at least a few toes, she calmed down a bit, resting her head against his shoulder – a little on the drunk side herself.

 

"Doesn't it get lonely?" She asked, and even after a few too many he knew what she meant.

 

"No," Seamus said simply.  It did, maybe a little, but not as much as one would think living with your unrequited love would.   He was content, and it was what he wanted, and this way he could take care of Dean who wasn't bloody caring about himself much these days.

 

He turned his head down to look at her, a bit of a leer on his face, "Now if I'd said yes love, does that mean you might have just invited me back to your flat for some 'comfort'?"

 

Instead of elbowing him, she gave a soft – and not exactly happy - laugh, "Well, my dance card is rather empty these days.  I might be persuaded."

 

Seamus slid his arm around her shoulders, looking at her in surprise when she finally raised her eyes to his.  Sober him and drunken him were both astute enough to notice something was wrong if Lavender Brown was even jokingly agreeing to sex with him.  He made a pretense of looking carefully around the pub, before saying, "Nope, we're not the last two people on earth.  Seems to me I remember you saying that's the only way I'd ever be learning what colour knickers you wore."

 

This time her snort of laughter was a little more genuine, though she simply shook her head.

 

With a sigh, knowing he was a soft touch, and about to make a mistake in offering his shoulder for an emotional bird to cry on, Seamus asked, "What's wrong?  Last time I checked your dance card was full every time you snapped your fingers."

 

For a few moments she didn't say anything.  He watched as her gaze roamed over some of the others there.  Hermione and Ron were laughing as they danced, Hermione only half-heartedly slapping his hand away as it settled above the crest of her arse.  Parvarti and Padma had a group of blokes none of them knew drooling after them as they smiled coquettishly and danced together.  Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were laughing with Oliver Wood over in a corner, looking exactly like the type of women they were – a trio of sexy chasers who had graced the cover of Quidditch Weekly only a month before.  Luna was looking like her confusing and ethereal self, as her wispy dress swirled around her, getting even Dean to look admiringly.  Ginny too had taken off her jumper to reveal a skimpy brown top that made her look like she graced the cover of PlayWizard – much to the consternation of her brother and to the delight of every other male in the room.

 

"Last time you checked was before the Battle of Hogwarts," Lavender said softly.

 

For a minute Seamus didn't understand, and probably looked like a demented fish as he tried to figure it out.  She was just as annoying as she had been before that night at the school, just as incredibly girly, had still had a fondness for pink and glitter nobody else could really understand back, and it wasn't like she'd turned into a bloody cow since.  It wasn't like her to go searching for compliments, about how all men would want to shag her, and for a moment he was a little peeved.  Then she turned the right side of her face towards him, and he got it.

 

The scars.

 

They were hard to miss on her face, covering nearly half, and trailing down into the neckline of her jumper – he didn't know what the extent was beyond that.  Still, oddly enough, he never really noticed them.  They'd just become a part of Lavender, and she was still a nice image to wank to occasionally – not that he'd ever admit to it.  If anything he liked her better for them, and what they represented.

 

"Scars are sexy," he announced with an indignant snort, earning a surprised look from her.  He pointed to his face, then not even caring they were in the middle of a pub, pulled off his shirt for those that trailed over his own body, ignoring the catcalls and hooting from friends.  Marks of the Carrows, and he never bothered to care, outside of taking pride in what he thought they represented – Dean didn't much notice his body, and women found them sexy.  And no matter what Lavender thought, there was no double standard when it came to men looking at her. "Pff, Lavender, if nobody's going to shag you – it's because they're scared of some inane nickname you might give them."

 

A true smile finally broke over her face, "You arse."

 

"Yep," Seamus said with a wink, pulling his shirt back over his head.

 

She rolled her eyes, "Besides, scars are only sexy when they were got fighting.  Not just from getting a few too many beatings because one liked lipping off a bit too much.  Don't compare those puny things to mine.  It's not like they look great on your flabby paunch either.  Suppose you're right, my cheekbones are still classic, and a little bit of marred skin isn't going to give bloody Hermione Granger superior features to mine."

 

That was more like it, the real Lavender.  Conceited to a fault, even if he liked her in spite of it, and sometimes because of it.

 

"Welcome back," he grinned, elbowing her, "not that I should be happy about it."

 

She looked up to see Parvarti and Padma motioning her to come join them in dancing, ignoring the effect their synchronized twin dance had been having on the male populace in the name of fun.  Lavender nodded, getting to her feet, but she paused, looking back at Seamus whose gaze had slid to Dean, actually seeming to get it for once.  There was no mockery in her gaze. 

 

"You sad fuck," she said sadly.

 

Well, maybe there was.  Seamus gave an indignant, "Oi!"

 

Shaking her head, Lavender leaned down, cutting off his anger with a soft kiss on the lips that took him completely aback.  As she pulled back, he looked at her in astonishment.  Rolling her eyes, she said, "Oh come on, it wasn't that good a kiss.  But…in truth, you're not a bad bloke Finnigan.   One of these days, Dean is going to wake up and notice what's right in front of him.  And, well, if he doesn't – I might let you get a feel of just a little bit more than my breasts."

 

The twisted offer made him feel better than it should have.  Still, he couldn't help but take it in a more joking manner, winking at her. "Been there done that love, you sleep really soundly."  Anything else he was going to add was cut off as she walloped him on the shoulder before taking off to dance with the girls.

 

 

******

 

 

Time passed, Seamus had a fling with Demelza Robbins that ended when she left him for a lovely chaser from the Canons, and Dean continued a life that involved only leaving the flat when Seamus dragged him.

 

It was maddening, but Seamus never pressed it.  Never knew how. 

 

He came back to the flat one night after a particularly long shift, listening to the saddest wizards bemoaning how their birds had left them for reasons that were all their fault, and feeding them their poison of choice.   Seamus stumbled through the hall, thinking of nothing but bed, but his attention was cut off when he caught sight of Dean in his own bedroom – his easel properly set up for once.  It was enough to make him smile, one of genuine relief, because Dean hadn't painted anything properly in months.  Seamus wasn't going to disturb him, going to do anything that might interrupt the turn for the better, but he couldn't help but notice the canvas was blank.

 

Once he stepped closer it was impossible not to notice the look of frustration on Dean's face, the look of despair, when he cursed violently and threw his paint brush at the wall – a blue streak left behind.

 

It was then he caught notice of Seamus as well.  Neither of them said anything for a moment, until Dean said quietly, "I need a break.  I…I can't do this right now.  I can't bloody paint anything – nothing that means anything.  I can't do this monotony I…I need to get out."

 

Seamus didn't argue.  Others might have, but he was willing to indulge the whim.  "Whatever you need," he said simply.  Like always, he meant it in every respect.  There was no stopping the worry from surfacing however, what had prompted this – in the distant and more immediate past.  Still, he wasn't going to question Dean, and he was going to be there for whatever he needed.

 

"I need to get out of London," Dean said, "away from…things."

 

"Trip to Ireland?  My mum will be happy to fawn over you and my sister can look at you adoringly like she always does."

 

The smile that came was faint.  "That's not an escape Seamus, that's asking to be smothered, just by a different mother."

 

It had been worth a try.  Dean had always used his family farm as an escape and a simple vacation spot in the past.  Not that Seamus thought his suggestion would have worked exactly, but he had hoped it would.  If nothing else it might have worked because his mum was bloody brilliant at bullying people into feeling better – or well, feeling exactly how she wanted them to feel.

 

Dean hesitated, "I had another idea.  I…it might take awhile.  Will you…will you come with me?"

 

"Yes." The reply was automatic without a second thought, a response to the vulnerability in Dean's voice that he probably didn't even know was there, and Seamus rarely said 'no' to him anyway.  It didn't matter he didn't have the savings to cover rent on the flat for more than a month without working, and that he'd probably lose his job in the process.  Really, wasn't like he planned on bartending for the rest of his life anyway.

 

 

******

 

 

"A car?" Seamus looked at the lump of metal and parts dubiously.

 

Dean looked up at him from where he was tossing their bags into the back of the machine.  "What?" He said defensively, "Muggles use them all the time.  Perfectly safe."

 

Seamus had quite a few doubts about that.  The thing Dean called a car didn't even look like it would run, let alone be safe if it did.  Besides, he'd heard about Harry and Ron's adventure with the car Arthur Weasley had tinkered with, and he valued his neck too bloody much to attempt the same.  Still, Dean had told him it was a necessity for the trip, they couldn't do on brooms, and Seamus hadn't argued when he said he was going to borrow it from his cousin.  He'd only contemplated going shopping for a keeper's helmet to keep him safe – and he really would have, if it wouldn't have looked so insanely ridiculous wearing one.

 

Already they were garnering quite a few curious – and a few appalled – glances.  One didn't see cars on the street of wizarding London.  Dean seemed to be in an odd mood, glaring daggers at anybody who dared look at them for a second too long.  Then again, he had become overly sensitive about his Muggle heritage in the last year.  He'd managed to get the car in through the portal of the Garwick road at the north of London by the tollgate that functioned similarly to the entrance at the Leaky.

 

"Had to see it for m'self," Seamus heard a voice say behind him in amusement.  "All the customers in the shoppe were going on about the Muggle contraption in the street."

 

He turned to see Ron and Harry standing there – the former the one who had spoken, who spent his days working with his brother at the joke shoppe.  "Shouldn't you lot be at work?" Seamus said pointedly.

 

Harry looked slightly abashed, "I'm, uh, on an afternoon off."

 

Taking advantage of his celebrity was more like it, even if it wasn't intentional or asked for by him.  Auror trainees didn't usually have 'afternoons off', but given he was practically mates with the Minister of Magic and most of the wizarding world revered the prat – Harry had exceptions made for him in every respect even if he never asked for them.  He was the only trainee who was accepted into the three year training program without a single NEWT.  Seamus didn't have the energy to be perturbed about that all the time, though sometimes he was a bit considering the department had told him to bugger off without his potions NEWT.

 

For his part, Ron only shrugged, "I work for my brother." 

 

Harry motioned towards the car, "Road trip?"

 

Seamus had no idea what that meant exactly, but he nodded cautiously, "Well, we're off for a trip."  He didn't expand, since he was fairly sure they had been trying to take off without anybody being aware.  Dean, with his head stuck in the boot of the car, didn't explain further either.

 

"Where are you going?" Ron was curious.  "Bit abrupt, isn't it?"

 

"Dunno."  It was the easy answer, because he really didn't.

 

The other two began to look a bit annoyed, and Seamus threw up his hands in surrender.  "Don't look at me like that, 'm not the director here."

 

They both turned their attention to Dean, who ignored them.  "We do something too annoy you?" Harry asked with a frown.

 

For once, Seamus kept his mouth shut.   What was he supposed to say, when he didn't really know what was going on – not just the details of the trip, but the exact why.  All he knew was Dean needed to get out, so he was going with him.  "Course not," he added that quickly though.

 

They both looked like they were going to practice whatever new interrogation techniques Harry had learned, and Dean caved with a sigh.  "We're going to find my dad," he said finally, quietly, causing all their heads to snap towards him, Seamus surprised as the other two.

 

"We are?" He asked, then turned it into a statement, "Yup, we are."

 

That news was a bit surprising to him.  Dean had never expressed a bloody bit of interest in the man before, only referring to him in derogatory terms when the subject came up, as the man who abandoned his family when his son was only an infant.  He'd certainly never wanted to find his father, and Seamus didn't know exactly what had prompted it now.  It seemed an odd time to want to plow one's fist into the bastard's face when it had never really bothered him all that much before, given his stepfather was about as stand-up a bloke as you could find, even if he was a Muggle.

