Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8893036.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Seamus_Finnigan/Dean_Thomas, Remus_Lupin/Nymphadora_Tonks, Harry_Potter/
      Ginny_Weasley, Ron_Weasley/Lavender_Brown, Ron_Weasley/Hermione_Granger,
      Dean_Thomas/Seamus_Finnigan
  Character:
      Dean_Thomas, Seamus_Finnigan, Parvati_Patil, Lavender_Brown, Padma_Patil,
      Dean's_Mother, Seamus'_Mother, Luna_Lovegood, Neville_Longbottom, Harry
      Potter, Hermione_Granger, Ron_Weasley, Ginny_Weasley, Nymphadora_Tonks,
      Remus_Lupin, Andromeda_Black_Tonks, Ted_Tonks, Griphook_(Harry_Potter),
      Gornuk, Dobby_(Harry_Potter), Draco_Malfoy, Pansy_Parkinson, Filius
      Flitwick, Minerva_McGonagall, Severus_Snape, Bellatrix_Black_Lestrange,
      Bill_Weasley, Fleur_Delacour, Original_Female_Character(s), Original_Male
      Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Deamus, Novel, slowburn, Ensemble_Cast, Friendship-to-Lovers, Inter-House
      Relationships, Coming_of_Age, Canon-Typical_Violence, Alternate_Universe
      -_Canon_Divergence, Canon_Character_of_Color, Canonical_Character_Death,
      LGBTQ_Character_of_Color, Fluff_and_Angst, The_Angstiest_Angst_that_ever
      Angst, Get_Your_Tissues_Y'all, War_Story, Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder
      -_PTSD, Battle_Magic, Slytherin_Would_Have_Fought_Too, Explicit_Sexual
      Content, Swearing, AU-race_changes, Unrequited_Love, Book_6:_Harry_Potter
      and_the_Half-Blood_Prince, Book_7:_Harry_Potter_and_the_Deathly_Hallows,
      Post-Battle_of_Hogwarts, Dean-Centric, Dean's_POV
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-12-18 Chapters: 26/26 Words: 91655
****** The Future Within Us ******
by GalaxyLucia
Summary
     What lies before you is a tale of two boys who fall in love. But make
     no mistake, this is not a lovely crafted tale of smut. It’s a messy,
     slow burn of boys growing into men.
     It’s a coming-of-age story. It’s a love story. It’s a war story. It’s
     a wacky, hijinks, boarding school story.
     Oh, and there’s a bit of magic in there too.
     Part One spans from the end of HP-OOTP (Book 5) through the end of
     HP-HBP (Book 6). Part Two spans end of Book 6 through HP-DH (Book 7)
     and beyond and follow Dean's journey in hiding.
     Overall, the story mostly follows book canonical events from HP
     series (canon relationships, deaths, etc.). Of course, seeing as this
     is fanfic, the story also includes my head canon, scenes or details
     from the movies, the video games and more. Characters may have
     different ethnicities or personalities and character traits, but I
     honestly tried to stay as close to the canon book materials as
     possible.
Notes
     See Ch. 26 for Table of Contents, Author Notes to Reader, and my
     copyright disclaimer (I don't owe, it's JKR's don't sue, blah blah)!
***** Meet the Parents (Part Deux) *****
 
 
Part One
 
===============================================================================
 
                                  CHAPTER ONE
                         Meet the Parents (Part Deux)
                                        
            Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan thundered through the front door
eager to escape the unnatural chill of the London summer. The frosted, glass
panels tinkled in the frames from the force of Dean slamming it shut behind
them. Alarmed by the ruckus, Mrs. Thomas rushed into the narrow wallpapered
hallway with a flowery scarf tied over her jet-black flat-ironed bob.
            “Boy, what did I tell you about all that racket?”
            She stood with a yellow sponge in one hand and a spray bottle of
store-brand kitchen cleaner in the other wearing plastic pink gloves.
            “Sorry mum,” said Dean slightly embarrassed at being told off in
front of Seamus.
            “And what’s going on here?” she asked gesturing at Seamus and his
overnight bag on the rug.
            “Mum,” said Dean through clenched teeth. “I told you I was bringing
Seamus round for a bit.”
            Mrs. Thomas’ dark circled eyes grew so wide her thin, penciled
eyebrows almost disappeared into her scarf.
            “Oh really now?” she said in a dangerous tone.
            “I did,” he pleaded hoping she wouldn’t embarrass him further.
“Remember the letter I sent? Told you we were gonna watch a proper match.”
            By ‘proper match’ she knew he meant a muggle game of football with
his mates in the park. Mrs. Thomas sucked her teeth and nodded grimly, but
there was a hint of a smile in her thin, youthful face.
            “Alright there Seamus? Had another good year at Hoggy?” she cracked
a sly smile, with deep dimples in her cheek.
            Seamus thought she looked like an older female version of Dean,
only with darker brown skin and about a head shorter. He broke into a grin
also, feeling right at home. Mrs. Thomas’ gruff, but playful demeanor reminded
him strongly of his own mum.
            “Hoggy,” he snorted at Dean.
            “Don’t encourage her mate,” said Dean rolling his eyes.
            Seamus stepped forward to shake Mrs. Thomas’ hand, but she ignored
his outstretched hand and drew him into a welcoming embrace instead.
            “It’s about time you made it over here. You’re the first mate he’s
invited from school,” she said letting go, feeling a tad self-conscious in her
faded t-shirt and bleach-stained jean shorts.
            “Not for lack of trying,” Dean muttered darkly, picking up Seamus’
overnight bag.
            This was true. Since the middle of their fourth year, they casually
planned for Seamus to spend a bit of the summer holidays in London. After the
tragic death of Cedric Diggory during the TriWizard Tournament, on the night of
Voldemort’s alleged resurrection, Mrs. Finnigan threatened to homeschool Seamus
until he was of age. That effectively killed any summer holiday plans.
            However, now that Voldemort’s resurrection was confirmed, having
dueled Dumbledore in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic no less, Seamus put
his foot down. He stood his ground until his mother saw reason and conceded
that the odds of being murdered in a muggle town in south London was possible,
but unlikely. After eight hours on a coach bus from Ireland to Victoria Coach
Station, a delayed and cramped ride on the tube (escorted by Dean), and a
twelve-minute walk from the Tooting Broadway station through the quaint, but
busy neighborhood, Seamus was finally there.
            “Supper’s not started, but there’s a bag of cheesy crisps in the
pantry, and maybe a couple of mangoes in the fridge,” she said.
            “Mangoes?” Seamus perked up, now smiling at Dean.
            “Put your things away and wash up a bit before tea,” said Mrs.
Thomas as she headed towards the kitchen.
            “Thanks mum,” Dean said loudly at her retreating back.
            “Damn Dean, your mam’s quite fit,” Seamus snickered as they headed
for the mauve carpeted stairs.
            “Piss off Seamus. Don’t talk about my mum like that,” said Dean
attempting to kick behind him at Seamus.
            “Damn right I am!” she shouted from below.
            They burst into a fit of hushed laughter as they stepped into
Dean’s room. It was the smaller of the two bedrooms and lightly furnished with
a bed, an old Cherry wood writing desk, and a matching dresser that doubled as
a bookshelf. Unlike the glossy, rosy wallpaper downstairs, the walls were stark
white, but Dean had wildly decorate his barely lived-in room with muggle
posters of West Ham players. His unpacked trunk, still filled with potion
supplies and books from their finished fifth year, sat beneath the small window
covered with curtains matching the West Ham colours. Instead of a TV and video
game console, art supplies and sketchbooks littered the writing desk and parts
of the floor.
            Dean walked across the room and tossed Seamus’ bag on top of the
trunk. Seamus shut the door and collapsed on the squeaky bed (covered in the
same colors as his West Ham curtains) still laughing at Mrs. Thomas’ unexpected
and cheeky retort. Dean plopped down next to him shaking his head.
            “Told you, she’s a right piece of work.”
            “Nah she’s great,” Seamus gushed softly.
            He fell back with his arms flung over his head. His dark sandy-
coloured hair fanned out over the burgundy duvet and his t-shirt hitched up
exposing his slightly freckled flat abs. Seamus closed his eyes and draped an
arm across his face, while blindly groping for Dean’s backside with the other
hand.
            At his touch, Dean looked down and zeroed in on the fine, darker
hair trailing down Seamus’ stomach. When he realised there was no underwear
band or sign of boxers, Dean gulped loudly as his eyes continued to follow what
he imagined was the happy trail leading to Seamus naked crotch beneath his
jeans. With concerted effort, he lifted his eyes to look Seamus in the face,
and shifted just out of reach.
            Undeterred, Seamus peeked up at Dean with a devilish grin and
tugged sharply on the end of Dean’s shirt hoping to pull him closer.
            “Are you mad?” Dean whispered hotly, swotting his hand away. He
slid over even farther.
            Frowning in confusion, Seamus sat up halfway, resting on his
elbows.
            “Your mam’s downstairs! She won’t hear us,” he whispered feeling
slighted.
            Dean sighed looking at his hands. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, wait
until she’s goes—”
            Just then the doorknob turned and his bedroom door creaked open.
Dean leaped off the bed, almost willing the door to magically shut, and stood
panicky next to the dresser. Seamus sat up fully, taking his cue from Dean, and
the bed creaked loudly under his weight. Mrs. Thomas poked her head in, sans
headscarf.
            “Are you almost done putting your stuff away?” Her eyes narrowed in
suspicion at the sight of them. “What’re you up to?”
            “Nothing,” they chorused, hardly daring to look at one another.
            Mrs. Thomas raised a single thin eyebrow.
            “Um-hmm. I need you to go to Sainsbury right quick for a few
things. And please don’t take all day!”
            She placed a twenty-pound note and a short list of items written on
a used envelope on top of the writing desk, then shut the door behind her. Not
really knowing what to say, but not wanting to continue their conversation,
Dean walked over and snatched up the money and list.
            “It’s not far,” he said for lack of anything else, “But we should
carry our wands. You never know. Dementors.”
            Seamus watched Dean step into the hallway. Then he walked over to
his bag, yanked out his wand, and followed Dean out of the bedroom.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
          