 

The reaction of the other two was just as surprising.  "I'll be packed in twenty minutes," Ron said abruptly.

 

Harry looked at his watch, "I'll probably need an hour."

 

"You're not coming," Dean said, slamming the boot shut on their bags.

 

"Of course we are," Harry said, pausing in his motion to Disapparate away, "this isn't something you should have to face alone."

 

Dean shrugged, "I've got Seamus."  It was odd how that warmed his heart, even if he'd always known he was Dean's best mate.

 

"We're your mates," Ron said firmly, "and besides, I've always wanted to ride in a car – in the proper fashion."

 

Neither of them had really been expecting that from Harry and Ron.  Yes, they were mates, but those two had always been an entity onto themselves – well, the two of them and Hermione.  Poker and a few late night conversations didn't change that sort of dynamic really.  It wasn't like they were unique in that as Dean and Seamus had become an entity onto themselves as well as a result.   Still, it was nice idea at least to be the group of them, to actually be there for each other.

 

"No," Dean's voice was abrupt, and Seamus turned to him, watching the other man swallow hard, "I mean…no offense, but…this is my battle, my personal stuff.  And don't take this the wrong way, but you never trusted us to be a part of any of your stuff before, not even when it really mattered.  You kept everything a secret, always, and excluded us even when it was life and death.  This may not be a lost diadem, or a battle against a dark lord, or something evil going on in our own school, but it's just as important to me – and we're not that kind of friends, are we?"

 

For a moment, Seamus was scared they were all going to come to blows, then Harry said quietly, "You're right." 

 

When they all looked at him in surprise, he continued, "Not that we didn't trust you, but that…yes, we played it out like that.  It was a mistake.  None of you have ever called us on it, so I didn't know it bothered you so much but...it was a mistake, with all of you, and I'm sorry.  There were reasons, but…anyways yes, we fucked that up.  Not going to say you're perfect either," they were all thinking about Seamus doubting Harry, "but we fucked it up."

 

The easy acquiescence was a bit of a surprise, and it took Seamus aback even as he muttered, "Bloody right," rather inanely.  The four of them stood there, not saying anything right away.  It was tempting to hash it out more than that, because it always had been an issue of sorts, obviously one Dean even felt more acutely than Seamus.  Either that or he took it even more personally because Harry had stolen his bird.  Still, they weren't birds themselves, prone to discussing hurt feelings.

 

"Now that Harry's done being a prat," Ron gave a faint smile, "We'd like to be that kind of friends, yeah?"

 

Harry gave Ron a shove, "Still beats you who'll never be done being a prat."

 

"Oh shove off, I'm not that one who was all about secrecy.  It doesn't take Hermione to realize that more things get accomplished when you have more help.  Still can't believe the others bought it, Bill and the rest, when they know a million more spells than you and a lifetime of using them too."

 

"Went along with it didn't you?  I don't remember you suggesting that we should bring the others in on it.  I don't remember you sticking up for everybody saying they were so trustworthy…"

 

"…like I'd go against bloody Dumbledore.  It would be like telling Merlin to shove his broomstick up his…"

 

A loud whistle cut into their bickering and they both turned in surprise to see Seamus holding up his hands and looking cross.  "Not helping," he muttered, "half a mind to levitate you into the bloody Thames m'self."

 

Harry looked abashed.  "Sorry.  Listen, you both have to know this had nothing to do with how much we trusted you or what you were capable of.  We knew you two would do anything, we knew Neville would do anything – Luna and Ginny, same there.  It was a…habit though, and in the end it was an order.  Dumbledore said…"

 

"So much better," Dean crossed his arms over his chest, "now the headmaster we respected so much thought we were useless.  Sorry we're not the boy-who-lived, but even if the Voldemort job was going to be yours in the end, we could have helped you get there.  We could have helped you any of those other years.  We were Dumbledore's Army – apparently that wasn't even enough."

 

"'m not chopped liver," Seamus indignantly pointed at his chest, "what do you think we were bloody well doing that last year mate?  Having a picnic?  Fuck me Neville was amazing – though I'll deny it if you ever tell him that.  We deserve to be more to be more than a bloody footnote.  We should have been doing more than just trying to survive.  Bloody hell, we invoked your name and the cause every chance we got, and you were willing to take on a castle of Death Eaters rather than tell us anything."

 

Ron was both indignant and confused.  "Is this about the…glory then?"

 

"No!" Both Seamus and Dean said the word loudly in unison.

 

It was a circular argument, and one they shouldn't be having in such a public venue.  Harry had been the big shot, Ron had been his loyal sidekick – which was destiny and all that shite, but they hadn't trusted anybody else, not really.  The rest of them had had to force their way into doing anything in the end, despite the hell they'd gone through in the boy-who-lived's name.  Arguing about it wasn't going to change that fact.  Normally it didn't matter to Seamus one heck of a lot, Merlin he was still friends of a sort with the two gits, but apparently the resentment that was there had boiled to the surface today, egged on by Dean's own.

 

Which Seamus had never really known he felt.  It wasn't like they talked about things like this all that much.  Or rather, at all.

 

"Just as well we're not having this conversation in front of Neville," Seamus broke the silence finally, "that git still thinks the sun shines out of your arse Potter.  Even if he's worth twice you."

 

"Why don't you try telling me how you really feel Finnigan," Harry snorted.  He hesitated, and then continued, "Listen, I fucked up in some respects.  And I'm done shutting out everybody else.  If for no other reason than Ginny would kill me if I tried.  Question is now – can you two get past that?"

 

Dean's nod was quick and terse, "Suppose so."  He didn't really sound like he meant it however.

 

For his part, Seamus was rather more enthusiastic, "Bloody hell yes, if it means we never have to talk about this again."

 

"We're coming along then?" Ron had tried to make that into a statement, but it came off more as a question.

 

Seamus for his part might have told them to bugger off anyway, even after all the rest.  Somewhat because he wanted the time with Dean, and because he didn't think his friend needed everyone privy to his issues.  And really, Ron had the sensitivity of a rabid dog most of the time, not one you wanted along on a potentially emotional trip.  Still, it was Dean's call here, and the other man hesitated, before saying, "You've got an hour and a half."  It was his version of an olive branch, and the type the blokes would understand.  Ron and Harry both grinned and Disapparated, off to grab their stuff to return.

 

 

******

 

 

Seamus and Dean waited by the car, not trusting any of the witches and wizards not to do anything to it, or experiment with it, with it sitting right in the middle of the street.

 

"We could leave without them," Seamus offered, "if you're not sure."

 

Dean shrugged, "I'm not, but they're friends.  They're not you," he offered Seamus a smile that caused his heart to skip a beat, "but they are friends.  I…it might be nice to have them along."

 

After Seamus had headed over to Madame Puddifoot's to pick up some tea to bring back for them to drink, he found Ron there, the first one back.  He held a misshapen bag in his hand, obviously packed haphazardly with the clothes that still hung out of it.  "Told you I'd be quick," he said smugly, as Dean popped the boot and tossed it in. 

 

Seamus raised an eyebrow, "Surprised your keeper let you away for an indefinite time."

 

"Oh mum's not so bad anymore…" Ron began, and when Seamus shook his head and mimicked the actions of a 'ball and chain' he flushed slightly, "didn't tell her.  Sent an owl off for when she got back from the library.  Just courtesy you understand, she doesn't tell me what to do."  When Seamus and Dean only smirked at that idea, he scowled, "Oh shove off you tossers."

 

When the pop of apparition indicated Harry's return, he wasn't alone.  Neville stood beside him, slightly flushed from exertion it seemed, but resolute – and holding a small trunk as well. 

 

"He wanted to come," Harry said defensively when Seamus shot him a look.

 

"And he magically knew what was going on?" Seamus shot back.

 

Neville looked a little green, and Seamus felt bad for a moment, knowing exactly how much he still had a few issues with feeling unwanted among the Gryffindor boys.  One would think he would have gotten past it with how the dynamic had changed, but when it came to the personal, Neville always thought he was an outsider looking in.  Still, to his credit, he didn't say anything about 'if they didn't want him there', and stood his ground.  "I can help," he said resolutely, "Madame Sprout is giving me time off my apprenticeship.  And I want to come."

 

It was turning into a veritable party, and Seamus for his part was bemused, but a little indignant on Dean's behalf.  It was what friends did though, horned in when they thought it was for the best.

 

Resigned, Dean shook his head, "Thanks Neville – I think.  Let's be off then, yeah?"

 

Most of them moved towards the car, but Neville stood where he was, flushing scarlet.  "Maybe we should…uh…wait?"  They all turned to him, having no idea what the motivation could be.  He blushed even harder, they didn't think it was possible, before adding, "When I popped into the lounge I ran into someone, and I didn't know it was a secret, so I…."

 

They were all staring at him warily, when the crack of apparition sounded again.

 

This time it left Lavender Brown standing in the middle of the street with her hands on her hips, surrounded by a selection of trunks and bags.  "You were going to take off without saying anything?" She said indignantly, grabbing her wand and levitating her baggage over to the car.  "Honestly.  I've always wanted to go on a road trip.  I heard such stories from Parvarti about ones with her parents, and…"

 

They were all a little green this time at the idea she was horning her way in.  "Uh Lav?" Seamus began a little hesitantly, "You know this isn't exactly a road trip right?"

 

She rolled her eyes, "Semantics Seamus, but," she gave Dean an understanding look that came with giving them all the occasional realization she wasn't entirely self-centered, "I do know.   And I wanted to come anyway."  She was probably more his friend then Dean's, given the events of the previous year and their disastrous attempt at a Yule Ball date, but that made her a de facto part of the group as well.

 

Ron looked like he wanted to puke. "Maybe I should wait for Hermione to get home and suggest she come al…"

 

"No!" The denial was instantaneous, coming as it was from at least three different sources.

 

Lavender cut in first with a huff, "Honestly Ronald, it's not about you, you prat.  Hermione's welcome to your bony arse as far as I'm concerned.  Doesn't mean I'm willing to spend days with the uptight bint though."

 

They all breathed a sigh of relief when Ron didn't push the issue.  They liked Hermione, they did, but she was a bit much to take for an extended period of time.  And, well, they'd have to do things her way – and on a schedule – which was not what the trip was about.  Lavender's wording was a little cruel, but she had the freedom to say the things the rest of them couldn't.

 

Dean looked dubiously at the car, "It's a bit too small for six of us, Lavender's luggage aside."

 

"Expansion charms," Ron's look brightened, "Not sure I'm good enough at them to last for the duration, but so long as we cast them every morning we should be safe.  The car will look the same size, but will be bigger on the inside, giving us a lot more space."  When they all cast him a very surprised glance, he couldn't even manage a scowl since it was rather unlike him, and added sheepishly, "Was helping Hermione study."

 

As he started to screw up his face in concentration and waved his wand, Dean snickered, "Just like the TARDIS, yeah?"

 

Harry grinned in return, but the rest of them looked at him blankly.  "Bloody purebloods," Dean grumbled, and though there were no heat in the words, he did look a little depressed for a moment, which was much to Seamus' consternation.

 

To the surprise of all of them, Ron's charms were a success, and after a scramble for positioning – all their baggage was loaded, with Dean driving and Seamus in the front beside him, and the rest comfortably situated in the newly expanded back seat.  Seamus couldn't help but grip the seat in fear as Dean turned a little key that somehow started the machine, but to his surprise and relief, it didn't blow up – only started a low roaring noise and shaking a little bit.

 

"So," Lavender said from the back, as Harry showed her how to use a seat belt, "where are we going first?"  They all looked expectantly at Dean, who looked blank at the question. 

 

"I, uh, don't know," he said sheepishly.  "Didn't quite get that far in the planning."

 

His statement was met with a chorus of less than supportive groans.

 

 

******

 

 

In the end, they started out in Bath.  If for no other reason than it was convenient, and Dean's mum had a few shirts sporting the name of some pub that was located there, suggesting they might have met in the area.  When it came right down to it, Dean knew nothing about his father.  His mum had apparently never talked about the man, and given how her face became pained every time the topic was brought up, Dean never asked.  Seamus wished they'd started with her, to at least get a starting point, but Dean was adamant about not hurting his mum – though he wondered what Dean thought was going to happen when she found out eventually about this little quest.  Still, for all he knew Dean planned on Avada-ing the family-leaving bastard when they found him, so perhaps she would actually be pleased.

 

"Be Muggle," Dean hissed at Ron, who stood gaping at all the Muggle tourists wandering about.  It was like he'd never seen such a large group of them before.

 

Well, in truth, he hadn't – none of the purebloods had.  At least not to the extent that they were the minority rather than the majority.

 

"Excuse me," Lavender was saying politely to a pedestrian who was wandering beside their locked car, "I was wondering if you know where the nearest public floo station is, I have to let my flatmates…."

 

Seamus clapped his hand over her mouth, looking apologetically at the man who was obviously confused, "Never mind her, my sister's just a bit nutters, gets all her words mixed up.  She means the fellytone station."

 

When the man just looked at him as if he'd sprouted two heads before wandering on, Seamus fought hard against taking offense.  "What did I say?" He demanded, turning back to the group with his hands on his hips, "Not like I called him a mudblood did I?  I was being all Muggle-correct."

 

Harry groaned, "It's a telephone Seamus, and they're not housed in stations – well, I mean they are, but it….oh, bloody hell, never mind.  Just keep your mouth shut."

 

For her part, Lavender was looking at Seamus in a certain level of disgust, "Like I could pass for your sister."

 

They two of them began to bicker while Dean simply looked downtrodden, Ron amused, and Harry a little annoyed.  Neither noticed Neville taking in Dean's expression, putting his fingers into his mouth and whistling loudly to get their attention. 

 

"Oi!" Neville said sternly, projecting his voice over Seamus and Lavender's squabble when they kept right on going, "Shut it you two.  We've got work to do."

 

The silence that fell was immediate, though the two of them glared daggers at each other like two bickering children as the conversation had ended on Seamus intimating Lavender would be lucky to pass for a monkey's cousin, and her shooting back his intelligence rivalled a monkey on a good day.  Seamus looked up to find Dean, Ron and Harry looking at Neville in bemusement.  It took him a moment, but he realized they weren't used to seeing Neville in a leadership role.  For he and Lav, who had been around during the DA's resurrection during their last Hogwarts year, listening to Neville had become second nature, as he'd slowly grown into the role of their leader.   Well, not that either followed him blindly, but he had been the driving force.  Merlin, sometimes he forgot exactly how much they'd missed.

 

"Where are we going to start?" Neville deferred to Dean.

 

Nodding even as he planned, Dean reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out copies of the one picture of his dad he had – snuck out of his mother's things when he was about five, and handing one to each of the group.  "Seamus, Lav and I will hit Whirlington's Pub.  You three head around, and we'll meet up in front of the bath house in a few hours – though you might as well forget that area itself, given it's all tourists.  Please, you two stick with Harry, he's…well, he's…"

 

"Not Muggley-inept?" Lavender offered with a smirk, forgetting she wasn't that much better.

 

"Will do," Ron's tone was affable though, as the other three grabbed their photos and headed off in the other direction.

 

For their part, they asked for directions to the pub, one of the larger tourist establishments in the area – then walking along the pristine streets towards it.  Seamus tried not to gawk as they made their way, not allowed to Apparate since these were all Muggles, but it was hard.  He'd never seen so many of those driving vehicles in one place for one.  His limit before had been on a visit to Dean's family farm – well, really his stepfather's farm.  He found himself wishing he knew Legilimency as they wandered around, just to get into the minds of the Muggles.  What did they think about?  It had to be so bloody different.  Lavender might have been as bad as he, but she'd found a cute bloke wandering by across the street, and her attention was focused on him.

 

When Seamus looked back at Dean they were nearing the pub, and his friend was starting at him with a certain amount of anger.

 

"They're not bloody circus animals," Dean snapped, opening the door and heading in, leaving the two of them no choice but to follow.

 

Seamus headed in after Dean, having no idea what he had done wrong.  Well, having no idea what circus animals were either, but not sure what Dean had taken offense at.  Still, these days Dean was more temperamental than an exploding snap, and Seamus had learned to roll with the punches.  He stopped himself from staring around the pub – though a single glance had allowed him to realize that it wasn't much different from a wizarding pub, except the barmaids were carrying the drinks rather than levitating or pouring from their wands, and the selection was a little different.   The codgy old bar residents were the same, and the barmaids still wore shirts that concealed not that much.

 

"Grab a table luv," a woman near their age passed them on her way to the bar and said with a smile and a wink to Seamus, "I'll get to you lot as soon as I'm free."

 

Her smile promised something a little bit more than a Guinness, and Seamus grinned back at her, though his excitement was cut off by an elbow from Lav and a roll of the eyes from Dean.  "Different section," he muttered, heading over to the tables serviced by a wizened old woman who probably should have retired a few years back.  Seamus didn't understand as he blindly followed them, sliding behind the table, until Dean explained they needed somebody who would have seen or known his mum and dad – not somebody who was good for nothing but scratching an itch for Seamus.  Seamus was going to point out he was 'itchy' enough that might have been just as worthwhile, but the search for Dean's dad was hardly a joke, and he remembered the exploding snap comparison.

 

"You three old enough to be drinking?" The woman asked in a raspy voice, hurt by years of smoking, as she approached the table looking not much like the nurturing sort.

 

Seamus had been practically weaned on Guinness, so he almost started laughing – but realized neither he nor Lav had Muggle identification.  Dean however side-stepped the question.  "We're not here for a pint," he said personably, and being a bartender himself, Seamus could see the way the woman's face fell when she realized she wouldn't exactly be making much in tips off of them, "just some information when you have a moment."

 

The woman who's nametag said "Gladys" on further inspection sighed, but said, "Got a moment now, make it quick."

 

Fumbling around in his pocket, Dean pulled out the picture, getting right to the point.  "We're looking for the man in this picture.  I don't know if you've seen him around here recently, but I think he was at least passing through this pub just over twenty years back.  If you could give us any information, I'd be grateful.  He's my dad, and I'm looking to track him down."  When in doubt, stick with the truth.

 

"Saying I'm old enough, y'think I would have been around here twenty years back?" The woman's eyebrows raised.

 

Dean was flushed, "No sorry I didn't mean…."

 

Having been just taking the piss more than anything, and in a hurry to get to her other paying tables, Gladys just shook her head, "Never mind hon.  I worked here back in the day.  Can't say I remember this bloke though, at least not looking like that.  At the very least I can tell you he's nobody local.  I might not have seen all the tourists, but I've lived her long enough to know the locals."

 

It was hard to watch as Dean's face fell.  Seamus hoped he hadn't been expecting to find his dad washing dishes in the back, but it was hard to get absolutely no information.  "Oh," he said quietly, "I’m sorry, I'd just hoped you might know something."

 

The woman paused for a moment, then when none of them said anything, went to move away.  Seamus had a flash of inspiration as she headed behind the bar, grabbing Dean's wallet from him and heading over to her.  "Wait," he said quickly, and she looked up with mild annoyance as he fumbled through the wallet, looking for the family portrait he knew Dean kept in there of his mum and sisters.  Finding it, he held it up, pointing to the older black woman – Dean's mum – in the back.  "Do you know her?"

 

"Seamus what…" Lavender was asking in astonishment as Dean and she came over, but Seamus was ignoring her as Gladys took the picture to get a closer look at it.

 

They all fell silent when she said, "Sure, though she had a few less greys back then.  Carla worked here for what…two years around that time.  Nice sort, even if she was a bit of a flake."

 

Dean didn't even take exception at that, he was so happy she'd known his mum, "What did she…I mean…." It occurred to him finally he didn't know what to ask.

 

Gladys just shrugged, handing the picture back.  "Think she was working here on break from some sort of apprenticeship, but left before she ever finished, and rather abruptly too.  It was for a man, it's always for a man."

 

It was obvious Gladys had wished she'd had a man to leave for.

 

"Did she ever say anything about him?" Dean asked desperately.

 

Time seemed to slow as Gladys pondered, then nodded, "Well, of a sort.  I think he was from Portsmouth – or at least maybe that was where they were working?  Never mentioned what he did for a living, but went on and on about how he had promised to build her a lovely house."  A bit in contrast to the arse he'd turned out to be.  "Sorry, we weren't exactly chums."

 

It wasn't much, but it was a start.  "Thank you," Dean said politely, taking some funny looking Muggle money and leaving it on the counter, before pulling the other two out behind him, much more excited than when they'd come in

 

When they relocated Ron, Harry and Neville the other group had been entirely unsuccessful.  Part of it was the fact there was no information to be had, part of it was the fact that Neville and Ron were too busy gawking to be of much use.  One of the large problems was that it was tourists primarily walking around, who would have no bloody clue about anything. 

 

"Sorry," Neville said glumly, once he tore his eyes away from the Japanese couple taking pictures with their very Muggle camera in front of the actual bath houses, "wish we could have accomplished more."

 

Dean couldn't stop the grin that was on his face, "Never mind.  We've got a better starting point for the search now."  At Harry's raised eyebrows he continued, "Portsmouth."

 

Lavender nodded with a sigh, "Of all the luck.  I was rather hoping Dean's father would be hiding out in Paris."  They all shot her a look, and she said, "What?  I've always wanted to go there, not boring and entirely Muggle Portsmouth."

 

"Not.  The.  Bloody.  Point.  Of.  This.  Trip." Seamus ground out.

 

"I.  Fucking.  Know," she shot back with careful emphasis.  "Still, extracting information from the mouth of a Frenchman would be much more entertaining."

 

She looked around like she expected some kind of agreement from at least one of them, though they all stared back at her impassively.  Appealing to a group of blokes about the attractiveness of French blokes was not going to gain her any empathizers.  Lavender gave a huff when she finally realized that, not used to not having at least one of her female side kicks along.  "Never mind," she said a wave of her hand, "though I bet if I mentioned American birds you'd understand what I mean."

 

 

******

 

 

Portsmouth yielded nothing.

 

Dean went back to being glum, and Seamus and Lavender went back to bickering.  They were able to find no link to his dad, though the process was a little harder when they had nothing to go on, and even Harry and Dean having no true understanding of the Muggle official process.  Either way, it would have been impossible to utilize any public records without a last name – or a first for that matter.  Seamus didn't imagine 'family abandoning prick' would have been the name on Dean's father's birth certificate, handy though that might have been.

 

It was late when they left, having exhausted every avenue they could think of, and seemingly have shown the picture to everybody in the bloody city.

 

"Where to now?" Lavender asked sleepily, her head dropping down to rest on Neville's shoulder.

 

Dean who was driving didn't say anything for a moment, looking out the window into the darkness, before he finally admitted, "I don't really know."

 

"'k then," she muttered, half asleep, "wake me up when we get there."