           The main shop street reminded Seamus of Diagon Alley: A wide, windy
road, sloping slightly uphill and crammed with shops. Every other store was
either a mobile shop with bright yellow signs, or small-owned women’s boutiques
displaying sequined gowns and elaborately embroidered saris in the window
front. There were chemist shops, home repair businesses, cafes, off-licence
shops, and no less than three competing Peri-Peri takeaways in a two-block
radius. Adding to the congestion of the busy pavements were stalls packed with
crates of fresh vegetables, fruits and herbs.
            They had walked for several blocks in an awkward silence, which
Seamus was about to break, when a voice called out behind them.
            “Dean! Yo Dean!”
            They spun around to see a wiry, black kid in a baggy shirt and
track pants dash out of a mobile shop. Two other brown boys followed behind.
            Dean threw his hands up in the air as he jogged towards the trio
grinning. Seamus followed at a distance.
            “Yo Ayo!”
            Dean clasped Ayo’s hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug. He
greeted the other two boys the same way.
            “Eh man, I thought that was you! When’d you get back?” Ayo said
with a slight Nigerian accent.
            “Not long. Just a few days ago really,” Dean shrugged.
            “Pfft, you still at the mental school for ASBOs, eh?” joked the
Sikh boy in an orange turban. He swaggered over in a rival football jersey and
track pants spinning a muddy football in his hands.
            “Shut it Ravi,” Dean teased darting forward to steal away the ball.
            They jostled as Ayo bumped elbows and shadowboxed the other boy in
glasses who looked at Seamus bored. Ayo followed his gaze. Seamus scowled
feeling like a fifth wheel. Ayo shoved Dean’s shoulder nodding in Seamus’
direction.
            “Who’s that?”
            Dean finally wrenched the ball from Ravi and turned around smiling
sheepishly. He nearly forgot Seamus was there.
            “Oh yeah. This is my mate from school Seamus.”
            The trio “Oooh’ed” in a falsetto chorus.
            “Oh, is that your mate, huh Dean?” Ravi winked.
            Dean rolled his eyes speaking loudly over Ravi, “And Seamus, this
is Ayo, Ravi, and Cheese—”
            “Who’s named for reason that can’t be explained here,” said Ayo
leaning forward conspiratorially. He had very white teeth that stood in
contrasted against his flawlessly smooth black skin.
           They snickered at their inside joke, but Cheese just massaged his
sparse chin hair opting to remain silent on the matter. He slouched like a
sullen loner with his unruly poof of curls and thick glasses that magnified his
wide brown eyes. Seamus thought he looked like a cross between a poodle and
Professor Trelawney and couldn’t imagine what a goofy-looking kid like him had
done to earn what sounded like a notorious reputation. But then he realised he
didn’t actually care. He wished Dean would say goodbye to his friends so it
could be just the two of them. After all, Dean had all summer to catch up
properly.
           But Dean, still chuckling softly and knocking elbows with Ravi, was
oblivious to Seamus’ mood. Ravi casually flung an arm over his shoulders with
some effort (Dean was the tallest of the group) and steered Dean down the
street. Ayo and Cheese exchanged a knowing glance and followed behind resuming
a previous conversation. Seamus blinked in disbelief abandoned.
          “Seamus, hurry up!” Dean called behind him, laughing at something
Ravi whispered in his ear as they crossed the street to enter the large super
market.
          Seamus bit on his bottom lip shook his head, and slowly jogged to
catch up. To his chagrin, Dean’s mates did not part ways until the shopping was
done and they were only three houses down from Dean’s home. Goodbye was a
jocular scene punctuated with playful jabs, hugs, and indefinite plans to meet
up for a match in the nearby park. Seamus waved everyone goodbye half-
heartedly, but as he locked eyes on Ravi, he was sorely tempted to flip him
off.
           “Oh come on. They’re alright,” said Dean noticing the look on
Seamus’ face as they walked up to the front door.
           “ ‘Spect they are. You sure I’m not taking up too much of your time?
I’d hate to be a, y’know inconvenience,” Seamus said scratching his chin with
his thumb studying the purple Verbenas in Mrs. Thomas’ garden.
           Dean held onto the key in the door, tightening his grip on the
orange shopping bag in his other hand.
          “Seriously? What the hell are you on about?”
          Seamus refused to look at him. Dean shivered slightly from the abrupt
unnatural chill in the air. They entered the warm hallway and Dean was grateful
his mum already put the kettle on. Seamus brushed past him, knocking against
his shoulder roughly, and stomped upstairs.
          “Don’t you want tea Seamus? Seamus?”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Dinner that night was an odd tense affair.
            Mrs. Thomas exuded a casual elegance in an emerald green linen
dress. In between bites of her curry jerk chicken and fragrant coconut rice,
her eyes swung between the teen boys like a pendulum. Dean (on her left) poked
at this food distracted; Seamus (on her right) stabbed at the roasted
vegetables as he viciously  chewed through his chicken. She was baffled by the
violent plunge in mood between them.
           Mrs. Thomas remembered her observation of them last September at
King’s Cross station before they crossed the barrier to Platform 9 ¾. They were
rambunctious and earnest in their delight at seeing one another. Not once had
Dean ever written to say that he had a fight with Seamus. In fact, when he had
been harassed and messed about by other students (on the rare occasions he
wrote her), he boasted that Seamus always backed him up. So it was quite
disconcerting to sit at the dinner table beneath a haze of hostility. She
couldn’t think what had transpired in the past three or four hours to bring on
such a black mood between them.
            But she hazarded a guess.
            “So Seamus, romancing any darlings at this school then?” she said
taking a sip of white wine.
            Dean whipped his head up in alarm. Seamus’ fork froze mid-spear as
he slowly turned to look at Mrs. Thomas. Her tone was this side of casual,
delightfully light-hearted, but there was a directness that set him on guard.
This was a verbal landmine and he had plenty of experience navigating these
types of dangerous conversations with his own mother. Seamus’ eyes flicked at
Dean: he sat stiffly and clenched his fork, uncomfortable by the topic as well.
Seamus almost felt for him, but then the image of Ravi’s lips close to Dean’s
ear floated in his mind’s eye and he opened his mouth with a reckless reply.
            “Well, I’m no Lothario, but there was me and Lavender, Lavender
Brown during our fourth year. But I reckon she’s moved on now,” he said smiling
for the first time since he arrived. “O’ course Dean here—” and he finally
looked at him with a carefully constructed smile, “He’s the real lady wrangler.
It’s almost hard to keep up! Thought we’d have to get him a timetable to keep
‘em straight, ain’t that right Dean?” he laughed too loudly.
            Dean did a double take, his eyes wide in surprise. Mrs. Thomas’
heavily mascara’d eyes shifted from Seamus to Dean.
            “Oh really now?” she said genuinely surprised, tugging the corners
of her lips down impressed, setting down her wine glass intrigued.
            Dean’s mouth gaped open at such an outlandish lie. He tried to fix
his face before looking his mom in the eye. Seamus, wanting to do the thing
properly, continued with a spiteful glint in his eye.
            “Oh yeah! Didn’t he tell you about the latest, Ginny Weasley? She’s
one of our mate’s younger sister— but not too young,” he said off Mrs. Thomas’
look of reproach, “Only a year below. ‘Spect they’ll be the darlings of our
year,” he finished with a savage grin. Devoid of an appetite, he picked up the
short glass of fizzy drink and chugged it noisily.
            “And how long were you going to wait before telling me?” Mrs.
Thomas said to Dean not trying to hide her amusement.
            For the first time that evening, Dean shoveled an indecent amount
of food in his mouth with a shrug. It was a diversionary tactic Mrs. Thomas
knew too well.
            “I see,” she said savouring a small sip of wine as she waited for
Dean to finish chewing.
            She glanced at the pair of them once more: Dean chewed furiously
throwing daggers at Seamus, who equally returned a look of bitter resentment.
It was quite comical, almost something out of a Victorian novel, or one of her
absurd reality TV shows: a fight over a girl. How pedestrian.
            “You done?” she asked Dean, determined not to let him off the hook.
“So how long have you and this Gigi—”
            “Ginny,” Dean and Seamus blurted out, their eyes darting away from
each other’s face.
            “Right. Ginny. So you’ve been together since when?” she steepled
her fingers dramatically resting her elbows on the table.
            “We haven’t. Not really,” Dean said sharply, more to Seamus than
his mum. “She just asked if I had plans for summer holiday.”
            “Yeah, but she told Harry and Ron—” Seamus interrupted.
            Dean banged his fist on the table rattling their plates and
silverware. “She told them! I didn’t sign on for nothin’ official, did I?”
            His sharp tone of indignation had done it.
            It sparked the realisation that slowly dawned on Mrs. Thomas. This
wasn’t just about a girl. She briefly hoped that her suspicions were somewhat
off-base, but the angry, confused stares between them was all the confirmation
she needed. She cleared her throat to get their attention. Dean blinked rapidly
as if awaking out of a trance and reached for his drink. Eyes downcast, Seamus
traced the rim of his empty glass with a finger.
            “I’ve made pudding for dessert.”
            “No thanks, ma’am.”
            “I don’t want any.”
            “Hmph, more for me then,” she said with a forced tone of
cheerfulness.
             But they didn’t take the bait.
            “Well then, if you two are done, you can do the washing and off you
go.”
            “Together?” there was a small note of disgust and panic in Dean’s
voice.
            Mrs. Thomas raised an expertly filled in eyebrow: “Of course not.
Seamus is your guest.”
***** The Early Departure *****
                                        
                                        
                                  CHAPTER TWO
                              The Early Departure
 
            “What the hell are you playing at?” said Dean slamming his bedroom
door. He washed the dishes with gusto and left Mrs. Thomas in the sitting room
watching television.
            “Don’t know what you mean,” said Seamus. He kneeled on the floor
stuffing clothes and his toothbrush back in his bag.
            “No? What was all that about Ginny? You know full well that it’s
not anything. What did you have to say that to my mum for?” Dean said
struggling to keep his voice down.
            “Were you hoping I’d tell ‘er about you’n’me then?” Seamus stood up
holding a pyjamas bottom. “Nah, I didn’t think so. Y’know, I reckon you and
Miss Weasley do look like a lovely pair, so I’ll just get goin’ shall I?”
            “Seamus, you know Ginny and I aren’t anything. Hell, she’s probably
just trying to make Harry jealous!”
            “With you?” Seamus sneered. “So that’s why you’re using her? Cause
you do know that’s what you’re doing?”
            “Since when do you care?” Realising how it sounded, Dean scrubbed
his face in frustration. “I’m not using her for anything. She’s nice and
all...“
            “But not your type, eh?”
            “No.”
            “Ehm, lemme guess. Is Robbie your type?” Seamus sneered strangling
the fabric in his hands.
            “Ravi? I’ve known him since we were seven! He’s one of my best
mates,”
            “Not from the way he was looking at you! Practically all over you
wasn’t he?”
            Dean stumbled back as if he had just got a whiff of something
odorous. He took a hard look at Seamus who appeared deranged beneath the dim
glow of his ceiling light.
           “Are you mad? We’re just messing about because he’s my friend.
You’re not my only friend y’know? That’s why I brought you here to meet
everyone.”
            Now it was Seamus turn to scoff in disbelief.
            “So! I’m just a friend now, eh Thomas?” he shouted growing redder
in the face.
            “Keep your voice down.”
            Dean’s eye darted at the door wondering if his mom could hear them.
            “I didn’t mean just a friend,” he said, his voice considerably
lower than it was minutes before. “Can you please not make a big deal about
this?”
            Seamus slammed down the pyjamas into his bag.
           “You’re unbelievable!” he snarled clenching his fists.
            “Dean!” Mrs. Thomas’ not-so-muffled voice called from below.
            Dean wrenched open the door. “What?” he said momentarily forgetting
who he was talking to.
            “Boy get down here now.”
            Dean cursed softly and descended quietly down the steps. He had
expected her to meet him at the bottom of the steps, but she was standing in
the middle of the sitting room with the TV muted.
            “Yes mum,” he said in a polite tone to undue some of his rudeness.
            “Are you two having a row? I can hear you over the telly! Is it
about that girl?”
            “What? No! It’s—”
            They both turned to the sound of heavy footsteps and a softer
thumping noise on the stairs. They stepped into the hall to see Seamus dragging
his overnight bag with one hand and clutching his wand in the other.
            “The hell are you doing Seamus?” Dean asked.
            Mrs. Thomas whacked him on his arm with the remote control.
            “Language!” she scolded as he massaged his elbow. “Young man stop
where you are!” she commanded leaning against the doorway casually.
            Seamus, still red-faced and fuming, hitched his bag over his
shoulder and turned around.
            “Yes ma’am,” he said glaring at Dean.
            “And just where do you think you’re going at this time of night?”
            “Home.”
            “How?” she asked deceptively calm.
            “The Knight Bus.”
            “A night bus? Which one—”
            “No mum, it’s for us magic folk,” said Dean quietly.
            Mrs. Thomas rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”
            “Ma’am, it’s on’y sixteen Sickles, ” Seamus started, but Mrs.
Thomas waved him off impatiently.
            “No, no, no!” she closed her eyes and lifted a palm in the air;
Dean knew it would be useless to argue further. “No, here’s what’s going to
happen dear. You’re going to take your bag back upstairs—” her eyes were still
closed and unable to see the look of protest on Seamus’ face, “—and if in the
morning you still want to go home, then we’ll call your mum, yeah?”
            “But we haven’t got a phone.”
            Her eyes flew open and she pointed up the stairs. Seamus recognised
the look on Mrs. Thomas’ face as the same one his mother often gave him: the
“End-of-Discussion” glare. He marched back upstairs without another word. And
without needed to be told, Dean followed suit.
 
 
            Instead of sharing a bed as they had done when Dean visited Seamus
for the Quidditch World Cup two summers ago, Seamus rolled out a mat and laid
beneath the window. He hadn’t bothered to change into his pyjamas. Dean watched
him twirl his wand in the faint bluish glow of the alarm clock light.
            “Seamus?” Dean whispered.
            No answer.
            “I’m sorry for being a prat earlier,” he said craning his neck over
the bed.
            Still no answer.
            Dean threw his head back against the pillow. What on earth was
Seamus’ problem? They were finally together for summer holiday when they would
have the house to themselves (while his mom was at work) giving them plenty of
privacy. So what if his football mates would probably be hanging around a bit?
If Seamus gave them a chance, he would see they were ok. Dean huffed out a
mocking laugh at the thought of him and Ravi snogging the way he and Seamus had
in those secretive moments in between classes last year. It was utterly
bollocks. The more Dean ruminated on Seamus’ behaviour throughout the day, the
angrier he became in the dark and deafening silence. What did Seamus really
expect from him? To go galloping through the halls of Hogwarts hand-in-hand? It
was bad enough he was muggleborn and black, but to add being a pouf was too
much.
            Truth was Dean wasn’t really sure what he wanted either. They were
best mates, not just because they shared a dorm (although that helped), but for
all the things they had in common: raised by a single mother; dad leaving after
finding out they were magically adept; mad about sports, both wizard and
muggle; feeling torn between two worlds; a penchant for displaying
temperamental, mischievous spell work; and normally, he and Seamus got on with
a wicked sense of humor.
           But one day— one bloody day!— into their summer holiday, things were
anything but humorous. Dean couldn’t believe Seamus was jealous of Ravi or even
Ginny, acting like a right-fouled git. So, in a moment of heated recklessness
he spat out quietly: “If you wanna go so bad Seamus, then go!”
          Again there was no answer.
          Dean knew Seamus was still awake; he was a light snorer. Dean huffed
loudly and rolled over when, at last, a small voice in the dark said, “Fine,
then.”
                                        
     *                                              *                     
                                                   *
           
          Dean sat up groggy. A shaft of dull gray light was visible between
the gap of the curtain and wall. The first thing he noticed was the empty
sleeping bag rolled up neatly next to his trunk.
            But it doesn’t mean he’s gone, he thought as he scanned the small
room for Seamus’ overnight bag. It wasn’t there.
           He took the stairs two at a time (his mom was sure to be at work by
now), sprinted through the sitting room and nearly skidded into the kitchen. A
mug propped up a note in his mother’s tiny cramped handwriting.
 