 

None of them were much perkier.  Harry and Ron had drifted into a half state of sleep which would turn into a full out if left unstimulated much longer.  Even Neville's eyelids were drooping, though he struggled valiantly against sleep.  Seamus found himself drifting off, before pinching his leg hard to try and stay awake.  "Maybe stop at an inn?" He asked Dean with a yawn, stretching his arms, "Think again in the morning?"

 

It somehow didn't surprise him when Dean shook his head, "No, you all sleep, I'll figure something out as we keep going." 

 

The others drifted off entirely, but Seamus fought against his own weariness.  He and Dean sat in the front seat in silence, the other man driving, and him trying to figure out what to say.  He took a glance over his shoulder to make sure the others were asleep before he asked.  "Why are we doing this Dean?"

 

"What do you mean?" Dean hedged.

 

"Dunno," Seamus admitted, "in general I suppose I mean.  Why are you looking for your dad now?  You've never thought much about the bastard before.  Are we going to Avada his arse?  Are we going to…I don't know, drag him back to your mum so she can get an explanation?  I'm with you to the end Thomas, but I just….why?"

 

For a moment he didn't think Dean was going to answer, then the other man said, "I don't know."

 

It was obvious to anyone with half a brain Dean was lying.  "Oh fuck off," Seamus said irritably, "you do so."

 

Dean got irritated as well.  "You said you're with me on this Seamus, does it bloody matter?"

 

"No," Seamus hedged, "but why the hell won't you tell me?  What's the end game here?"

 

"Maybe since it's none of your business." 

 

That stung, more than Seamus thought it would.

 

"Uh huh, we're all travelling around with you, and it's none of our business," he snorted, "try my other leg mate.  You just don't bloody well want to talk about it."

 

"Got it in one Finnigan," Dean shot him a look.  "Since when are you so bloody keen on talking anyway?"

 

He still fucking hated 'talking', truth be told.  Still, they were off on this likely fruitless chase, and he wanted to know why.  Though he knew he probably wouldn't know what to do with the truth.  What he really wanted to know right now was all of it.  Why Dean was acting like a shell of his self half the time, why he wanted to get away so bad, and why he was now obsessed with the man he'd never given the time of day in his mind before.  Then maybe he could find away to get rid of it so they could get back to their typically uncomplicated existence.  Well, not likely, but he could at least appeal to Dean's mum who was much better at the feeling mumbo jumbo to get her son back to normal.

 

"Fine, keep your fecking secrets," Seamus crossed his arms and leaned back into the stiff and uncomfortable seat. 

 

 

******

 

 

He'd meant to stay up with Dean the night before, but Seamus had accidentally managed to doze off after they'd made a stop for the strange smelling black liquid that fuelled the beast of a vehicle.  He was finally awakened by the car coming to a lurching halt, Dean still getting into the hang of driving the contraption.  "Fucking awake mum," he murmured nonsensically, before realizing where they were.  In the backseat, the others were shocked into wakefulness as well.

 

They were in some other Muggle town, parked behind a restaurant that had some huge yellow 'M' in front of it.  Seamus yawned, rubbing his eyes, not even having to ask the question before Dean said in a satisfied tone, "Cardiff."  He'd also said it like it was supposed to mean something to the rest of them.  When they looked blank, he added, "I've been thinking all night, and I'm pretty sure my mum spent some time here, maybe even lived here.  Follows my dad might have as well."

 

"Might…"

 

"…think…"

 

"…hell…"

 

The reactions were hardly positive, and they were like that after only a few days of searching.  Seamus admitted he didn't enjoy this wild hippogriff chase any more than they did.  "You have a reason for thinking that?" He asked hesitantly, considering flooing Dean's mum just to ask what she knew, and would have if he hadn't known it would mean Dean never speaking to him again.

 

He nodded, "I remembered some inane conversation she'd been having with my sister Sarah about dresses when Sarah got asked to…never mind, too much information.  Anyway, she went on about how she'd found some of the best shopping was in Cardiff if you weren't able to get to London, and they'd take the train there one day."

 

That might mean literally nothing.

 

A voice piped up from the back seat.  Harry had the sense to say it tactfully and kept deferring to Dean, but he was still not blindly backing him up, "I wonder if this is the way to go about it mate.  Even if your dad spent some time here once upon a time, it's got nothing to do with now.  He might have buggered off to Africa for all you know, and finding he might have kept a flat here twenty-two years ago isn't going to help us with that."

 

It was a valid point, and one Seamus had been trying not to bring up.

 

Dean's hands fisted on the steering wheel.  "Do you have any better ideas Harry?  Anyone?" 

 

The silence that reigned was absolute; the truth was that they didn't.  If Dean's dad had been a wizard, they could have abused Harry's in with the Ministry to track the magical signature on his wand – but he wasn't.  He was a nameless Muggle, whom all they had to go on was a few random memories and a single picture.  Dean's method was the only way, even if it was proving annoyingly fruitless thus far.

 

"Good," Dean said abruptly, "then we try this."

 

 

******

 

 

What 'this' ended up being was a repeat of Portsmouth.

 

Nothing.

 

Absolutely no leads to where his dad was now, nor even any confirmation he'd had so much as a bloody cup of coffee in Cardiff in the past.  Dean too was not taking the failure well.  He hadn't come into this trip with much of a plan, but as time went on, he kept getting more and more desperate about finding his father – and the apparent failure of that was not sitting well.

 

"He's having a bloody hard time of it these days isn't he?" Neville asked, startling Seamus as he hadn't heard the other man walk up behind him.  They were both watching Dean staring viciously at some cars driving by the petrol station where they were stopped.

 

"Yes," Seamus agreed quietly, "he is."

 

Neville was hardly the girliest one in the group, but he was one of the more astute.  He watched Dean for a moment more before asking, "This has been going on for awhile hasn't it?"

 

The words slipped out before Seamus could really think that maybe he should keep the truth a little more private.  "Not like this, not exactly – but yes.  Ever since he came to Hogwarts that night.  Why do you think I won't bloody leave him alone?  Not that I think he's nutters enough to turn his wand on himself, well not likely, but he's not….good Neville, and I have no idea what the fuck is going on."

 

"Have you ever really asked him what went on all those months?" Neville asked, "I mean, I know he went on the run, and that he was captured….and Harry got them out.  That's it though, and not even the details of that.  Has he confided anything else to you?  Not that," he hastened to assure Seamus, "that I'm prying.  Just asking you if he's talked about it.  You know what that year was like for us, and I'm just wondering if his was worse."

 

They shared a moment of camaraderie – silent acknowledgement over what that year had been like for them.  For all it had been character building, they'd essentially been in a bloody war.  Terrified out of their fucking minds in a place that was supposed to be a safe haven for them, their school.  Seamus and Neville had been two of the luckier ones as well in a way – oh not what they went through physically in 'detentions' or lessons, but because everything that had come down on them had been from actions of their own choosing.  They'd never been attacked for their blood, or for something essential to them.  There had been elation in doing something, in standing up, but it didn't erase the misery – and it didn't erase that they'd had to worry about others even more than themselves.

 

To consider something worse than that, was saying something.

 

Seamus really wanted a fag – even if he usually saved that indulgence to when he was pissed.  "He hasn't talked about it at all," he admitted finally, "I have no idea what went on.  Not sure what difference it would make if I did know though, even if shite did go down."  He turned to Neville, "Why don't you try and make him talk about it?"

 

The other man shot him a look.  "Coward."

 

"Oi, I'll have you know that. . . "

 

"Coward," Neville said insistently.

 

"Just think you'd be a bit more sensitive and able to say the right thing and all that," Seamus grumbled.  It was true enough, but that didn't mean he wasn't bloody terrified at the idea of talking to Dean as well.  Neville didn't look like he was going to budge though, much as Seamus wished he would. 

 

At Neville's pointed look, Seamus cursed. "Fine then," He added a bit spitefully.  Maybe too he wanted to be the one there for Dean, to shoulder the load for him if he could, but he cared about the other man enough to realize it was a fucking stupid idea.  Dean would say something that would require sensitivity, and it would make Seamus want to plow his fist into somebody's bloody face because they hurt his friend, and in the process he would say something ridiculously and utterly stupid which would make the other man feel even worse in the process.

 

Hierarchy of mates aside, he really thought that Neville would be the better man for the job.  They could all see Dean had to get this all off his chest at some point.

 

"I think you'd be better at it," Neville's tone was conversational, "given you're half in love with him after all."

 

Seamus looked at him, blinked, then exclaimed.  "What the bloody fuck!?  Do I have some sort of sign spelled to my chest then?"

 

"It's sort of obvious. . . "

 

"No it's bloody well not," Seamus retorted, "I am not walking around with my eyes fixated on his arse now am I?"

 

"No," Neville replied, "which rather proves my point I think, given sex for you has never been about love."

 

"When did you turn into a bloody bird?  Merlin's baggy shorts Neville, if you. . . "

 

"'Just because I'm not blind.  I saw you worrying about him at Hogwarts - and what effect that had on you, and I see you now.  Don't fuck around with me Seamus, we've been through too much together for you to pretend to be a stranger now."  Neville's face was slightly flushed, but his words were assertive.  Seamus was stubbornly silent, so he paused then continued, "Listen, I don't care if you're bent, and it's not like I'm going to shout this from the rooftops.  Just thought I'd point out that Dean might do. . . better, with somebody who loves him."

 

Seamus cursed, paused, then cursed again.  "You learn Legilimency when I wasn't looking you prat?"

 

"No.  Suppose it just helps I haven't been hit with a conjunctivitis curse recently."

 

Seamus blanched slightly.  "Fuck me, do you think Harry and Ron know?"  It was easy for he and Dean to coexist when they weren't forced into confronting what lay under their dynamic.  If those two had the first bloody clue, it wasn't just going to be ignored, and Seamus could only read disaster written in that.

 

"No," Neville said, but his next words weren't exactly reassuring, "but continue on protecting him like you do, and they might start to wonder."

 

 

******

 

 

In the end they'd decided to set up camp in a seemingly abandoned field far outside the city.  Muggle money was a rare commodity with Dean being the only provider, and they didn't have much to waste on hotel rooms for the lot of them.

 

It was obvious Dean wanted to press on, but the problem was that they had no idea where to press on too.

 

The days hadn't stretched on yet, but they had been gone for a good few.  Seamus knew it couldn't go on forever, the rest had work that they couldn't be away from indefinitely.  He had meant what he said to Dean, he was with him for as long as he needed, but right now the search was fruitless.  It wasn't accomplishing anything, and if nothing else actually making things for Dean worse.  Since the search in Cardiff, such as it was, had yielded nothing he'd been in a right temper nobody could cajole him out of.

 

He'd heard Harry and Ron talking, having reached the conclusions themselves this was likely going to go nowhere.

 

Nobody had the heart to really broach that with Dean though.

 

They'd managed to Transfigure a large enough tent for the group of them, and put concealing charms around, but Seamus wasn't exactly sure of the permanence - fully expecting to wake up to rain pelting down on him during the night.  By that point he didn't give a care though because of how bloody exhausted he was.  They all crammed into the tiny space, as comfortable as they could get with cushioning charms and thin blankets, and even Lavender decided to forgo modesty and simply cuddle in with the lot of them.

 

His sleep had been instantaneous, but so had his awakening hours later when he heard the moans and cries from beside him.

 

As he reached out to shake Dean awake, as his mum's name escaped on his lips, the others had awakened as well.  Harry, Ron and Neville were staring on in sleepy shock while Lavender, Merlin love her, managed to sleep right on through.  When Dean awoke this time to find everybody awake and looking at him, realizing what was going on, it was a shamed and angry expression that crossed his face.  With Seamus' unspoken tacit agreement he'd been able to pretend; like this, he couldn't, though he tried his best.