 
      Love,
                 Your mate’s packed off this morning.
                 My shift ends at 4. We can chat then.
                 Be a sweetheart and ring Mrs. Chambers.
                  Says, she’s got a summer gig for you.
                                                                            
     -Mum
 
            Dean reread the note. With each word, last night’s anger was
replaced with a hollow feeling. He tossed the note back on the table, swung
open the fridge door, and grabbed a small plastic carton of orange juice to
washed down the aftertaste of his regret.
            Of all the things that could have happened, this was certainly not
what Dean dreamt of. But instead of wallowing, he did what he always did to
cope with unpleasant feelings. He stayed busy.
            Mrs. Chambers, a garrulous elderly neighbor with poor eyesight and
a love for all things canary yellow, offered him a short-term gig of garden
work and odd runs to the shops. But Dean soon found a steady part-time job as a
dishwasher in one of the nearby take-away shops. When he wasn’t working, he
played football with Ayo, Ravi, and Cheese (if he was around) and other kids in
the area. He hadn’t meant to do it consciously, but unable to quiet Seamus’
accusations in his mind, he kept a slight distance from Ravi. It became another
thing that neither of them spoke of.
           On the evenings when he was not scheduled to work and it was too wet
for a match, he sat in his room wishing September would hurry up so he could
return to Hogwarts. It always hit him with a jolt that he and Seamus were no
longer speaking and he would spend days in fits of sullenness and sporadic
anger. Mrs. Thomas was aware of this, and he was aware of her watching him. So,
Dean also did his best to avoid talking to his mother. He thought he had
weaselled his way out of the initial conversation regarding Seamus’ early
departure the evening after, but it turned out Mrs. Thomas had already resolved
to wait until he approached her first.
            One rainy evening on a bank holiday in July, they sat at the square
dinner table. A quiz show played softly on the television in the sitting room.
Dean scooped a second helping of pistachio ice cream into his dessert bowl,
while his mum held a large mug of mint tea.
            “Have you heard from Seamus lately?” she said casually, taking a
small sip.
            Dean froze with his back to her still holding the carton of ice
cream. Damn. He let his guard down thinking (more like hoping) she forgot. He
stuffed the ice cream into the freezer compartment and glared at his bowl of
perfectly scooped ice cream.
            “No,” he growled, unwilling to make eye contact as he sat down.
            “So you two haven’t made up yet?”
            He looked at her. Something soft and sad in her voice caught his
attention.
            “ ‘S not like we’re dating mum,”
            “But aren’t you?”
            And there it was. She had figured it out. Or not. Maybe it was a
trick question? But she had never said this about any of his spats with Ayo or
even Ravi. About fifty different thoughts, emotions, suspicions, and fears
whirled around his head like a ferocious typhoon. The most obvious emotion,
panic, was clearly etched out on his face. He needed to weigh his options, but
to do this required time. He slowly scooped a huge spoonful of ice cream and
shovelled it into his mouth.
            Okay, think! His brain shouted. If he confessed that he had
feelings for Seamus, which up until the start of their holiday appeared mutual,
she might forbid him to see Seamus ever again. Since she had very little say
over what happened at Hogwarts, he didn’t fret over that reaction. However, if
she chucked him out, where would he live? In Hogsmeade, or some other wizard
community? He wasn’t even of age yet and only saved a few Galleons and Sickles
in his account in Gringotts, the Wizarding bank.
            To his horror, the ice cream melted into a cold, creamy soup in his
mouth and he was terrified to look up from his bowl. His brain thought of a
cleverly rationalised counter: What if she doesn’t get mad? When his parents
fought in the divorce, she specifically wanted custody, so that had to count
for something right?
            Dean looked up and swallowed the rest of his ice cream.
           “We’re not dating mum,” he paused maintaining eye contact, “but I
wish we were.”
            As soon as he said it, he realised it was absolutely true and
wished he had been less of a prat with Seamus. Mrs. Thomas looked at him with a
new, hard expression on her face for a long moment, before rolling her eyes.
            “Boy, I already knew that. So what are you going to do get him
back?”
            Dean’s mouth flopped open in shock as she grinned wide. She set
down her mug and tenderly placed a warm hand over his. He had about a million
questions to ask and he would have asked one or two if he hadn’t been rendered
speechless. So he let her speak uninterrupted.
            “I wasn’t really sure until I saw and heard the two of you that
night. Actually I sort of suspected before then, but Nancy-boy or not, you’re
my son. Nothing will ever change that. I love you and Anise with all my soul.
Never forget that.”
            Dean swallowed down his emotions of relief. Filled with a surge of
love and affection, he stood up and crushed her with a hug and kissed her
cheek. She dried her eyes as he returned to his seat.
            “What do you mean you ‘sort of suspected’?” he asked cheerfully
skeptical.
            Mrs. Thomas pursed her lips coyly and tucked a few short strands
behind her ear, pleased to see her son actually smiling again. “Well, you
probably don’t remember that Keating boy. Your dad caught him kissing your
cheek because—”
            “The turtles,” Dean gasped, gobsmacked to realise he did remember.
            His nose wrinkled at the memory of the dank rancid odour of the
faux sandbox at a local park near their first house. He smiled. Yes, it was the
first time a boy kissed him, but more importantly, it was the first time he had
done magic by conjuring baby turtles.
            “He wanted one for his birthday party, but his parents said no, so
I- I made them for him,” he snorted, embarrassed but humored. His face suddenly
drooped with a new intrusive thought.
            “Is that why he really left then?”
            “No!” Mrs. Thomas said sharply. “Is that what you’ve been thinking
all this time?”
            Dean stirred the melting ice cream baffled and somewhat ashamed and
shrugged noncommittally.
            In a softer tone, she carefully explained: “Love, Your dad and I...
we just weren’t good together. He was just as confused as I was about your
‘gifts’. Thank god for your Aunt Murray. She’s always been more open-minded
than any of us… But your dad wanted to move back to Ontario and I refused. Full
stop. There’s no place better than London and I wanted my babies on my
homeland. He disagreed and left.”
            She looked off suddenly drained as if it were exhausting to recount
those memories. Dean remained silent. Whatever his mum said, it sounded to him
that he had been a significant factor in their divorce. Mrs. Thomas snapped out
of her reverie and tapped Dean’s hand sharply.
            “So don’t even think on it. Him leaving was never your fault,” She
nodded at him until he nodded back. “Anyway, so you don’t really like that
girl, huh?”
            “What girl?” asked Dean totally thrown off by the shift in
conversation.
            His mom let out a squawk of laughter.
            “Hmm, guess not,” she chuckled shaking her head and gulped of her
tea.
            Dean almost slapped his forehead. Of course: Ginny.
            “She’s pretty, but...“
            Mrs. Thomas fixed him with a hardened stare, her thin eyebrows
raised high. In a flash, his mother swatted at his shoulder.
            “I’ll talk to her. I will,” he insisted.
            “Too right you will! I didn’t raise you to be no heartbreaker!”
            Dean laughed ducking from her even though he was in no danger of
being hit.
            “Okay mum. I will!”        
***** Remember, Remember, the First of September *****
                                 CHAPTER THREE
                  Remember, Remember, the First of September
 
         Dean woke up with a start. A faint bluish light peeked through the
curtain. He wasn’t late after all; the owls would still be circling in the
early hours of dawn. He threw his burgundy duvet over, leaped out of bed and
picked up his magically sealed letter addressed to Seamus. Propping open his
window with one hand, he stuck out the other arm holding the letter. Within
seconds and owl swooped by clutching it in her talons and soared away.
           It took Dean three weeks to draft the letter. The first was too
short and full of banalities about his summer exploits to actually mean
anything. The subsequent second, third, and fourth letters were all a rambling
mess that ended up being torn to pieces and chucked into the bin. Finally, he
found the happy medium: a succinct letter saying what needed to be said— except
anything legitimately to embarrassing to put in writing should it fall into the
wrong hands.
           After sending his letter via Owl Post, he waited. Not by the window,
but he kept it propped open. For weeks. Dean waited patiently for a response,
but found that more than anything he was angry for letting himself be
disappointed by Seamus’ lack of response. That feeling, the hollowness,
returned again, leaving a duller ache. Instead of trying to rationalise it, he
put the entire thing out of his mind and continued to work, play, and enjoy his
older sister Angie’s occasional visits instead.
           Communication with Ginny would be easier. He had elected to speak
with her in person at Hogwarts. No, they were not an official item, but it felt
tactless to send a note by Owl Post. The week before September first, Dean made
his usual lone trek to Diagon Alley. He had amassed a small fortune of several
hundred pounds from his summer employment and a generous, pre-birthday donation
from his mum that converted into a lovely mound of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts.
Plenty to last him the first term, if not the entire school year, provided he
was reasonable about his spending.
           The trip to Diagon Alley was grim. Shops were boarded up closed. The
remaining stores open for business were empty. Official notices from the
Ministry of Magic plastered everywhere added to the grim, misty street.
Shattered glass still littered the cobblestone pavement in front of
Ollivander’s abandoned wand shop. Dean wondered with a mild touch of panic if a
bomb had detonated there.
            The one notable exception to the gloomy milieu was the Weasley’s
joke shop. Entering their store was akin to being transported to a hyper-
pigmented, prankster, wonderland. Dean did his best to restrain himself,
sticking to only a handful of purchases. As he exited the shop, he plotted
various schemes involving Peruvian Instant Darkness powder. Then a sinking
feeling of bitterness reared its ugly head as he remembered that he and
Seamus... what were they now?
            Nothing.
            That’s what Seamus’ silence had said without saying anything at
all.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
          