 

Saying nothing to the lot of them, he pulled his jumper back on, and slid from the tent - leaving them all behind. 

 

They didn't seem to know what to do, and Seamus motioned them back as he yanked up his jeans and did them up to follow Dean himself.

 

Still the middle of the bloody night, it took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark.  Once he'd acclimated, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he could see Dean a ways off - sitting on the car itself and staring into space.  Yawning, he walked over and sat beside his mate - saying nothing and waiting for the man to speak.

 

It took a few minutes, but Dean gave a defeated and angry laugh.  "Well, fuck.  Came off as a right nancy didn't I?"

 

"No," Seamus' reply was instantaneous, "Merlin, you think the lot of them give a bloody fuck that. . . ."

 

"It's been a year.  Nearly a whole bloody year, and I'm still having nightmares like a wussy little girl."  The first time he'd even admitted he was having nightmares, even if it was hardly a revelation.  "Now they got to see it.  Fuck."  The curse was loud and emphatic.

 

Seamus knew he should say something.  He knew he should say something deep, and something profound to make his mate feel better.  Maybe he should revert to humour to try and cajole him out of it.  He should probably to reassure that he doubted Dean was the only one a bit haunted, and nobody would judge because of it.   Thing was, he had no idea what to bloody say, and that was even assuming he knew what was going on - rather what had gone on, which he certainly didn't.

 

In that instant his frustration boiled over too, because he didn't know.  Dean hadn't seen fit to tell him a bloody thing, even when he'd spilled his guts amidst maybe a few tears that first night after the battle - when everything had ended, and everything had hit him all at once.  Not the emotions maybe, but the facts.  What they'd done, and what had been done to them.

 

"What's the nightmares then?"  For once, Seamus didn't dance around it.  "What the bloody hell happened Dean?  Fuck me, you might not want to hear it, but you're fucked up mate but good.  I don't even know why."  His attitude, his aversion to painting – the one thing he'd loved, and his nightmares; it was all tied up in the past, which was a general mystery to everybody but him.

 

Dean looked startled, then angry, "What the hell does it matter?"

 

"Doesn't," his response was instantaneous, "not one bloody bit, not to me.  It does to you though, so you might want to come out with it sometime soon."

 

"Like you're the person I'd go to if I wanted a proper chat."

 

"I might have the sensitivity of a bloody bludger you wanker, but I'm the only one who. . ."  the only one who wouldn't judge anything, the only one who'd take whatever Dean needed to put on his shoulders, and the person who'd do everything to get him past it, even if he had to learn how to do a proper Obliviate.   Still though, he was the one person who would have no idea what to say, not if they weren't ignoring things any longer.  "Tell it to your bloody pillow then," Seamus swore, "but you've been a prat for the last year.  I'm never going to up and leave you, you arse, but maybe I've wondered a time or two if you're going to turn your wand on yourself.  Can't be around every hour of every day, much as I'd like to."

 

There was anger in the air, resonating from both of them, not that either probably could have explained it properly.

 

When Dean started on, it came as a surprise.

 

"I don't get to complain," he ground out, "not to you lot."  There he was again, lumped in with them.  "I don't get to complain, because I wasn't Crucio'd you see - just smacked around a little.  I didn't get myself hexed, or sent to the forbidden forest, or anything so traumatic in the name of standing up for myself or my friends.  I've got no scars, no injuries, no nothing.  I wasn't off fighting in the name of defeating the dark lord.  I wasn't protecting the school and my mates.  I never killed a Death Eater until that night at the school, and I never did anything.  I didn't destroy horcruxes, or risk my own life to save the world, and I didn't behead a snake.  I didn't almost die on a curse from a dark lord, and I didn't have to listen to my girlfriend being tortured while I sat and listened."

 

"I ran," he ground out, "I ran.  I've got nothing to show for it except the bloody fear."

 

This was the point where Seamus should be saying something, but he was struck dumb, and Dean didn't seem to want to hear anything anyway.

 

"Every day I ran, knowing I was being hunted down.  I got to hear about how they went to visit my mum, stepdad and sisters - trying to find out from them where I'd gone, and interrogating them as to if they'd helped me steal my magic.  I got to worry one day they'd go back and do it again, except this time with it ending in deaths.  I got to watch the man who'd taken me into their group and given me some sort of shelter that came with the others be murdered in front of me, knowing the family he had at home, and unable to protect him.  I was even confronted by a werewolf who wanted to turn me into something like him.  So yeah Seamus, maybe I'm not quite over it yet, but I don't get to complain you see, because it's nothing compared to you lot.  I'd kill for a bloody scar."

 

"It's not. . . ."  It was just as well Dean interrupted Seamus, because he hadn't been sure what he was going to say anyway.  The anger of the other man grew as he talked, his motions becoming more animated.

 

"I don't even get to claim heroism for it.  All because of my fucking blood it was.  Do you have any idea what that's like?  All that, such as it is, for nothing you've done - simply because of who you are?  You can't change it, you can't apologize for it, you just have you and your family attacked because of it.  You feel so bloody helpless."

 

The thing was Seamus couldn't empathize, even if he could understand.

 

"Your blood has never mattered to us."  He said truthfully, even if he knew it was beside the point.

 

Dean's voice was snide, "No Seamus, it never mattered to you; it bloody well mattered to them, didn't it?  It mattered to the kids at school, all of them.  I'm not a pureblood, and I wasn't saviour of the wizarding world to atone for it."

 

"Maybe it's stupid, in fact it's probably fucking stupid, but I couldn't even say who I was, and where I'd come from, because the fact is I simply don't know.  You lot can trace your lineage back to Merlin – I can't even tell you who my bloody father is."

 

It was a can of bloody worms he'd opened, and now that they were out Seamus knew they couldn't be put back.  Merlin but he'd been right in that it should be Neville outside talking to Dean instead of him, the wanker would know where to go from here.  Seamus had expected one terrifying incident, but he was pretty sure it was the bloody issues that were more the problems at stake here.  A scary incident he could deal with, he'd comforted on those a time or two at Hogwarts, but how the hell did he even talk about this?

 

"Finding your prat of a dad isn't going to make any of that go away," he finally settled on, though knowing it sounded like he was ignoring everything his friend had just said.

 

"Fucking hell Seamus, I know that.  I don't know I just. . . I need to do it.  You're more than welcome to take your arse back on home, as I can do this on my own."

 

"Right.  Since you're the picture of mental health and stability right now.  Hate to break it to you mate, but you're stuck with me."

 

"I'm fine," Dean ground out, "just bloody fine."

 

"Oh shove off.  Listen to yourself – you think this is fine?"

 

"I don't need the big strong pureblood to help me, I can manage just fine on my own."

 

Now he was irritated too.  "That is not what I'm talking about you wanker, and you should fucking know it.  Remember that part where we're mates?  That just means you don't have to do all this on your own."

 

"Oh come on, it's not like your presence is going to cure me.  It's time you grew out of this. . . thing you have for me Seamus.  It's not healthy.  Don't delude yourself into thinking this is ever going to turn into more."

 

Seamus blanched, because all of a sudden they weren't ignoring that either.  It was also a sign of how upset the other man was too that he was resorting to cruelty; Dean wasn't cruel, though that had been Seamus' wont occasionally.  Dean was the patient one, and the usually kind one, and certainly not the one who would make mockery of his friends feelings that not even they were entirely comfortable with.

 

This, he did choose to ignore, because talking about it was just not on.

 

"Think you're rather missing the point mate," he tried to keep his voice calm, though he was churning inside, "much as I'm the all powerful sort, nobody can turn you into less of a bloody prat with sheer awesomeness alone.  I'm just going to be along for the ride, and trying not to let you fuck up yourself and your life in the process."

 

He'd hoped he'd deflected the subject, but Dean wasn't to be deterred.  For some reason he'd chosen to latch onto the subject, and for some reason he'd decided to rub Seamus' nose in it.  Seamus really didn't want to hate him in the morning, but much as he wanted to spell his mouth closed he couldn't.

 

"You think you've got feelings for me," Dean said.

 

"I think you're my mate, my best mate, and I. . . ."

 

"You want me."

 

Why the bloody fuck was Dean doing this?  The anger had been directed at him, and this was fucking torture.  Before Seamus could respond, Dean had rolled over him - his back pressed into the car and his friend's body on top of his.  They were chest to chest, breathing heavily, as his friend pinned his hands down to the metal behind him - most importantly too, their legs were half entwined and his fucking prick was springing to attention with the rough contact as it pressed into Dean's pelvis.

 

"See," Dean's voice was quiet, angry, "you do."

 

It wasn't like they'd needed the physical proof.  Everything in Seamus' life for the last while had proven that well enough.  Seamus could have pushed him off, could have fumbled for the wand that stuck out of waistband, but he stayed still.  Somehow though he wasn't sure he even wanted to end it, not when Dean's hips started to move and he started to press down on Seamus prick, torturing him in the way the man had been doing with words up until that point.  He didn't welcome the restraint, but he welcomed his mate, Merlin help him.

 

It was probably incredibly fucking stupid, but Seamus' body wasn't listening as it thrust up against the friction and the contact.

 

"I think," he gritted out as his body fought against the orgasm that came with contact that wasn't your own hand.  He was feeling the weight of Dean through the other man's sweats, an unmistakable hardness he'd been frequented with enough himself to recognize now when it was against his thigh, "that apparently you want me too."

 

Dean's expression changed then, shock becoming most prominent, and he rolled off Seamus as fast as he had rolled on him.

 

They lay beside each other on the car, the only sounds being their panting breaths.  Seamus couldn't look at Dean, just stared up into the sky - wishing he'd remembered more from astronomy class to pass the time properly.  He had no idea what the bloody hell had just happened, not really, and he had no idea what the heck he was supposed to say next.  Life was confusing enough, but when your supposedly straight best mate started rubbing your bodies together with matching erections it took it to whole new levels - since then  it became mixed up in confusing emotions rather than any kind of desire.

 

"I'm sorry," Dean was the one who finally broke the silence.

 

"No worries."

 

"You can be so casual about. . . "

 

"Do you really want to talk about it?" Seamus shot back.  Maybe it was cowardly, but he sure didn't want to.  He didn't want to talk about the fact Dean knew about his disproportionate affection, and he didn't want to talk about the sexual contact his friend had initiated in anger, much as they'd both reacted to it positively all the same.

 

Dean's voice was quiet, "Doesn't mean we shouldn't."

 

"Listen, we are just going to forget that. . . "

 

"Honest to fuck, Seamus, you can't ignore everything."

 

"No, but when it's going to do the most good I can sure try."

 

"Listen," Dean was over top of him again, even if he was carefully keeping his distance, "punch me in the bloody face or something."

 

"You were upset.  Shit happens."  Trying to escape, Seamus rolled off the car quickly and got to his feet.  He was bloody disconcerted, he was upset, he was – who the fuck knew really. He just knew things were just not on, and maybe if he ignored it enough they could go back to normal.  Obviously he wasn't half as cavalier inside as out.  He tried to desperately ignore his frustrating prick that was still tight against the material of his jeans, and tried to pretend his persistent arousal wasn't obvious.

 

Dean made a move to speak again, looking desperately guilty, but Seamus cut him off.

 

"Listen," he began awkwardly, able to now that the ranting anger had passed, "I'm sorry mate, I didn't know.  I. . . wondered, with your nightmares, but I didn't know."