           Mrs. Thomas borrowed her sister’s car to drive Dean to King’s Cross
station. He refused to tell her about the state of “his world”; otherwise he
was sure that she would bar him from returning. Neville Longbottom, his clumsy
and shy dorm mate sent an owl two days after he returned from Diagon Alley.
Disturbed by the printed news in the Daily Prophet, which Dean read as the sole
customer in The Leaky Cauldron, he promptly replied to Neville’s letter. He was
glad to have at least one friendly correspondence with another wizard.
            In the car, Dean gave his mum a cramped hug and kiss on the cheek
and then proceeded nervously to Platform 9 ¾. He overcame his initial paranoia
of smashing into the brick barrier years ago, but for the first time since his
first year, Dean was anxious about what awaited him in the wizarding world.
            The crowded platform was jam packed at 10:45am. Kids greeted their
friends; parents tried to manage carts with trunks and animal cages. Dean
shuffled around trying to find a compartment on the train with other sixth
years. He didn’t have to search far. He spotted a car with an Indian girl and a
black girl holding up brightly-coloured slinky tops up to their chests. The
door was ajar. Clothes were all over the small cabin as if the trunk expelled
everything it felt unworthy of storing. Parvati Patil sat next to her best
friend Lavender Brown rearranging outfits on the seats opposite them.
            “Look at this one Lav! I think it’ll go with these jeans better,”
said Parvati. Her thick black hair was piled high on her head in an elegant
braided bun. Lavender stuck out her tongue and shook her head making her thin
gold hoops tap against her puffy cheeks.
            “Er, hey?” said Dean opening the door all the way, not sure if he
could sit.
            It may have been a trick of the light but he thought he saw them
exchange the briefest of glances before smiling too brightly.
            “Hey!” they chorused.
            Parvati, closest to the door, scooped up a bundle of clothes making
room for Dean. Just as he took a seat, the door slid open. Padma, Parvati’s
identical, tomboyish twin stepped in.
            “Urgh! Parvati, you’re such a slob!” she said kicking the trunk
with her muddy trainers. She huffed noisily with her hands on her nonexistent
hips. She was a Ravenclaw and obviously not as into fashion as her sister.
            Dean stood up to let Padma clamber over to the window seat, which
was still covered by a pile of robes.
            “Oh hey, Dean?” she frowned at him with an unasked question on her
lips. She tossed the pile of robes into the trunk and slouched grumpily in the
seat looking out the window.
            “Good holiday?” he asked, trying to make conversation. Outside of
classes, he realized he didn’t know what to say to them really.
            “Gods yeah! We just came back from Istanbul! Can you believe it?”
Three weeks with no parental supervision,” Parvati squealed stuffing her new
fall wardrobe hastily into the trunk.
            “What? The three of you?” he asked impressed, noting that they all
distinctively looked a darker shade of brown than usual.
            “Unfortunately,” Padma mumbled chewing a fingernail.
            “She’s just mad we wouldn’t hang around ancient ruins all day,”
Lavender rolled her eyes. Her straightened black hair was tied up in a high
ponytail with a large hot pink ribbon. It matched her manicured fingernails,
which she wriggled in front of Dean.
            “I got this from a witch at the Bazaar for less than half price,”
she beamed over the intricate gold amethyst ring on her finger. “Plus, the
beaches were to die for!”
            “Wish you two’d died,” muttered Padma who slouched even lower in
her seats with her arms folded over her an oversized Quidditch jersey.
            “For fuck’s sake Pads, no one asked you to come with us!” Parvati
shrieked.
            Lavender sighed already privy to what was coming. Parvati and Padma
launched into a shrilly shouting match that Dean didn’t care to follow either.
The Hogwarts Express finally pulled out of the station and he began planning an
escape. Maybe he could run into an old DA friend? Lavender applied another coat
of lip balm looking in a golden compact mirror.
            “Oh, are we making you uncomfortable?” she asked bored smacking her
lips.
            The Patil twins turned to look at him. Smiling, he was about to lie
and say he was cool, when Seamus slid open the compartment door. The smile died
on his lips the minute their eyes locked. Seamus choked on his greeting with
the same hardened expression he wore last year during his public argument with
Harry. Then his eyes slid away from Dean’s to look at the girls exclusively.
            “Heh, had a good holiday, eh?” he said cheerfully recovering
quickly.
            Parvati and Lavender missed nothing. They looked curiously between
Seamus and Dean who was already on his feet with his eyes still on the other
boy. The tension in the car was stifling.
            “Sure. We were just telling Dean about our trip to Istanbul. So
much fun,” said Lavender.
            “So much fun,” echoed Parvati, marvelling at the cold shoulder
Seamus gave Dean.
            “I was just heading out anyway,” he said to Parvati and Lavender,
squeezing his satchel to keep from throttling Seamus. He nodded at Padma, “See
you.”
            “Bye,” they said softly.
            Dean took a step toward the door where Seamus stood half in, half
out. Their bodies orbited around each other like repelled magnets. Seamus’ eyes
remained fixed on the girls with a wide-toothed grin on full display. He took
the only available seat- Dean’s - next to Padma. Parvati hitched up a thick
eyebrow at Lavender who pursed her lips with delicious anticipation. The
countdown began: the hours they would have to wait until they were free to
discuss this “development” alone in their room.
            Dean shut the door slowly, but not before he heard Seamus say: “Now
that that wanker’s gone...“ Lavender gasped theatrically and there was now (the
door clicked shut) a muffled Parvati shouting “No!” He could still see them
through the glass panes of the door, which meant they had to pretend to be on
his side. At least until he was out of view.
            He hurried away before he put his fist through something or
someone. It was difficult to go too far, too fast. Rambunctious students joked,
stumbled about, hopped in and out of train cars to catch up on summer holiday
gossip or to kept a lookout for the Trolley witch. A blur of green foliage and
tawny fields sped by beneath a weak, yellow sun and cloudy sky. Dean noticed
none of this. He was too distracted by the constant replay of his reunion with
Seamus. As a result, he collided into a shorter, pale girl with elbow-length,
fiery-red hair: Ginny.
            Oh, Christ. He had forgotten all about her again. But to his
surprise, Dean was relieved to see her. She smiled up at him, mistaking his
facial expression as one that conveyed guilt for not finding her earlier. A
fluffy pink ball swayed silently on her shoulder.
            “Hey stranger. Where’ve you been hiding?” she asked standing
closer.
            Before Dean could reply, Luna Lovegood, wearing a strange spangly
outfit approached them with copies of the latest Quibbler, her dad’s magazine.
Dean held back a laugh when he noticed the bedazzled glasses (something he
thought would be more befitting for Sir Elton John) tangled in Luna’s dirty-
blond tresses.
            “Quibbler?” she asked dreamily.
            Ginny smiled up at Dean. He shrugged ‘What can you do?’ smiling
back. Ginny held out her hand to take a copy.
            “I’ll take one Luna, We’ll share.”
            “Thanks. Page fifty-seven talks about the Wrackspurts,” Luna noted.
Then she pointed at Ginny’s shoulder. “Oh, he’s lovely!”
            Dean and Ginny looked at the Pygmy Puff swaying on Ginny’s
shoulder. “From Fred and George,” she said proudly. “His name’s Arnold.”
            Luna leaned closer in the already cramped space of the train
corridor. “Father says they’re great at keeping the wrackspurts away. Lucky
you!”
            And then she resumed her newsgirl role calling out for anyone
interested in the Wrackspurts edition of the Quibbler.
            Ginny and Dean grinned appreciatively at Luna and set off to find a
compartment further down the train and in the opposite direction of Seamus,
Parvati and Lavender. They found one occupied by a couple of fifth year
Hufflepuffs. Ginny knew them from Herbology and the talk (to Dean’s relief)
spanned everything: the latest copy of the Quibbler; summer holiday activities
and jobs; and when she arrived at the topic of Seamus’ visit, Dean carefully
steered them towards the Quidditch tryouts for the Gryffindor team.
            “I expect Harry’ll be team captain. You know he’ll hold a fair
tryout,” he said taking a ravenous bite out of his cauldron cake. The trolley
cart had taken its sweet time, which was unfair given it was loaded with
sweets.
            “I didn’t know you were trying out. Did you get a broom?” Ginny
asked cautiously sifting through a box of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans Dean
bought her as a welcome back present.
            “Nope. I’ll wait and use the house brooms. No point in buying a new
one if I don’t make the team,” -Ginny nodded at this wise decision- “But I’ve
got enough saved for the latest Clean Sweep model just in case.”
            Just then the door slid open. A boy with long, straggly blond hair,
already wearing his Hogwarts robes peeked in. His wide blue eyes bulged even
wider as he observed Ginny sitting close to Dean.
           “I thought it was you,” Zacharias Smith said in an obnoxious tone.
           Ginny’s head snapped up. “Excuse you?”
          Undeterred by her harsh response, Zacharias strode in squeezing
himself next to his fellow Hufflepuffs. They also gave him dirty looks, but he
paid them no mind.
          “Hey,” he nodded brusquely at Dean before returning his gaze to
Ginny. “Oh come off it. Everyone knows of your ‘adventure’ with Potter and a
few of his favorite DAs. Apparently all of you were at the Ministry. So, spill
the beans.” He held up both hands waving his fingers in a “come-at-me” gesture.
          Dean felt the palpable heat radiate off Ginny. The tip of her nose
turned the faintest shade of pink and her nostrils flared as if she expelled
invisible fire. This was precisely why he didn’t bring up the Ministry affair,
curious as he was. Ginny leaped off her seat so fast her hair flew behind her
like a red cape and Arnold the Pygmy Puff toppled into Dean’s fast-reacting
hands. She slammed open the compartment door with a deathly glare.
        “Get out Smith! It’s none of your damned business and if you ask me
again, I swear on Merlin’s wand, I’ll hex you.”
         Zacharias (and everyone else) looked at Ginny with their mouths agape.
But only Zacharias threw his head back and roared with laughter, like some
pompous dog owner entertained by a clever new trick.
         “You can’t be serious Weasley? Gracious, sounds like you need a phial
of—”
         But whatever Zacharias Smith was going to suggest, they would never
find out. Ginny whipped out her wand from— Dean gawked incredulously— the back
of her shirt, where it had been tucked beneath her bra strap, and hexed
Zacharias exactly as vowed.
         An explosion of sounds erupted in the cabin car. Dean and the
Hufflepuffs howled with laughter. One of the other boys actually gave Ginny a
standing ovation and wiped a tear out of his eye. Zacharias couldn’t decide if
he wanted to scream or cry, but with a dozen black batwings flapping on his
face, it sounded like a terrible gurgling, choking noise. He fell to his knees
trying to clutch his face crawling on his knees for the door. Ginny’s foot was
in mid-air ready to kick him out when a terrifying voice spoke.
         “Oho! What’s this?”
         It was the new professor. He was a rotund, bald man in a neatly
tailored, tweed suit sporting the most fantastic handlebar moustache. Before
Ginny could dare breathe a lie, the professor flicked his wand lazily at
Zacharias who stood up gasping for air, his face free of bat wings. Dean and
everyone else sat quiet in horror. There was no way Ginny was getting out of it
now, and the term hadn’t even started yet.
 
 
           “And d’you know what the old bugger did? He invited her to have tea!
No detention, no lines, just tea on the train!’ Dean recounted shaking his
head. Neville Longbottom, Cormac McLaggen and a couple of other Gryffindors
slapped the table in disbelief. He sneaked a glance at Seamus, several seats
down with a host of other Gryffindors.
           “Sounds like our new Potions professor is just as batty as the rest
of them,’ said McLaggen, a good-looking, burly blond boy, as he reached for a
plate of drumsticks.
           Dinner already began, but Ginny had only just turned up for the meal
and sat next to Dean.
          “Good for you Weasley!” said McLaggen loudly toasting her with his
glass. “Tell those nosy Hufflepuff gits to sod off and mind their own!”
           Several Hufflepuff girls behind them glared at his comment.
           “Dean, you’re not still on about that are you?” Ginny said blushing
faintly as she reached for a bowl of roasted potatoes.
           “Like Smith’s going to confess he was spectacularly hexed into
oblivion,” said Dean earnestly. “You sure your patronus isn’t a dragon Ginny?”
            She frowned. “Of course it isn’t.”
            “Cause you got a firebreather in you!” Dean chortled as the rest of
the boys booed with laughter. It was a terrifically dim-witted joke, but
everyone around Dean and Ginny sing-songed “Ooooh!”
           “Oh, shut it,” she mumbled, flirt-punching Dean in the arm.
           He mimed being hurt as his eyes once again fell on Seamus. Seamus,
who pointedly hadn’t looked at him all night, turned his head at that moment
curious about the commotion. Dean was startled to see him look away,
indifferent at the sight of them flirting. Dean couldn’t say why it hurt more
to see that Seamus didn’t care, but in that instant when Dean’s face almost
crumbled, Neville started the conversation about Snape’s new appointment.
Grateful to be thinking about anything else just then, Dean joined in
enthusiastically, happy to abuse Snape’s character and ruminate on how many
students would be corrupted by the Dark Arts now that Snape was their new
Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.
***** Wands at the Ready *****
                                        
                                 CHAPTER FOUR
                              Wands at the Ready
 
            In the first few weeks of the term, Dean completely reneged on his
vow to break things off with Ginny as he had so vaguely envisioned over the
summer. In fact, the more they hung out, the more he enjoyed her company. Of
course they had a limited amount of leisure time. It was Ginny’s O.W.L.s year
and the volume of work required for Dean’s classes in preparation for next
year’s N.E.W.T.s exam doubled. Outside of meals, occasional run-ins in the
common room, the only time they spent together was practicing for the Quidditch
tryouts on the weekends. On Saturday afternoons, Madam Hooch, a silver-haired,
muscle-toned witch with hawk-yellow eyes, offered small group coaching sessions
for all those interested. It was a great incentive to stay out of detention and
get fresh air before the autumnal chill set in.
            For a moment, Dean had convinced himself that this was what he
wanted: good grades, a spot on the Quidditch team, and a girlfriend. He wanted
to be content with wanting nothing more, but his resolve broke with every
minute spent in Seamus’ presence.
            In their N.E.W.T. classes, he couldn’t stop staring at the back of
Seamus’ dark sandy-coloured curls. Seamus hadn’t looked at Dean, much less
spoken to him since that first day they arrived at Hogwarts. In fact,
determined to keep his distance, Seamus swapped beds with Neville on their
first night and now slept on the farthest side of their circular dorm from
Dean.
            Naturally, Dean had retaliated by throwing an arm around Ginny,
making a show of playing in her hair or laughing loudly if Seamus entered the
common room or Great Hall at meal times, but Seamus was immune to his weak
attempts of provocation. So, Dean changed his tack: he sat next to Seamus every
chance he could. During mealtimes, in class, in the common room. He exploited
all opportunities to brush his hand against Seamus’ arm or bump his knee
against Seamus under the table. Dean tripped himself up and tumbled into Seamus
accidentally on purpose when they queued in the corridor for classes, or if he
goofed with Cormac McLaggen, jostling and rough housing on the way to the
showers.
            Of course, Seamus continued to give zero indication that he
acknowledged his presence. Since the first day of class when Snape set the
daunting task of learning how to cast spells non-verbally (now required for all
of their classes), Seamus had no excuse to speak. In fact, by the end of week
two, standing across Dean in Charms, he was one of the select few who mastered
it— after Hermione of course. After one of many frequent spats with Ginny, to
cheer himself up, Dean resorted to using the Diffendio Charm and split Seamus
bag open as they walked to Transfiguration one afternoon. He rushed over
innocently to help. Lavender also stooped down to help Seamus, but Parvati
kicked her butt and Dean flashed his eyes wide with a soundless snarl for her
to leave it over Seamus’ head. However, by the time Dean managed a “Rotten
luck, eh?”, Seamus nonverbally mended his bag, magicked his items into it, and
walked off without a backward glance.
            In spite of Seamus’ reticence, Dean felt compelled to continue on
his mission to get Seamus to speak to him. One soggy afternoon in the
greenhouse during Herbology, a Venomous Tentacula broke free of the freezing
charm Seamus cast. Enraged, its thorny, lime-green vines flung pans, shears,
and books off the table to the dirty floor. Parvati and Dean stunned the
vicious plant, which slowly slumped to the table as Professor Sprout warned
them not to hurt it. Dean ducked down next to Seamus quickly to pick their
materials off the floor.
           “She’s mad ain’t she? That plant could choke the world and she’d
still be moanin, ‘Don’t hurt it!’” Dean whispered casually as he dusted off his
Herbology text.
            “She almost sounds as bad as Hagrid,” Seamus said softly, as if he
himself was surprised to respond.
             Dean almost dropped his book pleasantly surprised.
            “Remember Hagrid with those Blast-Ended Skrewts from our fourth
year?” he asked, pushing his luck, but daring to test the waters.
            “Absolutely mental,” Seamus said, the corner of his lips twitching.
But then, as if standing up brought him to his senses, Seamus placed his soil-
covered materials aside and resumed working with Lavender.
            It took a whole new level of restraint to not throw a fist in the
air whooping for joy. Dean beamed at Parvati wildly and resumed his observation
notes for their write-up. She rolled her eyes at Lavender, who sighed
impatiently at the sheer stupidity of it all.
            Subconsciously, after his first conversation with Seamus, Dean
eased off on all forms of PDA with Ginny for good. Then, he simply became less
and less available. In addition to his normal coursework, he joined the Charms
Club and spent hours in the library, genuinely awed by the vast amounts of
spells, jinxes, curses, and various branches of magical knowledge he had yet to
learn.
             One night as they dressed for bed in their common room, Ron
Weasley confronted him about it.
            “So what’s up with you these days,” Ron asked aggressively.
            Dean had just sat down on his four-poster bed to pull a faded West
Ham shirt on. “What?” he asked confused.
            “Harry said Ginny was late for Slughorn’s dinner. That she’d been
crying,” Ron said getting louder.
            Harry Potter quickly jumped in: “Actually, Hermione said that, not
me.” he said with his palms out, not wanting to get involved.
            “Oh yeah?” barked Ron turning to glare at Harry sitting on the bed
next to his. “So what of it then?’ he said stalking over to Dean at last. His
ears were beet-red poking out of his red hair.
            Dean swiftly peeked at Seamus across the room. He stood stock still
over his trunk and Dean could tell he was listening in.
            “Look, I don’t know what Hermione’s on about. If Ginny’s crying her
eyes out, that’s news to me—”
             “Yeah, well she’s my sister—”
              “—And none of your business,” said Dean verycalmly.
              They stared at each other for only seconds, but Dean stood up to
his full height and took one step forward. Ron, lanky and tall as ever, wasn’t
as tall or bulked up as Dean and turned toward his own bed muttering. Harry
breathed a sigh of relief and flopped the rest of his body on his bed.
Satisfied his dorm mates were not about to duel, Neville darted across the room
with a striped face-towel and his toothbrush. Seamus gave up all pretense of
not watching and pulled his eyes away from Dean after a long stare and climbed
into his bed. He flicked his wand and the curtains of his bed flapped shut,
shielding him from Dean’s view.
 
 
 
               It happened the night before the Gryffindor tryouts. Dean
cornered Ginny outside of her Astronomy class during his only free period. They
waited until the statuesque Professor Sinistra stepped down the last steps of
the Astronomy tower before climbing back up without getting told off.
             “So? What’s happened?” Ginny asked brusquely. Her arms were
crossed as she leaned against the circular stone column of the stairwell.
             “Nothing,” said Dean taken back by her aggressive tone. “Actually,
I wanted to apologize. I’ve been really busy with everything and... I’m sorry.
I’ve been a shite boyfriend.”
            “Good, you should be sorry,” she said trying to stay angry, but
failing. She swept her long, side plait behind her and dropped her arms. “So,
how are you going to make it up to me?”
            Dean’s eyes rotated in a circular motion utterly baffled. Ginny
sighed and grabbed him by the front of his robe: “Oh, come here.”
            They were actually the same height with Ginny standing two steps
above him. She brought his lips to hers and—
            “Sorry,” Dean said looking at her tentatively.
             Ginny wiped her bottom lip annoyed, but said nothing except to
raise a dark red eyebrow.
             The silence between was deafening, then—
            “Ginny, I think we should break up.”
            He studied her, noting the minute changes flicker across her face
in the glow of the setting sun. As a precautionary measure, he slowly reached
for his wand beneath his robe. She sighed looking up at the inside of the tower
turret above them.
            “Honestly, it was getting a bit tiring hearing you talk about
Seamus. I guess that should’ve clued me in, but...“ she shrugged and adjusted
the strap of her homemade bag.
             Dean took an involuntary step down.
             That was not the reaction he had been dreading for the past three
nights, and he was annoyed quite frankly. He had expected her to be enraged,
hexing him blindly with tears in her eyes—no! Pouring down her face, feeling
hard done by. Instead, her shrug of relief made him feel foolish. Exposed. Had
he been that obvious? He cleared his throat and kicked at the stair he had
stepped down from, now uncontrollably fidgety.
           “Oh,” he said trying to be nonchalant. “Yeah, I guess I did abuse
the topic a bit too much.”
            “If by ‘a bit’, you mean ‘a lot’, then sure.” she said with a wink.
            She stepped down with an air of finality and Dean moved aside to
let her pass. He didn’t believe it could be that easy, but it was.
            “She’s definitely not normal...“ Dean said to himself smiling in
awe. When he could no longer hear the tap-tap of her footsteps, he whistled in
relief looking skyward as she had only moments ago.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
               With all of his practice sessions, Dean hadn’t held high
expectations about making the Quidditch team. He certainly wasn’t as
thunderstruck, as say McLaggen or Seamus, when he failed to make the final cut.
Hell, it seemed like half the school (minus the Slytherins, of course)
attempted to try out. But he knew Harry did his best to judge everyone
objectively. After seeing Ginny fly, Dean knew if no one else deserved to be on
the team, she certainly did.
              A small strip of pink sky glowed at the horizon of the
ultramarine sky by the time the tryout rejects staggered upstairs to Gryffindor
common room. Eager to shower before dinner, Dean was near the stairs leading to
the boy’s dormitories when a scream cut across the room.
             “Oi! Thomas, you git!”
             Ron sprinted at him, wand at the ready, and was only just slowed
down by Harry who restrained him by the back of his robes. Dean whipped out his
wand staring at Ron as if he was deranged.
            “Have you gone mad?” Dean shouted back.
            Hermione Granger stumbled through the portrait hole, followed by
Ginny Weasley.
            “Ron don’t!” Hermione cried out.
            “Touch him Ron, and Harry’ll hold new tryouts because you’ll be in
the hospital wing!” Ginny screamed her wand pointed at Ron’s head.
           The common room was in real pandemonium: several first years
scrambled for cover, while many of the older students, sixth years and even
seventh years actually cleared space, levitating the chintz chairs, poufs and
smaller furniture out of the way eager to watch the drama play out without an
obstructed view.
            “Git off Harry!” Ron said smacking Harry’s hand away.
            “What the hell is going on?” asked Dean confused. He looked at the
four of them in front of him, but kept his wand aimed at Ron.
            Maniacal, Ron spat out: “Oh don’t play dumb! Who the hell do you
think you are, dumping my sister! And for him!”
           Ron pointed past Dean at Seamus who stood so still mid-way up the
staircase that he could have been petrified.
          “So what if I did?” Dean shrugged casually, resisting the supreme
urge to gauge Seamus’ reaction precisely at that moment.
           A collective gasp sucked up the air in the room. Lavender and
Parvati mouthed, “I knew it!” kneeling behind a purple velvet couch.
            Ginny let out a roar of fury. “Oh my god, Ron! You don’t have to
defend me!” She stamped her foot and yellow sparks shot out of the tip of her
wand.
            “Shut up Ginny! Dean, I challenge you to a duel! Harry? Harry back
me up!” Ron said, his lip quivering with rage. He rounded on Harry as his wand
hand shook violently.
            “You are a prefect Ron!” Hermione said getting in his face, her
bushy hair shaking as she finally whipped out her wand and pointed at his chin.
             “Harry!” Ron demanded, ignoring her with his eyes locked on Harry.
             Hermione side-stepped Ron to appeal to Harry.
             “Harry Don’t you dare! Or I’ll- I’ll give you a detention.” she
threatened with a hand on her hip.
             Harry snorted and his green eyes widened incredulous. Over her
hair, he looked at Ron. “Ok,” he sighed exasperated and reluctantly pulled out
his wand with an apologetic shrug at Hermione. Ron nodded satisfied.
              “Alright, who’s your second?” Ron sneered facing Dean again.
              “Are we really doing this Weasley?” said Dean walking slowly
towards Ron gripping his wand tight.
              “Yes,” Ron hissed and spit bubbled on the side of his mouth like
a rabid animal. “So, who’s your fucking second?” he hollered.
             “I am.”
              Heads swivelled over to see Seamus with his wand out: he leaped
down the stairs past Dean and stared down Ron.
             “Of course, you would,” Ron jeered.
             Hermione, at her wits end, looked from the five of them unsure of
who would make the first move. Surprisingly, Ginny thrusted her wand at Ron’s
face shouting “Aguamenti!” Hermione, in battle mode and anticipating the worst
hex, jinx, or curse within her own personal repertoire, screamed “No!” at the
sound of Ginny’s voice.
               She shoved Ron hard. Her wand arm swiftly made a wide gesture as
if she was throwing off bed covers to dash out of bed. A torrent of frothy
white water, expelled from Ginny’s wand with the force of a high-powered fire
hose, ricocheted off Hermione’s powerful non-verbally cast protective shield,
and arched magnificently in the air in the shape of a rounded scythe. A deluge
of water crashed upon the opposite side of the room, drenching students and
some of the portraits whose subjects dashed out of frame terrified.
             The wood-panelled door to the portrait hole flew back against the
wall. A dark tabby cat with odd markings shot through the door, followed by
Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor house ghost. The cat transformed into
Professor Minerva McGonagall.
            “WHAT IN MERLIN’S BEARD IS GOING ON?”
             Her voice rattled the windows and the lights of the lanterns
flickered around the room. She surveyed the room with her wand tapped at her
throat. Several students screamed in terror from the noise and probably because
most of the younger ones had never witnessed an Animagus transform. Everyone
clapped their hands over their ears doubling over from the pain.
              Peeves, the poltergeist and Resident Master-of-Chaos popped in
unable to resist the fantastic allure of scenes reeking of mayhem.
             “Oooh! Dueling sticks! Fighting fists!” he cackled. His plump body
floated near the arch of the steepled tower’s ceiling.
             “Be gone Peeves!” cursed McGonagall. A flash of bright red light
burst in his face and with a howl of pain he vanished, leaving a dusty brown,
foul-smelling vapor behind.
                Ron appeared to have come to his senses with the appearance of
McGonagall. Unfortunately for him, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, Dean and Seamus, it
was far too late. Their wand hands clutched thin air as McGonagall confiscated
their wands, informing them that they were all to appear for questioning after
dinner. One by one.
               Both Ron and Hermione’s prefect titles were temporarily
suspended, effective immediately.
***** The Wandless Breakfast Club *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                        
                                        
                                 CHAPTER FIVE
                          The Wandless Breakfast Club
 
            No one spoke. They sat outside of McGonagall’s office in the
drafty, dimly lit corridor. A deflated Ron Weasley slouched in his seat biting
his nails. Seated at the far end of this Shame Train, Dean and Seamus sat
together. Everyone was freshly showered- Ginny’s dark hair sat in wet clumps
air-drying. And they were very hungry because they were too nervous to eat
dinner.
            The door opened. A rectangle of yellow light spilled out into the
gloomy corridor. Their heads looked up in sync as they watched a tearful
Hermione stumble out of McGonagall’s office deliberately avoiding their
apprehensive faces.
            “Ronald Weasley,” McGonagall called sharply from inside.
            Ron stood up shakily and gave the remaining four a remorseful look.
Harry gave a shrug of support. Ginny scowled with her arms crossed,
deliberately looking in the opposite direction. Seamus gave him the finger.
Dean was too preoccupied watching Seamus to pay Ron any mind. The door closed
shut plunging the four of them into purgatorial dimness once again.
            Taking advantage of the closeness and quiet, Dean appraised Seamus.
He noted the wet, wispy curls of Seamus’ longer hair, the freckles on his
forearm and nose, the burn scars on his fingers from Care of Magical Creatures
in their fourth year. Seamus sat up abruptly and fixed Dean with a benevolent
stare of his own. Dean sucked on his bottom lip sheepishly, knowing he had been
caught.
            “You didn’t have to do that y’know,” he said softly.
            “I know,” said Seamus. His eyes darted over to see if Harry and
Ginny were listening. (They were.)
            “Thanks,” said Dean wishing they were alone to talk.
            Seamus shrugged indifferent. Dean tried desperately to catch his
eye again; as if Seamus could hear his thoughts, he deliberately kept his head
down.
     