 

To him, that was the more important topic, even if it was Dean that was uncomfortable now.

 

"It's not important," the other man said quickly, feigning nonchalance, "listen, it's really not."

 

"Of course it bloody well is," Seamus cursed, "what are you on about?  What, you have to be so bloody perfect that you can't admit that all that shite affected you?"

 

"It's not.  There was no fucking way I ever meant to bring any of it up."

 

Now Seamus was the one who was frustrated.  "We are so going to do this now.  You don't sleep, you look miserable half the time – and you haven't painted a bloody thing far as I can tell.  You wake up in terror in the middle of the night for Merlin's sake.   How the hell can you say it's all nothing?"  Like Seamus' affection for Dean and his knowledge, they were both well aware Seamus had known all these things before.  Just not bringing them up had allowed them both to ignore them.

 

Dean fell silent then.  When he spoke, it was more into the distance than to Seamus.

 

"It's not just so much what happened," he said quietly.  "It some ways it is of course.  I won't ever forget the terror, and I won't forget Greyback.  I'm never going to stop feeling guilty about Ted's death, not when I think of his wife and his grandkid and what they lost, and I'm never going to stop reliving it.  I know I should have found a way to step in front of the bloody Kedavra instead.  It would have been better."

 

"There are just a few people who might miss you too you wanker," Seamus said, truly angry for once.  "Merlin, persecution complex?"

 

"You have to take this fucking seriously," Dean practically yelled the words at him, getting off the car to come stand right in front of him, "you can't joke about. . . "

 

"No bloody joke here mate," Seamus stuck a finger directly in Dean's chest, "I will bloody hex myself if you ever wish yourself dead in any way.  You didn't kill Ted, those fuckers did.  Not your fault, much as you don't want to hear it."

 

"He had a wife!  And a daughter.  And a grandson.  I was only really free and alive because of him and his group that had taken me in with them.  It should have been. . . "

 

Seamus cut him off.  "You had a family too, you prat.  A mum, a stepdad, and a fair number of sisters who would never have recovered.  You had friends, you had classmates, you had. . . you had everything."  They were almost face to face then, speaking mostly in anger, so when his words came oh so quietly they would normally have been lost to the air, Dean heard them.

 

"You had me, you complete and utter arse."

 

They never got back to the real reason of Dean's upset and torment.  With the quiet admission the moment changed.  It might not have been the violence of the encounter before, but all of a sudden they were hugging in a way that completely contradicted the tough men they liked to think they were.

 

Seamus just gripped his mate against him as tightly as he could.

 

 

******

 

 

They were a quiet and dejected group that drove back towards London the next morning.

 

Seamus for his part was the quietest because Dean wasn't even really looking at him.  He hadn't since they'd returned to the tent the night before.

 

The general sombre mood was from the failure of the trip.   Seamus really wanted to suggest they press on, since maybe success in finding his dad would solve Dean's personal crisis.  He knew it was pointless as much as the rest of them.  There wasn't a single thing to go on.

 

Once they arrived back at the city, Dean stopped outside the tollgate at the North road rather than driving in.

 

"I'm not driving in," he said quietly, "you lot can go through, and then Apparate.  I'll get the car back to my cousins."  Seamus was rather sure he just didn't want the stares at the car again.

 

Lavender looked indignant.  "Do you have any idea how much bloody luggage I've got in this thing?  It will take me forever just to. . . "

 

"Shut it," Seamus hissed, turning towards the back.

 

She looked startled, but acquiesced.  She was used to annoyance, but not any form of anger, especially when she didn't understand it.  Not that Seamus really understood exactly why he was so angry.   He supposed what it came down to was he was even more keen than ever on making sure nothing would set Dean off, not if he could help it. 

 

The five of them were left standing with assorted luggage as he took off.

 

"Bloody hell," Ron said, "that was a spectacular failure, wasn't it?"

 

Harry nodded his agreement.  When his voice came though, it was more hesitant.  "Listen, I'd have no problems going looking for a month if that's what Dean wanted, but. . . well, does anybody know why exactly we were searching for his dad?"

 

They all looked at Seamus expectantly.  His only response was shrug, because he didn't really know himself.  He had guesses based on what Dean had said the night before, but he still didn't really understand.  He wasn't even sure Dean did.

 

"I'd personally want to hex any father that abandoned me," Lavender shrugged, "any bloke for that matter."

 

"Didn't really seem like that though, did it?" Ron said.

 

"Maybe it's more to do with. . . ."

 

Seamus cut them off, oddly annoyed by them all standing around discussing Dean's motivations without him present.  "Listen, it's just really important to him, all right?"

 

Neville looked taken aback, "It was just theorizing Seamus.  We're not judging, or thinking that it was a stupid thing to do."

 

"Well. . . don’t," Seamus said, knowing he sounded more petulant than he should.

 

They all turned to gather their stuff, most of them having packed light - light enough they could help Lavender carry her things.  They couldn't use levitation yet because they were on the Muggle side still and there were some motorists and pedestrians about.  Seamus started to think about something Dean had said the night before, and hesitated before finally deciding to ask - his question more directed at Harry than anybody else.

 

"Were purebloods always that bad?" He asked.

 

Nobody seemed to understand when he meant, let alone Harry.

 

Seamus tried to clarify.  "In school.  The purebloods - being prats towards Muggleborns?  I mean, I know the Slytherins were arses, but the rest of us weren't bad. . . were we?"

 

The question was out of the blue.  Harry looked taken aback, but seemed to see that the question was important to Seamus somehow.  "Listen, I'm not Muggleborn, I was half-blood and raised Muggle - that's a better question left for Hermione if you want the real truth.  But yeah, some Slytherins and some. . . others, were arses."  He hesitated, and then continued.  "You want the truth though?  I know most purebloods honestly don't care all that much, and you all seemed fine with Muggle things - fascinated even.  If you want the truth though, it made it kinda hard all the same.  Felt like a bloody. . . exhibit at times, and I didn't even have a poster of a football team up on my wall."

 

As much as it made Seamus feel like an arse, it was better to be enlightened and finally understand.

 

Harry seemed to have something else to say, but not sure how to say it.  He hesitated, and opened and closed his mouth a few times, before saying, "That sort of thing never fit in, anything not entirely wizarding.  I embraced leaving it all behind because I wanted an entirely new life, but not everybody did.  You. . . understand?"

 

Not entirely, but that didn't matter.   Seamus understood the most important parts of what Harry was saying anyway.

 

He was getting something for once.  He could picture Dean the night before, going on about how he was being persecuted for something he was, or rather something they just assumed he was, not something he did.  He was getting why every comment about Muggles drew a depressed look, and why clueless interest and treating things Muggle like something wrong and different drew his ire.  Well, hell, but it was also would have been something better to 'get' a long time ago.

 

He deflected the attention the others gave him by hoisting up Lavender's small trunk onto his back - or rather trying to.  "Fuck me!" He exclaimed, dropping it back to the ground, "What the bloody hell did you pack in this thing?" 

 

For her part, she ignored the jibes about her luggage, walking over and giving Seamus a quick hug, much to the surprise of him and everybody around him.  "Dean will be fine," she murmured in Seamus' ear, "you're going to get him past all this, even if you blokes are absolute shite at emotions and dealing with them.  Punch each other a few times - that's usually enough to solve any problem."

 

Seamus' laugh was coarse, "Not quite as simple as that, love.  Not this time."

 

She stepped back, giving him that pitying glance once again as she had the night in the pub. "No, I know it's not."  In that moment he wondered if he and Dean hadn't been as quiet as he'd thought they'd been the previous night.  Not that they were the problem, what was or wasn't there and what had or hadn't happened, but now it was entangled in all the same.  This time, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, before stepping away and heading for the tollgate on foot - bringing only minimal luggage and expecting the rest of them to do the heavy lifting.

 

As they lifted her few pieces, and their own small bags beside, Seamus spoke to Harry and even Ron specifically again.  "Listen, you have time to go for a quick pint?  It will give me a chance to see if I've still got a job, and I've got some questions for you."

 

It grated to know the other men knew things about Dean he didn't, but it was other information and address he needed besides.

 

 

******

 

 

The pub had told him to sod off.

 

Not shocking, considering he'd basically skived off work with no notice.

 

Not that Seamus didn't enjoy listening the wizarding soap "Witches of Harwinkle Alley" on the wireless in the afternoons, but galleons were going to be an issue sooner rather than later.

 

It was a pathetic fucking sign though that he worried more about the state of him and Dean than that side of things.  Ever since they'd returned from the failure of a road trip, and more importantly the last night, things hadn't been radically different - but they hadn't been the same either. 

 

When he knocked on Dean's door though, knowing the other man was probably doing one of his fruitless painting endeavours one again, he accepted that whatever the hell was or wasn't between them wasn't really the point of things right then anyway.  Time off had given him time for a much more important project as well.  He waited for the invitation to come in, but when it wasn't given he barged his way in anyway.

 

Dean was staring in frustration at a blank canvas, and his attention turned quickly to Seamus.  "Oi!"  He said in indignation, "What part of do not bloody disturb is so hard to understand?"

 

"The last week has been do not bloody disturb with you mate, and this time it can't wait."

 

"I've got to work on. . . "

 

Seamus snorted, not giving him the out.  "Listen, whatever excuse you're going to use, forget it.  We've got a field trip to go on.  I'll petrify you myself to get you there if it comes to that."

 

It was something he'd been planning since they'd got back to London.  Still wasn't sure it wasn't the right plan, but it was a plan all the same.  Dean gave him a look, but caved, putting aside his brush.

 

"This better not be the same as your idea to take me to the strip club in Knockturn Alley to cheer me up last time you thought I was down in the dumps," Dean threatened.  Oddly enough now, he was openly acknowledging there was a problem.

 

"What, you didn't enjoy the lap dance I bought you?"

 

"Hell Seamus, I thought I was going to get a bloody disease just being in that place."

 

"Nothing that's going to soil your sodding purity," Seamus promised.  He did admit that the strip club had been a spectacularly bad idea, though it had been the only thing he could think of when Dean had been going through a bout of depression the year before.  It probably would have been a bloody disaster anyway, but had been even more so when one of the 'dancers' had born too much resemblance to an only slightly feminized version of professor Snape. 

 

He held out the box that held the Portkey Harry had thoughtfully created, being authorized to do so.   He might resent the man's influence, but sometimes it came in quite handy.

 

"Grab on," Seamus said once he had opened the box, placing his hand on the fork that lay inside, at the same time Dean did the same.

 

The pulling tug that felt like it originated from his navel was intense, as he was not used to using these bloody things, and when they arrived at their destination his landing was done with very little grace.  Dean managed it a little better, at least fluttering down onto his feet mostly upright.  Seamus pushed himself to a standing position, brushing bits of dirt from his arse.

 

They were in front of a small house, isolated from the others in the vicinity.  Relatively non-descript, it was also obviously wizarding.  Seamus knew the protective charms had been lowered for their benefit to allow them entrance, because at least he'd had the benefit of floo-calling the occupant beforehand.  Dean look bemused, but clueless, taking in the sight in front of him.  "We searching for a new place?" He asked, "Since we're so good at covering the rent on the flat I suppose buying seemed like an excellent idea."

 

"Not exactly," Seamus snorted.

 

He hesitated.  It was tempting to walk up to the bloody door and knock without explanation, but he figured Dean might hex his arse six ways to Sunday if he brought him without any notice.

 

"It's the Tonks'," he said abruptly.  "Well, Mrs. . . Andromeda, and Teddy Tonks' place now."