 
           The next morning the Gryffindors were in for a brutal awakening.
Posted on the message board of all common rooms was a large parchment stating
that the Gryffindor Quidditch team would forfeit the first game due to a
temporary suspension. Given the “show” they witnessed the evening before, most
Gryffindors felt it wasn’t an unreasonable punishment seeing as three of the
team members were involved. However, there was a small-scale riot outside the
Great Hall: all of the rubies tracking the Gryffindor house points were gone.
The loss of nearly a full month’s worth of points was, everyone agreed three
steps too far.
            Professor Charity Burbage, a tall willowy blonde witch who taught
Muggle Studies, broke up the huddle of mutinous Gryffindors and ushered in
gawking students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Slytherins already seated at
their table whooped and clapped as the Gryffindors entered the Great Hall for
breakfast. The forfeit was an automatic win for the Slytherins. They broke into
choruses of “Weasley is Our King” before Professor Severus Snape, head of
Slytherin house, flopped his wrist muttering with a rare smile to “settle
down”.
           But Dean, Seamus, and the other four did not witness this fiasco of
horrors. Individually, they were instructed to go to an unused classroom near
the kitchens in the basement at 6am sharp. A suit of armour stood outside the
door holding a flag with the Hufflepuff colors of yellow and black.
            “Welcome, welcome, you naughty delinquents! Your head of house
awaits your arrival inside.”
            As it stepped aside, the door creaked open to reveal Professor
McGonagall looking as formidable as always. But given the bags under her wide
hazel eyes and her usually tightly knotted bun was at the base of her neck and
not resting on the top of her head, perhaps she was just really cranky.
            They marched in their robes in a single-file line and stood before
the six single-seat desks arranged in front of her. Ron started to yawn, but
off her look stifled it.
            “Take your seats,” she hissed impatiently. “As I’ve already stated
to each and everyone of you, your behavior last night was deplorable and
warranting of an expulsory hearing. You are to wait here in this room for
Dumbledore’s return, as he is a required witness of my verdict.” She paused to
study the fear on their sleepy faces. “Because your wands have been
confiscated, you will not be permitted to attend any of your classes. Meals
will be provided at the back of the room—” they looked behind them to see a
large buffet table full of steaming food that certainly had not been there when
they entered, “—and there is a lavatory to your left, downstairs.” Her hand
pointed at the door on the other side of the room.
            Hermione raised a hand slowly. “Um, Professor are we to stay here
all day? It’s just that, I- well, we could spend the day studying...“ she
trailed off at the expression on McGonagall’s lined faced.
            “Ms. Granger this is not a study hall. You and your housemates are
facing expulsion! You will wait here until the end of the school day when I
present my verdict.”
            Hermione’s bottom lip quivered with shame. “Yes, Professor,” she
whimpered lowering her eyes.
            Seamus raised his hand tentatively. McGonagall’s neck swiveled owl-
like to look at him.
            “What is it Mr. Finnigan?”
            “Ma’am, are we to do lines... because I didn’t bring a quill,” he
finished lamely.
            McGonagall’s nostrils flared white. Harry nervously shuffled in his
seat.
            “There will be no lines. You will all sit here and think about the
acts you have committed that landed you here. And since Mr. Weasley here
doesn’t understand how to talk out his issues, perhaps you could help him learn
a few conversational tips.”
            She strode out of the room, her forest green robe billowing behind
her without another word.
            The lock on the door sealed shut magically and the small brown
empty portrait frame hanging on the back of the door knocked against it. The
room was completely bare except for their desks and the conjured table of food.
Iron candelabras nailed to the walls were the only light source of light, but
the flames were bright and provided a much-needed warmth to the basement-level
room.
           Dean and Seamus shrugged accepting of their fate and headed over to
see what was for breakfast. Ron let out a full yawn. Hermione put her head down
on the desk using her massive frizzy curls as a shield from everyone. Ginny and
Harry shared a quick, worried smile and joined the boys at the makeshift
breakfast table.  
           “Pretty sure this is just a scare tactic,” Dean said pouring himself
a small mug of black coffee. “Remember when you and Weasley drove that car from
King’s Cross all the way here?”
            Harry nodded sleepily. “Yeah, when Snape showed us the Prophet, I
just knew we were done for.” His black hair was matted to the left side of his
head.
            “Did you see the notice on the board in the common room about the
Quidditch match?” said Seamus loudly piling back on his full plate of toast,
runny eggs and sausages.
           “No,” said Ginny alert.
           “You forfeited the first match. Team suspension.” he said trying to
hide the glee in his vindictive tone.
            “No way!” said Ron in his seat, forgetting that everyone was mad at
him.
           Hermione popped up raising the huge fluff of her hair off her face
with her forearm. She looked at Ron for the first time since the night before.
           “Oh shut up Ron! If you cared that much about Quidditch then maybe
you wouldn’t have started a bloody duel in the bloody common room!” her
screeching voice echoed in the low-ceiling room. She all but exploded out of
her chair headed for the toilets below.
            Blushing furiously, Ron glanced behind him at the rest of them
still loading their plates before turning back around to slouch in his seat.
            Ginny spoke calmly, even cheerfully at Ron’s humiliation. “At least
she didn’t pull an Umbridge and disband us.”
            That garnered a chuckle as the four of them returned to their
seats. Seamus, in a not-so-subtle move, noisily dragged his desk back away from
the group. He raised his eyebrows at Dean in an inviting manner. Dean, Ginny,
and Harry (reluctantly) shifted their desk and chairs away from Ron and
Hermione’s empty seat. Ron remained seated staring resolutely at the black
stone wall, knowing full well they deserved to be angry.
             Hermione emerged when they were nearly halfway finished with
breakfast. When she saw the lone desk and chair next to Ron, to everyone’s
surprise, she dragged it over to the other side of the room leaving Ron
isolated at the front.
            “What is she mad at us for? It’s him who got us all in this mess!”
said Seamus rolling another sausage up in toast.
            Dean shrugged too hungry to care.
            Hermione spun around in her seat. “I’m mad at all of you because
this is on all of you! I tried to stop you Harry, and you Ron, but no! You just
had to keep going—”
            “Hermione give it a rest yeah? No one’s shirking the blame,” said
Dean holding up a hand at Seamus who opened his mouth to speak. “Why don’t you
get something to eat before the food vanishes and...“
            As if it just occurred to him, Ron shot up out of his chair towards
the table. “Would you like a spot of toast Hermione or kippers.”
           If he thought this act of kindness would mollify her, he was greatly
mistaken.
           She sneered at him. “No I would not like a ‘spot of toast’ Ron!
We’re this close,” she held up her thumb and forefinger pinched together, “to
being thrown out of the best magical school...“ and she choked on a sob before
breaking down fully. “You’re all from magical families in wizarding
communities, but this is all I have. It’s all I have,” she sputtered sobbing
loudly.
           The boys turned to Ginny clearly expecting her to comfort Hermione,
but she fixed a Harry with a look of “Nope” and continued eating. Harry glanced
him at Ron, sighed and both of them walked over to Hermione. Ron patted her
heaving shoulder and handed her a napkin.
           Seamus cleared his throat. “Y’know Dean’s a muggleborn too, so he’s
got as much to lose as you. And the rest of us really.”
             Dean smiled slightly. “And, I don’t if you heard Harry say that
McGonagall all but told him one more disaster and he’d lose the captaincy.
Don’t know about you, but doesn’t sound like anyone’s getting chucked out just
yet.”
                Hermione sniffled and blew her nose, then looked up at Harry
with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “Stupid Quidditch,” she muttered
wiping her nose.
               “I agree with Dean,” said Ginny setting down her cup of pumpkin
juice. “It’s nothing more than a scare tactic. Do know all that she asked me?”
               Everyone turned to look at her.
             “She wanted to know why I used the Aguamenti Charm,” she said
shaking her head grinning.
             “Well, why did you? I knew for sure you’d hex him crazy like
Zacharias,” said Dean finishing his bacon. Hermione made a noise of agreement
beneath her napkin.
              “I told her I thought my fool of a brother needed a cool down.”
Ginny threw Ron a look of scorn.
              They shared a hearty laughter as Ron held his head down awkwardly
feeling foolish. Hermione finished sniffling. The laughter banished her dread
of expulsion as effectively as the Riddikulus incantation on a boggart, and her
appetite came back three-fold. She hurried to the table enchanted with a re-
filling spell. Ron, blushing still, followed wordlessly.
               “When I told her I’d only agree to the duel out of self-defence,
she just scoffed and shook her head,” said Dean also immensely cheered up.
“Told me duel challenges weren’t magical binding contracts and next time it
would behoove me to walk away.”
              Ginny snorted. “Tell me you didn’t actually believe they are?”
              Dean rolled his eyes at her. “Course not. But she doesn’t need to
know that, does she?”
               Hermione stood at the table nibbling on a buttered toast too
hungry to move. “She didn’t tell me anything. I just explained what happened
and then, ‘That will be all Ms. Granger’. No questions.”
              Dean and Harry turned to Seamus expecting him to divulge his
testimony of events, but he turned a curious shade of pink and got up from his
desk.
              Once they were sufficiently full and calmer— Hermione finally
turned her desk around and dragged it closer to the group— the food vanished.
Only a swan-sized silver flagon of water and a stack of six cups remained.
               The talk turned to guessing how many nights (or weeks) of
detention they would have to serve. And later, to Hermione’s great annoyance,
how many points would have to be won in the subsequent Quidditch matches to
still be in the running for the House Cup. When things died down, Ron, still
isolated at the front of the room, walked over slowly.
              The chatter ceased immediately. Seamus sat up as if readying
himself for a fist fight.
             “Dean, I just want to say that I was bang out of order and I
should’ve minded my own business.”
               Ginny crossed her arms breathing noisily out of her nose.
               “And Ginny, I was—”
             “Being you as usual?” she interrupted with a glare.
             “Worse actually. Look, it wasn’t my proudest moment and I told
McGonagall she could accept my resignation as Prefect—” Hermione gasped, “—and
from the Quidditch team—” Harry groaned, “—if it means you lot stay and I
leave.”
            They looked up at Ron in surprise, but Seamus shook his head and
stood up with a slow clap.
            “Good Weasley. Well done, because what you said about him and me
wasn’t true,” said Seamus angrily pointing at Dean who looked at him
nonplussed.
             Ron frowned in confusion at Ginny, “But you said—”
            Ginny slammed her fist on the desk. “I said I think Dean’s got it
bad for Seamus and maybe they can finally be together now! Dammit Ron, you’re
as thick as a concussed troll!”
             While Ron revisited the conversation in his mind, Dean shrunk down
in his seat willing himself to dissolve through the cold tiled floor as his
body temperature rocketed up. Seamus glanced down at Dean, then Ginny, and even
Ron, before sitting back down slowly in light of this revelation. Harry sensing
the enormity of this awkward conversation turned to Hermione to earnestly ask
about Flitwick’s Charms essay due tomorrow.
             “Oh. Oh…” said Ron, pale as he finally understood his mistake.
“Blimey, now the whole school’s thinking...“
             “Oh, cotton on, have you?” said Seamus nodding vigourously.
            “So what if they are,” mumbled Dean, but Ron drowned him out.
             “Wait, but— ouch!”
             Hermione stamped on Ron’s foot: “Shut. Up.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
    
           The rest of the morning passed by amicably. Sandwiches, fruit, and
cakes appeared for lunch. Promptly afterwards, Ron fell asleep at his desk and
Hermione drifted off shortly thereafter.
            Seamus and Dean tried to engage in casual conversation about, well
anything, but they were too embarrassed to look at one another. The real
conversation that needed to happen could not, would not, take place within
earshot of anyone but themselves. Thankfully, Ginny steered the talk to other
things like Fred and George's grand opening in Diagon Alley and asking everyone
their advice about what to expect for her O.W.L.s subjects.
            At quarter to six, the door unlocked and McGonagall and Headmaster
Dumbledore strolled in looking particularly grim. He stood before them in dark
gray robes, sparkling with embroidered moons and stars at the hem. His long,
white hair and beard were tangled and wind-swept as if he had only arrived at
the castle moments before. Hermione kicked Harry’s chair to wake him from his
nap. Everyone else sat up in their chair fully alert. For all of their
confident talk of not being expelled, dread quickly filled their bellies.
            McGonagall held out all six of their wands and tossed each one back
to its rightful owner.
            “The only reason you all are not on the Hogwarts Express tonight is
that the only two people who cast a spell were trying to de-escalate the
situation. Somewhat.” she said briskly sparing a glance at Ginny.
            “However,” said Dumbledore softly, but with a severe expression of
reproach, “Words cannot truly express the disappointment in the behaviors of
all, our prefects especially. Outside of these walls, I warned at the start of
the school year, Voldemort is gaining strength. Turning on each other, your own
housemates no less, creates a terrible atmosphere and example for
impressionable ones looking to you for guidance,” he looked into each of their
eyes, sparing none of them a grim look over the rim of his crescent-shaped
glasses. “While I am aware that you are all still young and not of age yet, I
see no need to delay acts of maturity before their impending biological due
dates.” He folded his healthy hand over the blackened, dead-looking one and
took a step back giving McGonagall the floor.
            Dean, Seamus, and Ginny, unlike Harry, were not used to such
intimate encounters with the Headmaster and felt an unbearable rash of shame in
his calm, but overwhelming presence.
            McGonagall cleared her throat and unfurled a scroll of parchment.
            “Thank you Headmaster. With that being said, your punishments are
as follows...“
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
               Dean and Seamus walked slowly down a near empty corridor. They
were dismissed with one night of detention held separately next Friday night.
Dean had to assist Hagrid; Seamus, with Filch.
            “All in all, could’ve been worse,” said Seamus twirling his wand.
He actually kissed it when McGonagall waved them out of the room.
            “Yeah, but a letter to our folks? That’s a—”
            “—Lot of howlers,” grinned Seamus. He shrugged. “I’ll take a Howler
over ‘Oi ma, I’m back!’”
            Dean laughed nodding in agreement.
            “So is it true, what Ginny said then? What you said?” asked Seamus
as casually as he could manage.
            They halted in their tracks. Dean looked up and down the corridor
leading to the moving staircases before giving Seamus a calculating look. He
should say it, the truth. This is the moment he had been hoping for and he
might not get another chance. Sure, there was the possibility Seamus might tell
him to piss off, but his gut instinct told him not really. Not with the way
Seamus was looking at him just then.
            “Yes,” he said unable to stop the words from tumbling out, “Of
course it’s true. Didn’t you get my letter?”
             Seamus blinked twice.
            “What letter?”
            Dean snorted, his body relaxing visibly. Well, that explained a
lot.
            “I wrote this summer, weeks after you left. Damn, I knew that owl
looked dodgy.”
            “Oh yeah. I got that letter. What of it?” said Seamus earnest.
            Dean bit his bottom lip and breathed slower to quell his rising
temper.
           “You got my letter. But didn’t bother to write back?”
            Seamus’ eyes widened in indignation.
            “You told me to leave!”
            “I didn’t think you’d really do it!”
            “I wouldn’t have if you weren’t shamelessly flirting with Ravi!”
            “And I already told you I wasn’t flirting, alright?”
            They stood apart fuming. Dinner started twenty minutes ago, but
Dean needed to focus. Blaming Seamus about anything at this point wasn’t going
to change things, at least not for the better. He scratched at the back of his
close-shaven head and took a leaf out of Ron’s book.
            “Okay, here it is: I was a tosser, but I really didn’t want you to
go. And…” he gritted his teeth, his face flushed hot with embarrassment,
“...and I missed you,” he mumbled looking down.
            Seamus, not expecting that at all, slouched backwards against the
rough stone wall trying to figure out how to proceed. But he chose to be honest
as Dean had with him.
           “I missed you too. A lot, actually. Parvati and Lavender are—”
           “—Mad?” Dean finished with a knowing grin.
            “Barking,” said Seamus.
            They shared a bit of nervous laughter and resumed a new slow walk
to nowhere.
           “Y’know, I reckon I might’ve overreacted a bit,” Seamus admitted
staring straight ahead.
           Once upon a time, Dean would have agreed, but in the spirit of
letting bygones be bygones, he simply said, “Nah.”
           “Really?”
           “Yeah, mate.”
           Seamus beamed and checked around conspiratorially. He nodded at an
empty, unlocked classroom and they ducked in standing close behind the closed
door. They stared at each other equally speechless now that they were free of
their confessions.
           “So, didn’t you like snoggin her then,” Seamus croaked, licking his
lips.
           Dean took a step closer swallowing with some difficulty.
           “Not really,” he admitted, taking shallow breaths, “ ‘S not bad or
anything, she just...“
           And then surprised by his own daring, he leaned down and kissed
Seamus on the lips. It was brief and awkward: Dean hadn’t completely closed the
distance between them and tottered slightly; Seamus, caught off guard, opened
his mouth precisely at that moment to speak.
           It was a bit of a disaster if either of them were honest.
           Dean stuttered out an apology while rubbing his lips to soothe it
after colliding with Seamus’ front teeth.
          “Ah no, I didn’t know we were...“ Seamus trailed off equally
embarrassed.
           Once again they met each other’s gaze grinning foolishly.
          “Nah, c’mere. I can do you one better,” said Seamus grasping the
front of Dean’s robes.
          “Oh you can, can you?” Dean retorted, allowing himself to be
manoeuvred closer.
          Seamus tilted his head up as Dean exhaled the last of his nervous
laughter. The kiss this time was better, slower, and wetter. Dean’s hands
cupped Seamus by the back of his head as Seamus clutched his robe collar
tighter. A soft moan vibrated between them as his tongue licked against Dean’s
lips who was quite keen to deepen the kiss also. His knee knocked against
Dean’s leg as he pressed closer, moving his hands to hug Dean in a tighter
embrace at the waist.
           And then a loud, obscene moan echoed above them. Startled, they
slowly fell apart like two stubborn pieces of velcro tabs.
          Peeves the poltergeist mocked them with his short, fat arms clutching
an imaginary kissing partner, in an eerily accurate imitation of them.
          “Bloody hell Peeves!” cried Dean grabbing hold of Seamus’ hand.
          “Oi, bugger off why don’t you?” said Seamus swiping at the
poltergeist out of reach.
           Peeves made a gross sound like a suction cup being ripped apart from
a wet surface as he pretended to pull away from his own nonexistent kissing
partner.
           “Oooh! Kissy-kissy, sucky-sucky! Someone’s about to get lucky-
lucky!” he cackled.
           He zoomed higher up in the air humping against the air. Then, he
flipped on his potbelly, propped his head in between his fat fists, and hooked
one foot over the over.
           “But don’t stop now boys. I was just enjoying the show!” he hovered
in the air moaning again, blowing wet kisses.
            Piss off you bloody menace!” shouted Seamus.
             The enraged poltergeist gave them the finger, then flickered out
of sight. He growled malevolently and they searched around fearful for the
imminent attack.
             “Oho! Piss this!” said the invisible Peeves.
             “Run for it!” said Dean yanking Seamus by the hand and darting out
of the room.
              Peeves materialised with ink bottles and charged after them as
they hurtled down the end of the corridor. He howled with maniacal glee as he
bombed them overhead with a wildly inaccurate aim splattering the walls and
floors more than anything else. Filch would skin them alive if he caught them,
no doubt keen to blame them for inciting Peeves. They made it two flights above
near the Charms classrooms out of breath, but surprisingly dry.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry all, but the formatting is taking forever (I don't know why it
     won't keep my original indentations and all, but starting with Ch.6
     on forward, it's going to look a bit different).
***** Socks and Boxers Be Damned *****
                                        
                                        
                                  CHAPTER SIX
                          Socks and Boxers Be Damned
 
            Thanks to Ron (and now Peeves certainly), the whole school thought
they were dating and then some. Dean wasn’t completely sure if the furtive
glances, smirks, and outright stares were a figment of his imagination until
Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil sat down across him and Seamus during lunch in
the Great Hall days later. They did their best to stifle their laughter.
Seamus, grumpy from struggling with Snape’s essay, stabbed at his steak-and-
kidney pie.
            “What’s so funny now?” he huffed.
            “Oh hey Dean, Seamus,” the girls immediately cracked up.
            “Peeves?” Dean guessed with a roll of his eyes.
            They burst into peals of shrill giggles.
            “Ohmygods! We just heard him in the common room singing that song,”
said Lavender catching her breath. “Were you two really...“ and she mimed with
her tongue poking one cheek as her fist knocked on the other.
            “Five points from Gryffindor, Ms. Brown!”
            They and several others shot up over their plates horrified. They
only had a handful of points to begin with.
            “But Professor!” Lavender sputtered. She shook her loosely set
curls with her mouth hanging wide open.
            Professor Sprout stood behind Seamus with her fat fists balled into
the crook of above her wide hips.
            “What did I do?” Lavender asked innocently.
            “Indecent gestures during meal times. In the Great Hall no less!
You are a young lady, not some scarlet women,” admonished Sprout, her gray
flyaway curls whipping her face as she stalked away towards the staff table.
            A handful of Ravenclaws guffawed behind her, but the neighbouring
Gryffindors around them were not amused.
            “Of all the rotten luck,” said Colin Creevey, a petite blond boy in
his fifth year.
            “That old cow! Like we’ve got points to spare!” said Seamus glaring
at Professor Sprout’s backside.
            “Don’t change the subject!” Parvati hissed, her kohl-rimmed eyes
flashed greedily.
            “No we bloody weren’t!” Dean said hotly. “We were just snogging a
bit,” he cast a worried glance at Seamus wondering if he said too much.
            Satisfied, Parvati tucked a strand of long black hair behind her
ear and leaned close to Lavender squealing in glee.
            “Aww, I knew it!” they cooed.
            “Oi, don’t you start,” Seamus tutted grumpy, but he shifted a hair
closer to Dean all the same.
            “If it makes you feel any better, Nearly Headless Nick floated in
to escort Peeves out,” said Parvati waving at her twin Padma sitting at the
Ravenclaw table. She made an odd handwriting gesture in the air and Padma
winked with a thumbs up.
            “It doesn’t actually,” grumbled Seamus.
            “Was this after or before he finished this dodgy song of his?” Dean
asked.
            “After,” Lavender grinned with a pout.
            “Have you two made up then?” Dean asked. “With Padma,” he clarified
off their look of confusion.
            “Dean, we’re twins. We don’t have to,” Parvati said as if it were
the most obvious thing in the world.
            Seamus tuned everyone out, thoughtfully trying to locate a well-
hidden, snog-friendly spot in the castle.
                                        
    *                                  *                                  *
 
           Everything was a thousand times better with Seamus around now that
they were on speaking terms and more. Dean had no reservations admitting such.
He bashed Cormac McLaggen one sunny morning as they left their dormitory for
breakfast, but they were distracted by the new poster on the common room
message board. A small circle of students crowded around to read the notice.
Taller students did a double-take before strolling away. Several cliques of
fourth year girls tittered away out of the portrait hole and the seventh years
smirked with an air of superiority.
            The Great Hall was buzzing and bustling as usual. Shafts of hot
yellow sunlight shone down through the bewitched ceiling as fluffy white clouds
passed across the sun intermittently.
            “Blimey, do you think it’s mandatory?” asked Neville, splattering
some of his milk.
            “It’s held on a Saturday. Guess that’s a yes,” said Dean passing
Seamus the ketchup.
            “A mandatory health seminar, though?” said Ron taking a chunk out
of his sausage being especially polite and amicable.
            “Yes, didn’t you know, we’re finally going to learn about Sex-Ed,”
said Hermione sarcastically as she folded The Daily Prophet closed and set
aside.
            “You think McGonagall will have any ‘visual aids’ for
demonstrations, eh Granger?” asked Cormac McLaggen winking a blue eye. He was
the new Keeper for the Gryffindor Quidditch team as Ron had in fact been banned
from playing all year.
            “Don’t be crass McLaggen,” said a tall, waif Chinese boy, Andrew
Lau. He was the new prefect since Ron was also dismissed from his prefect
duties. “I’d hate to take away a point from our own,” he said haughtily walking
by to sit elsewhere.
            It was impossible to tell who Hermione hated more: Andrew for being
a stuffy Percy 2.0, or Ron, for messing up so monumentally thus forcing her to
endure both Lau and McLaggen’s unwelcome presence.
            “That git,” muttered Ron.
            “ ‘S all your fault,” said Dean beating Hermione to the punch as he
accepted a glass of juice from Seamus.
            “And to answer your question McLaggen, I’m quite sure there will be
no ‘visual aids’” Hermione said disgusted.
 
 
       
            Hermione was quite right as the sixth year Gryffindors and
Slytherins piled into the Transfiguration classroom on a foggy Saturday
morning. Stacks of pamphlets sat on the vast mahogany desk at the front of the
room where McGonagall, Snape, and Madam Pomfrey stood. McGonagall and Pomfrey,
substituting her usual mint green robes for black ones, looked ready for
business. Snape, however, looked as if he could not believe he had to get out
of bed for this.
            They couldn’t decide if they were terrified or grossed out by
McGonagall leading the short seminar with Snape present. But, given their
performances during Umbridge’s “evaluation” last year, the students were
banking on an entertaining fifty minutes nonetheless.
            Pomfrey spoke first: “Although not all of you have quite yet
reached the age of maturity for wizards and witches, it has been decided that
this bit of health information should be dispersed objectively to all,
regardless of any—” and here, her voice wavered slightly, “—activities you
consent to engage in and with fellow students of age.” She paused to give them
a pointed look.
            There was a smattering of stifled giggles in the room, which
McGonagall quelled with a long withering stare.
            “Wands away and settle down quickly,” said McGonagall.
            Madam Pomfrey stepped forward and flicked her wand. Around the
room, large posters from St. Mungo’s hung high in the air with information
about various contraceptive methods, gruesome diseases and both magical and
non-magical symptoms. The longer she spoke, the more it appeared the seminar
would be a boring, useless, hour that could have been spent sleeping in or
lounging around. Then, McGonagall levitated the stacks of pamphlets down the
aisles of the classroom.
            “Please note that there are no moving illustrations, otherwise it
constitutes as pornographic materials. The Ministry has very strict guidelines
of visual aids permitted for education purposes,” she said sternly with no
trace of second-hand embarrassment. In fact, she looked bored as the rest of
the class tittered awkwardly. Snape paced in the front row, scanning the rest
of room through his curtain of lanky black hair with his hands clasped behind
his back.
            Dean had just finished a sketch in a palm-sized, handmade booklet.
In his lap, he tapped the book with his wand non-verbally casting a spell.
Taking advantage of the shuffling noises and side conversations, he levitated
the book close to the floor and sent it behind him to Seamus.
            “Seamus!” he hissed hoping to go unnoticed as everyone reached for
the pamphlets now hovering at desk level.
            “Accio,” whispered a voice.
            Just then Dean looked up to see Snape narrow his beady black eyes
at him. He stuffed his wand inside his robe and turned to his right to see with
a jolt that Pansy Parkinson, a pug-faced Slytherin, tapped the small book
against her upper thigh. With a triumphant smirk, she elbowed Draco Malfoy who
was lost in thought.
            “What?” Malfoy snapped, not bothering to keep his voice down.
            “Look!” she whispered. The two huddled as she opened the small
book.
            “Aw damn,” Dean breathed and looked straight ahead, stashing his
quill away surreptitiously.
            Crabbe leaned over Pansy and Malfoy’s shoulders and guffawed loudly
as Pansy gasped folding the book shut tightly in her palms. McGonagall, without
an inch of patience, whipped her wand in the air like a lasso and the book
materialised in her hand.
            She studied the book as it excitedly flipped open of its own
volition to reveal an animation of two people fucking enthusiastically doggy-
style. Worse, the sounds of them grunting, skin slapping together, wood
creaking from the bed, burst forth from the pages (as Dean had really done the
whole thing properly). The classroom exploded, wholly incapable of holding in
their laughter or gasps of shock as the sound of men grunting in pleasure
echoed throughout the high-ceiling room.
            “Quiet,” said Snape, but even he knew there was no remedy for the
situation. Not unless he cursed them viciously into submission.
            McGonagall snapped the smut book shut with the ferocity of a hungry
owl ensnaring a vole in its beak.
            “Ms. Parkinson!” she barked, her face reddening in fury. Heads
swivelled to the back.
            “It’s not mine! It’s Thomas’!” Pansy shouted pointing her finger at
Dean.
            Seamus’ face blushed furiously and he shrunk down in his seat, half
covering his lower face with the collar of his robe as the room now directed
their attention in their direction. Glaring over the rim of her square glasses,
McGonagall turned her beady eyes on Dean who immediately lied:
            “Professor, I’d never!”
            And he had the gall to look deeply offended at such an accusation.
            Snape sighed. “McGonagall, I’m quite sure that book belongs to
Thomas.”
            “We shall see,” she hissed.
            She tapped her wand to the book’s cover and behind Dean— to his
horror— periwinkle flames engulfed his satchel as it levitated off the floor.
The flap opened and on a bed of flames, the quill he had carefully sneaked
away, rose higher above his head. Her eyes locked on his and he knew she knew.
The quill and bag fell to the floor with a hushed thump completely unscorched.
The enchanted flames extinguished without a trace of smoke.
            “All four of you will serve detention: Thomas, Parkinson, Malfoy,
and Crabbe,” she shrieked over the voices that were no longer laughing, but
momentarily awed by the display of magic. “And ten points from each of you.”
            Pansy balked. “But Professor, that’s thirty points from Slytherin
and only ten points from them,” she whined looking from McGonagall to Snape.
            “Glad to know your computational skills are up to snuff Ms.
Parkinson,” (the Gryffindors snickered) “Perhaps you would do well to choose
your seat wisely next time. Now quiet all of you!”
            McGonagall tossed the book on the desk behind her in disgust and
carried on with the rest of the seminar eager to be rid of them for the rest of
the day.
 