 

Dean blanched.  "Seamus, what the bloody hell. . . "

 

"Hear me out mate, this is a good idea."  Or at least he thought it was.  That should count for something.  This was the address and floo information he'd got from Harry.

 

He knew Dean had never actually met the other woman; he'd attended her husband's belated memorial, just one in the string of many that had taken place over the weeks following that last battle, but had never approached her.  That much he'd learned from her, and her regrets too, that she hadn't been able to talk to the one wizard left who could tell her about her husband at the end.  He was fairly sure she'd understood from everything he'd awkwardly intimated over the floo call this was for Dean's sake, but her agreeing to it was probably as much for her own sake as anything.

 

Talk was just going to waste time, and allow Dean to Disapparate somewhere, and Seamus was striding up to the door and knocking before the other man could do anything about it.  Dean had been following after him, more likely to sock him than out of agreement to anything.

 

It took a moment, but the door opened to show a dark and striking woman - who was also looking a little frazzled.  The softness in her eyes and the baby balanced on her hip belied her harsh appearance.  The infant gurgled happily at their appearance, his hair turning from shades of blue to pink and purple all in a split second.  Seamus started, but tried not to stare.

 

"You must be Seamus," she said warmly, and he nodded.  Her eyes slid past him though; "Dean."  Dean didn't seem to know what to say, but he only hesitated slightly before nodding his confirmation as well. 

 

"I was so glad to get the floo," she said, motioning them inside as she carefully balanced the infant and closed the door behind them all at the same time.  "I'm sorry I didn't get to greet you at the memorial Dean; I listened to Potterwatch, and I knew.  I've just. . .well, not had the time to look you up as I'd wanted to, not with this one here needing constant attention."  The baby gurgled again, his hands reaching up to tangle in her dark hair, and she deftly and gently extracted them as quickly as she could.

 

Dean was looking a little green, and not inclined to say anything, so Seamus filled the awkward silence that followed.  "Thank you for having us over."  Not that he really wanted to be here, but it wasn't like he'd been going to be able to get Dean there all on his own.  He gave the baby a little half smile, and all of a sudden the thing was trying to wiggle out of his grandmother's arms towards Seamus.  Right then his smile froze because it was a bloody baby, and he had no bloody clue how to deal with one. 

 

Especially when Mrs. Tonks was giving into the little prat and depositing him in Seamus' arms.

 

"I almost despair of this one," she said wryly, "he didn't exactly inherit the Lestrange gene, as far as I can tell, which is both good and bad.  He's overly affectionate with every visitor we get.  You should see him crawl all over Minister Shacklebolt when he comes for tea, or Harry for that matter; Teddy really doesn't discriminate."

 

Seamus for his part was holding the grinning infant like the thing was going to explode in a few seconds, just feeling horrible and completely out of his depth as Teddy gurgled and clapped and tried to reach for his face.

 

Conversation had ground to a halt, because he was too busy trying not to kill the grandson, and Mrs. Tonks didn't seem to know what to say.

 

Right then, he caught sight of Dean out of the corner of his eye however.

 

The man's expression was stricken, and his breath seemed to be coming quickly and very shallow.  He'd lost all the colour of the Portkey over, and looked pale and drawn.  Guilt was etched into his every feature as he took in Mrs. Tonks and the infant Seamus held.  "I'm sorry," he choked out the words, "I'm so. . . very sorry." 

 

Andromeda's expression froze, then she was taking a step forward to rest a comforting hand on Dean's shoulder.

 

It might have been his idea, but that didn't mean Seamus didn't know when it wasn't his place to be there.  Tucking the baby like a Quaffle into his arms, he slipped into the sitting room off to the side, giving the two of them the privacy to talk.

 

 

******

 

 

Seamus had eventually headed out to entertain himself in the garden while Dean made the infant's acquaintance as well.

 

Entertaining himself only in the loosest sense of the word, considering it was a patch of vegetables mostly.

 

Still, he'd been content to wait outside while Dean had his time with the Tonks family.  He had absolutely no place being in there, even if he would have been comfortable doing so.  Which he definitely wasn't.  In the end who knew exactly how much the visit was going to do any good, but it had been worth a shot.  If nothing else, because it was readily obvious that Andromeda had wanted to meet Dean, and have that last connection with her husband.

 

He was stubbing his toe into the dirt, feeling decidedly uncomfortable still, when a shadow fell across him.  Looking up, Seamus found Dean standing over him. 

 

"I should probably want to kill you," Dean said in a perfectly conversational tone.

 

Seamus snorted. "Like that's an uncommon occurrence. You usually end up wanting to hex me a large portion of the time."  He paused, and then added, "Take it that means I'm going to be allowed to live then?"

 

The sigh that came was heavy.  "You don't spring shite like this on people unsuspecting, mate.  It's just not on."

 

It would have been easy to point out Dean's decision making was shite recently, but the other man seemed to have made that concession already, considering that there wasn't exactly any real anger behind his words.  Seamus looked at him, trying to decide if he'd found some peace from the visit, then realized he still wasn't any closer to achieving the ability of Legilimency and decided to just ask.

 

"It go all right then?"

 

Dean waited a moment before answering.  "Yeah, suppose it did."   Seamus knew he was getting a self satisfied expression because Dean scowled at him before adding, "Doesn't mean you should have just forced me here like that.  You need a bloody job, if you're going to try your hand at being a meddling old biddy every time you're out of work."  Seamus didn't argue, it wasn't worth it.

 

He probably should go in and take his own leave, but it wasn't his presence anybody gave a shite about. 

 

Fishing around in his pocket, he grabbed the box that held the Portkey, bringing it out and opening it up.  Before Dean could reach for it, Seamus cleared his throat rather uncomfortably.  "We've got company coming around," he said abruptly, "there was a reason I shoved all my shite under the couch and put some scent charms in the bathroom and kitchen."

 

Dean immediately looked wary, "Listen, I don't know what you drank for breakfast this morning Seamus, but..."

 

"Your mum.   Your mum is coming over."

 

There was no mistaking the certain level of pallor on Dean's face, though at least panic didn't play a role.  He hadn't been home much since he'd escaped to his own flat; Seamus thought he was at least gaining a good level of understanding as to the why of it, even if it was illogical.  The eldest female Thomas also hadn't be around to see their place, though normally she would have been the sort to insist on seeing it's cleanliness and suitability for her son.  She too had seemed to sense that Dean was looking to shut her out, and unlike Seamus, she'd acquiesced in the short term at least.

 

Before Dean could say anything, Seamus spoke over him, "Listen mate, I know I'm not a bloody therapist.  We both know shite's going on though with you, and we both know things are fucked up because of it.   She's got....well, she's got answers - and you're just going to bloody well ask her instead of scouring towns all over Britain for your dad."

 

Even if his dad wasn't really the issue, it had all tied in by this point.

 

This time there was anger on Dean's face.  "You who is so bloody good at avoidance is all of a sudden making unilateral decisions for...."

 

Seamus didn't wait for him to finish.  He reached out and grabbed Dean's hand, closing the both of theirs over the Portkey, which promptly began the process of taking them back to the flat.

 

 

******

 

 

He was well aware Dean was probably going to hate him.  It would be worth it though, if it could actually accomplish something.

 

Something like this probably should have been left to Neville, or even more appropriately, a bird.  Still, right then in Dean's life, there wasn't anybody hanging around who didn't have a prick and the sensitivity of a bludger.  Seamus had been making it up as he went along, but he figured a solution was possibly giving him a way to face the things that he had issue with.  Guilt over Ted's death, talk with his family.  Father issues, figure out what kind of lineage he came from.  Maybe it was simplistic, but it was all Seamus had, and Dean sure as hell wasn't doing anything but wallowing - hadn't been for over a year.

 

Seamus contemplated it all as he nursed a pint at the Leaky.  He'd beat a hasty retreat once he'd basically forced Dean into staying rather than making excuses to his mum.

 

Nursed was a bit of a misnomer.  He'd downed the first in nearly a single chug, and the second was only going down a bit slower.

 

Hannah looked at him sympathetically from where she was cleaning glasses.  It was nearly empty save his presence, and a few wizards in the corner.  Part of it was of course the fact it was the middle of the bloody afternoon, the other part was that the Leaky was far from being restored to a popular place when their group wasn't around to frequent it.

 

"Shouldn't you be working?" Hannah asked finally, giving up her task and coming over to lean in front of him.  Seamus was too fidgety to even appreciate the sight of the generous tits he had needled Neville about.

 

"Unemployed," he said abruptly, "if you want the full of it.  Think you can spare a job for one of the worst bartenders London's ever seen?"

 

Her eyes were full of sympathy, "I can barely support myself off the income; if it ever picks up though. . . "

 

Seamus waved off her half-offer.  It wasn't really the job he was worried about anyway.  At least not yet.

 

The hesitation from Hannah was obvious before she said, "Neville told me about the trip."

 

The curse he wanted to offer was loud and filthy, but given it was Hannah in front of him he tempered it back to a more mild-mannered 'bloody hell'.  He supposed she'd heard worse running a bloody pub, but at the same time there had always been something innocent and good with her.  It wasn't a female thing, he had no issue cursing like a hit wizard on leave in front of Lavender, but it was something about Hannah that made him want to play the gentleman.  She looked apologetic all over again when he cursed, and he felt the need to reassure her – but his biggest concern was Dean; he wasn't going to take kindly to quite literally everybody knowing his business.

 

"Neville has a big mouth," Seamus grumbled under his breath.

 

"Neville knows I would have been upset if he had no explanation for missing our date," Hannah countered.  She smiled slightly at the end.  "However, you're right in that there aren't many secrets when it comes to that man."

 

"Probably not something we should be discussing. . . " Seamus trailed off hesitantly.

 

She only nodded, refilling his pint slowly and waved away the galleons he offered.  Looking at the non-existent crowd, she walked around the bar to come sit on a stool beside him.  "I'd agree," she said, as they both turned their backs to survey the room, "but so long as Dean knows he's got friends who care.  I know I might not be one of you Gryffindors, but we've all lived through absolute shite." The curse sounded odd coming from her mouth. "We can take anything he wants to go on about.  He represses things worse than you Seamus darling.  You talk about nothing, but at least you hit and curse and rant when you're upset."

 

"One would think we were past house formalities," Seamus rolled his eyes at her, "didn't we learn last year that all of that meant absolute dick all?  Except the bloody Slytherins of course."

 

This time it was her eyes that narrowed.  "You don't honestly believe that all of. . . "

 

He cut her off, "No, of course not."  It was an answer meant to pacify her.  He knew Hannah liked to believe in the goodness of people, no matter who they were, but it wasn't like he was just going to forget how things had been at Hogwarts.  He knew not all of the Slytherins had acted like absolute wankers, and he knew motivations were different with families such as theirs, but as a general rule he couldn't really be arsed to care and preferred the generalization.

 

It was obvious he was lying, but Hannah didn't press it.

 

"Anyway," she elbowed him gently, "I knew in the end we were all Dumbledore's Army in some way, Harry's Army, but doesn't change the fact you Gryffindors were gits unto yourselves half the time."

 

"Like you Puffs were any better," Seamus retorted.

 

At the same time he was flashing back to the times they had mocked the other houses, Puffs and Slytherins bearing the brunt of it.  Not that he thought in Hufflepuff they were all the angelic sort who never had a nasty word cross their lips, and the badges they wore during the Tri-wizard tournament had proved they weren't, but he doubted it had been the same.  He supposed it had been true too in the end, in general and that last year it had been them – the Gryffindors – when it came to things that mattered.  Everyone else had been an addendum, save maybe Luna and her, well, lunacy.  Maybe it had nothing to do with them being the house of bravery, maybe it did have to do with them being excluding gits.  Maybe it was all absolute shite as well and he was overreacting, but right then he was feeling guilty enough about everything else, he was going to feel guilty about that too.

 

"Well, fuck me," Seamus sighed, "apparently I'm not just a blood purist, I'm a house purist."  It really was a week for screwed up revelations.

 

Hannah looked startled, "I hardly think you're either."

 

He waved it aside, "Let's just leave it as I'm feeling like shite this week too and am like to take anything the wrong way."

 

They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Seamus still sipping at his pint.   He knew soon he was going to have to head back to the flat, but he wanted to make sure and give Dean and his mum enough time.  Of course if the two of them were sitting there in near silence because Dean was doing the polite and distant thing he did so well recently, it would probably be best if he headed back sooner rather than later.

 

"My mum was killed just for being a Muggle," Hannah said abruptly, and Seamus looked at her with not a little bit of shock that she was bringing it up. 

 

"I'm sorry Hannah, I. . . ."

 

She waved off his words of sympathy.  "It's fine.  No, it's not fine but it. . . it is what it is, and I can't go back and change it.  I'm just trying to let you know that. . . nothing was going to make that okay, nothing was going to have me accept it, but it's harder because she didn't do anything wrong.  She was who she was, and she loved my dad despite the fact he was a bloody wizard, and she loved me even if I was more of his world then hers."

 

The smile she gave him was apologetic, "I'm not much good at this either Seamus, but I think maybe all I'm trying to say is we. . . don't get it, not even me with that background.  It's not like Muggle things are any less out of place now than they were before, even if the blatant prejudice has died down.  Snape and the Carrows went after of us because of what we were doing, it was based on our choices."  It was obvious she understood part of Dean's issues; they'd apparently all seen the vacant looks and the touchy nature over anything Muggle related.

 

The point he was getting beat over the head with, from all different sides.

 

"Too vague?" She shot him a look.

 

"No, I understand."

She shot him a look and he sighed, "At least I'm starting too."

 

 

******

 

 

When Seamus let himself back into the flat, he wasn't sure what he expected, but finding Mrs. Thomas sitting by herself in the kitchen wasn't it.

 

"Dean. . . " she'd began, hopefully, but broke off when she saw Seamus filling the doorway.  Shaking her head, she rested her hand against her forehead.  "I was hoping he'd come back."

 

"It didn't go well?" Seamus asked, hesitantly, not sure if he could ask anything further.

 

"It went how it went," she said, "I. . . I don't know, Seamus.  I wish I had all the answers for him, but I don't.  I'm glad you owled me, because there was so much I didn't know was going on, but I don't have what he needs.  I don't even know what he needs right now.  He took off, not saying much to me." 

 

He bit his tongue against asking all the details.  He had been so sure she'd be able to at least fill in the blanks about Dean's dad, but maybe that hadn't even been the case.  Mrs. Thomas didn't need any prompting however.  "All I could tell him was that I don't know how to find his dad," she said quietly, "that I'm. . . I'm not even sure the man said goodbye.  Everything is so patchy from that night, and I keep drawing a blank on so many of the details, but my mind is convinced he said something about going to keep us safe - even if I can't remember him actually saying it.  I think I was just so bloody upset that. . . "  She broke off, upset now again.

 

Seamus started aback though, wondering if Dean's mind could have possibly went the same way his did with the revelation.

 

It might have been trauma making her forget aspects of what had gone on, but it sure as hell sounded like a rushed Obliviate.

 

Before the two of them could say anything else however, a face appeared in the flames that flared to life in their fireplace.

 

"Seamus."  It was Harry, and he rushed over to the fire, like it would somehow make the communication better. "Dean's just been by.  He had me run the picture of his dad, and some old things of his, through a census recognition charm and. . . . "

 

Seamus cut him off, because he was fairly sure he knew what the next words were going to bring, and Dean's mum didn't need to find out inadvertently like this.  Shooting a look at Mrs. Thomas he spoke over Harry, "I'll Apparate on over right away, yeah?" 

 

 

******

 

 

The wind was bloody cold, and the atmosphere of the graveyard didn't help matters.

 

Seamus stuck his hands in his pockets, looking around for Dean.

 

It had taken him some time to get the proper information from Harry, and even longer still to find the right place.  It was a cemetery just on the outskirts of Cotterport, a small wizarding town in the north.  Not very large, it housed only the memorials of a few families, and a few independent graves.  The town itself had been vacated years ago, when the number of witches and wizards in the area had faded out, but the cemetery was one of the things that remained – carefully preserved and warded against Muggles.  It didn't take him long then to notice Dean, standing in front of a small headstone at the south end of the cemetery.  Taking a deep breath, he headed over.

 

Dean didn't say anything right away, not even when Seamus came to stand beside him.

 

He took the time to examine the headstone.  It was small and with only the simplest etchings.  The man's name, Anthony Herwitt, was at the top, and the years of his death and birth underneath.

 

"My dad," Dean said simply.

 

They both stood there in silence, Seamus not knowing what to say, and Dean not wanting to say anything.

 

Finally, it was Dean who spoke, "It was all fairly simple once I thought he might be a wizard, you see - Harry was able to take his picture and things and sort out his identity in no time.  My existence, determined with a two minute charm.  He was . . . a wizard.  A pureblooded wizard; his family made up most of the town when it was in its prime.  Apparently he fell out with his family over not wanting to go into the family business, decided to play around at being a Muggle for a bit, and met up with my mum."

 

He was reciting it all like a laundry list of facts now.  "Apparently he left us for our own good, at least if the statement from his sister is to be believed.  It was when He-Who . . . Voldemort was coming into power for the first time, and they were heavily after purebloods to join the Death Eater ranks.  He left to keep us safe from that, only telling the one relative of our existence, me and my mum's - not that he shared the details of our names.  And then they. . . and then they. . . killed him, when he wouldn't join.  They killed his family too, and made examples of them, his sister only escaping because she was hidden by some neighbours."

 

Seamus made a move to rest a hand on Dean's shoulder, but the other man shrugged it off.

 

"I. . . thought it would make all the difference knowing," he said, "I though this would make. . . I don't know, it all better.  I thought being able to vilify him for what he was - both the coward and the Muggle who put me in the position I was in, would make me feel better.  It doesn't though, I just . . . fuck, it's worse.  Turns out everything he did was for us, the miserable bastard, and I've got so used to hating him, I don't know how to stop.  Thing was too, he could have kept us safer just by staying."

 

Dean rubbed a hand viciously over his face.  Silence fell between them again.

 

"I wanted to fucking fix everything," Seamus said finally.  "I thought . . . if you went to the Tonks', and maybe had somebody else tell you it wasn't your bloody fault, you'd feel better.  I though if your mum could maybe tell you something more about your dad and solve that mystery, you'd feel better."  Right then, he was almost scared he'd made it worse.

 

The look Dean shot him though wasn't one of anger or frustration, it was just resigned.  "And I appreciate it Seamus, as much as you're a meddling old woman.  I just. . ." he trailed off, then began again, "I have no idea how the hell to stop being so angry underneath, and feeling like a second class citizen.  No matter who my biological dad was, none of it changes, not really."

 

"Maybe Lavender had a point about hitting each other," Seamus suggested with a snort.

 

The laugh that escaped from Dean was a surprise to them both.

 

When he spoke again, it wasn't quite as morose.  "I . . . I want to stop being like this Seamus.  I want to paint without the urge to just throw liquid at canvas or smear red.  I don't want to only be able to picture scenes of destruction and death.  I want to stop feeling so bitter.  I wasn't kidding when I said I hate this; I don't have a right to it.  It was all so much worse for others and they've all got past it and . . ."

 

Seamus did cut him off then.  "That's shite Dean, you have to know it is.  Nobody judges you, you wanker.  Even if they haven't lived it, they get it.  Nobody thinks you should magically be just fine and dandy.  It was different for everybody else, but it wasn't worse.  Besides, I somehow think not everybody's just fine and dandy."  He was fairly willing to bet Harry and Ron weren't entirely at peace, and he knew Lavender wasn't.  Neville might not show it much overtly, but they'd seen too much that year to be able to forget so quickly – Hannah would bear the brunt of it when it needed to be shared.  Seamus knew there was a lot he wasn't past yet, even if he didn't have the nightmares.

 

There was no timetable on a complete recovery.

 

"We don't care if you're a morose git," he elbowed Dean, "and we'll listen even if you want to insult purebloods for hours on end to feel better.  At least a few times."

 

Dean shot him a look, "You mean you'll support me."

 

It was tempting to second that, and solidify his place as the 'best mate', but he thought to all the others.  The blokes, Lavender, Hannah – Merlin, even if Hermione if she'd known.  "No, we'll support you," Seamus said firmly, then grinned, "well, maybe I'll make a point of doing just a bit of a better job of it than the others."

 

They stood side by side in more companionable silence, staring down at the grave in front of them, but neither of them really seeing it.  For all it might have been an end, it had never been the most important thing for Dean – his dad.  It was just something else he was going to have to sort out in his own time, and his own way.

 

"I wanted you," Seamus said abruptly, and they were both startled by the admission.

 

It was technically something they'd both sorted out already, but maybe he felt it was time for honesty.

 

"I knew," Dean said quietly, "I know." He hesitated, then slid his eyes towards Seamus, "Past tense then?"

 

"Well, fuck, no – if you want the truth.  Think I'm going to try and make it that way though."

 

"You develop an affinity for discussing all of a sudden?"

 

"Oh shut it, you wanker, what happened to being all sensitive and that shit to somebody confessing their feelings?"  In spite of himself he was grinning though, relieved that it wasn't a huge and overdramatic moment.  "Just thought . . . you know, honesty was the order of the day.  Of course I'm going to have to Obliviate you afterwards, but it's the thought that counts. "

 

Dean snorted, "Hey, I'm not blaming you.  I'm well aware of how awesome I am."  It lay between them for a moment, and then he continued on before Seamus could speak again.  This time he looked not more than a little bit uncomfortable.  "I would . . . you know. . . if I could.  With blokes.  It would be you."

 

Now Seamus was uncomfortable as well, "We're really not going there.  I was just stating a simple fact."

 

"No," Dean was insistent.  "I mean it.  You're the best mate a bloke could have, and you mean fucking more to me than anybody else I know."

 

"Please don't make this more uncomfortable than it has to be, yeah?"

 

"Bloody hell, you're the bent one and you can't even take a little talk about feelings unless it involves what you want to do with your prick?"

 

"I'm not bent, I'm just. . . " Seamus broke off, frustrated. 

 

This time Dean took pity on him, not making him finish it, and not making them talk about it any further.  "Mate?"  He said, and when Seamus looked at him he just shrugged, "No worries, I get it.   You do realize that one of these days you're going to meet some completely fit bird who is going to be the best sex you ever had, and put up with all your shite besides, and this is going to be a thing of the past."

 

Seamus smiled at Dean, humouring him.  He didn't doubt that somebody the first part of all that would happen.  Thing was that this 'thing' with Dean wasn't just a phase.  He had the bloody strong suspicion even if he met a woman like that, Dean would still come first.  Which might fuck things up entirely, and might just fade into the background with them all unawares.  It wasn't like he was going to tell Dean that though, because he did know his friend was straight as arrow - unfortunate reactions of his prick aside, and he knew that delusion was going to make the other man feel better.

 

And, after all, that generally seemed to be Seamus' mission in life.

 

:::

 

 

 

 

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