 
 
            Seamus walked out with Harry, Hermione, and Ron after they were
dismissed. They stood outside the door waiting for Dean.
            “D’you think she’ll chuck it or save it for a bit of light
reading?” Ron joked at Hermione.
            Seamus and Harry chuckled, but Lavender laughed very loudly as she
and Parvati traipsed away.
            “Shut it Ron,” said Hermione pretending to be scandalised.
            “Who cares? Did you notice Malfoy barely flinched when he got
detention? I’m telling you, he’s up to something,” said Harry darkly. He craned
his neck to peer into the classroom.
            The three of them slowly turned to Harry side-eyeing him hard. But
it was Ron who spoke first.
            “Will you lay off Malfoy for once Harry! We just had some of the
best bit of magic—“ he nodded at Seamus who smiled; Hermione tutted annoyed,
“—and you’re still on about Malfoy.”
            “Sure you don’t fancy him Harry,” joked Seamus. “Y’know, it does
sometimes start off rocky and with a deep sense o’ denial.”
            Harry threw Seamus a dirty look. Seamus winked.
            “Don’t be ridiculous,” He spat.
            Dean finally emerged out of the room with a sly grin at Seamus,
trailed by Pansy Parkinson, Crabbe and Malfoy, who sneered at them not looking
the least bit distraught.
            “Coulda been worse,” Dean smirked, hitching up his satchel. “Gave
out a week’s worth of detention, but she threatened Parkinson to write her mum.
That shut her up right quick.”
            They enjoyed a hearty laugh, except Harry who glowered at Malfoy.
Seamus restrained himself from grasping Dean’s free hand as they all headed
toward the staircase leading to the Gryffindor common room.
            “Sorry mate. Before I even saw it that twat Pansy got it,” said
Seamus.
            He and Dean were now walking a few steps behind The Trio.
            “No matter,” Dean whispered. “Maybe, I can show you the real
thing... later?”
            Seamus gazed up as Dean winked casually and deliberately slung his
arm over Seamus’ neck as they walked.
            “You mean that? Seriously?”   
            Seamus stopped abruptly letting Dean’s arm slip off his shoulders.
            “Yeah, only if you want to—“
            “Course I do,” said Seamus hotly.
            Students walked around them, some blowing kisses, as the two of
them gazed intensely at each other. Dean’s fingers tingled by his side and he
felt incredibly warm in the drafty corridor.
            “I think, I have a place,” Seamus whispered after a moment, his
heart beating wildly.
            “Yeah?” Dean whispered back incredulously.
            “Yeah.”
            “Cool,” he nodded unable to say anything else.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Seamus and Dean eagerly waited for the week of detention to end.
Seamus refused to reveal the plan, claiming it was to be a surprise. But he
warned Dean that if he earned any more detentions, then the deal was off.
            Dean balked at this. “You’ve got some nerve. Mind you, I wouldn’t
have to serve detention if you were paying attention”, he whispered as they
tried to complete an essay for Slughorn in the oppressive silence of the
library.
            Seamus shook with silent laughter. “Oi, you dope! How was I to know
you’d pass me a smut book in the middle of a crowded room? You couldn’t have
waited until it was over? Or when we were alone?” he tapped temple.
            Dean kicked him under the table.
            News of the smut book, or as the firsties called it, “The-Book-
That-Shall-Not-Be-Named”, spread like wildfire throughout the castle. Ghosts
tutted disapprovingly. The portraits gossiped excitedly in hushed tones to
passing students. But Peeves had taken it upon himself to act out the graphic
content.
            Always the strategist, he waited to harass students during peak
volume times in the corridor, usually as they queued up outside of classrooms
or during the mass exodus to the Great Hall for meals. The corridors were
filled with screams of ecstasy, exhausting grunts, and “Oh-oh yes!” or “Right
there, yesss!” Students either plugged their ears with their fingers or doubled
over with tears in their eyes. The raucous created almost tempted the Charms
professor Flitwick to set off his own tweaked version of Garroting Gas to clear
hallways.
            The first night after Dean’s week-long detention episode, he and
Seamus sat on a couch waiting for the common room to clear out. After a group
of yawning fifth years packed up for the night, Dean whispered furious at
Seamus.
            “Are you seriously telling this is your place? You’re joking!
Anyone can walk through.”
            Seamus twirled his wand gazing up at the ceiling’s Renaissance
painting of lion with a great tawny mane roar silently over a cliff in the
African plains.
            “You done?” he said with a raised eyebrow at Dean.
            Dean sighed. His temper was awakening.
            “It’s after hours. If your great big plan involves sneaking about
after all I’ve just finished. I reckon McGonagall is pretty close to chucking
me out at this rate.”
            “Do you trust me?” said Seamus looking every bit mischievous in the
glow of the dying fire.
            Dean rolled his eyes and turned his head toward the window.
            “Alright. How bad do you want this?” Seamus kissed Dean near his
jugular and slid his hand between Dean’s thighs, then sat back folding his
arms.
            “Bad enough,” Dean gushed honestly.
            “ ‘Kay then. Chop-chop.”
 
 
 
They stood in front of a blank wall across from the large hanging tapestry on
the seventh floor. Dean’s heart pounded both in anticipation and out of sheer
terror of being caught out of bed after hours. But he had to give it to Seamus
(and he would if all went as planned), using the Room of Requirement was a
stroke of genius.
They walked past the spot three times thinking of their singular, true, yet
crude purpose with their eyes shut. Seamus smacked Dean on the forearm and he
stared at the gilded door with a shiny bronze knob. He strode to the door, held
it open, and bowed before Dean “Aprez-vous.”
They walked in tittering, but gasped once fully inside. This was not the Room
of Requirement from their DA days last year during Umbridge’s regime. On their
right, a handsome, roaring fire basked the room with the perfect amount of
golden light. Directly across the fireplace to their left was a bed that
probably would have served Hagrid and Madam Maxime comfortably. Huge plush
pillows with metallic satin pillowcases glinted in the firelight. Red rose
petals were sprinkled on the satin duvet. A three-tiered, crystal chandelier
hung above them in the middle of the room casting twinkling, diamond-shaped
lights all over the room.
“Blimey,” whispered Seamus spinning around slowly for a panoramic view.
Dean stumbled over to the closest edge of the bed picking up a handful of red
petals.
“Did you tell it to add these?”
“No! I- of course- why- No!” Seamus sputtered as if in disgust, but Dean’s
shoulders shook quietly as he bounced on the bed playfully.
Dean looked over at the end table and cursed softly. It was stocked with boxes
of tissues, bottles of different flavored lube, scented and unscented lotions,
and a fishbowl of colorful condom packets. Seamus walked over and ran his hand
through the bowl holding a handful condoms, letting it fall back in the bowl as
if they were oversized molecules of water.
“Well fuck me,” he said a hushed tone of awe.
“I’ll do my best,” Dean quipped shyly.
He looked at Seamus and something hitched in this throat as he finally realised
how nervous he was. His hands seized fistfulls of the duvet; he had no other
idea how to stop them from trembling. In the low light, there was a violent
blush that stretched from the tips of Seamus’ ears to his collarbone. Dean
could see he was just as nervous as himself. He let out a shaky laugh, but it
sounded more like a whimper, and Seamus launched himself at him without
warning.
 It was playful at first: the wrestling and tugging off clothes. Seamus pinned
Dean’s muscular legs to the bed after yanking down his boxers. Then seconds
later, Dean straddled him as he tossed off Seamus’ t-shirt and flung it to the
far side of the bed. They wrestled naked, at one point flopping to all four
corners of the bed feeling as if they conquered some new territory. But then in
a moment of bashfulness, Dean rested on his side facing Seamus as he tried to
catch his breath.
“So...what do you like?” Seamus asked eagerly. His fingers arpeggioed up and
down Dean’s hip to his sparsely hairy thigh.
"Don’t know,” Dean admitted bravely.
If he was really honest, simply getting back on speaking terms with Seamus and
sharing that short kiss (before being rudely interrupted by Peeves) was Dean’s
singular objective since the summer. But now, naked in bed, with condoms and
lube all around, and at least three solid hours before they had to sneak back
into their dorm before the entire castle woke up— Dean felt like a fraud. For
all that talk he’d done earlier, here he was overwhelmed.
Seamus on the other hand had no less than six separate scenarios ready to go,
but decided to play it safe and slow given Dean’s hesitation. The last thing he
wanted to do was send Dean running from the room thinking he was some
degenerate. He was sure that wouldn’t happen, but he couldn’t be too sure.
“What if we just...“
Seamus scooched closer until they were nose-to-nose. Dean gave up all cognitive
thought, half-hard, he leaned forward and kissed Seamus firmly, who kissed him
back enthusiastically making up for lost time. Dean’s lips parted slightly to
catch his breath, but Seamus took it as an invitation to thrust his tongue in.
It was a bit of a clumsy awkward effort, but neither wanted to stop. They soon
found their rhythm. Hands were reaching, grabbing, clutching thighs, arms, and
butts; Dean slid his thigh in between Seamus’ legs eliciting a moan. But when
Seamus reached for Dean’s dick, Dean broke away from the kiss with a loud “Oh!”
and squeezed his eyes shut so tight, bright red lights burst behind his
eyelids. He felt rather than heard Seamus chuckled into his long neck, and then
he shivered from the licks and playful nips on his jaw down to his shoulder.
Dean bit his bottom lip, breathing faster and blinked his eyes open to return
the favor. His brain was in hyperdrive, slowing down everything— he saw his
hand slide down Seamus’ stomach, tickled by the light brown happy trail he had
only glimpsed briefly just the past summer, past the thick tuft of brown hair
to wrap his long fingers around Seamus hard dick. He held it with a wide-mouth
grin. It always struck him as he jerked off alone how odd that dicks could be
so hard, yet the flesh so squishy and warm—
“Oi! This isn’t Masterpiece Theatre, y’know! You gonna lie here looking at it
all night?” Seamus gasped frustrated.
“What? I can’t admire it?” Dean asked in husky voice.
He bit his lip again smiling in bliss until Seamus stopped and let his cock
bounce against his thigh. Dean pouted and made an indistinct noise of protest,
but Seamus shushed him as he reached for one of the mini containers of lube. He
squirted a blob about the size of a Galleon into his palm and held the tube in
the air for Dean to hold out his hand.
“Don’t look at me like that. This’ll make it feel better.” Seamus said watching
the gel ooze into Dean’s hands.
“It already felt great,” Dean said rubbing his hands together looking at Seamus
out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah?” Seamus grinned, pleased with himself. “This’ll feel amazin.”
And he smushed his body against Dean, ready to resume action, but Dean sniffed
his palms positively delighted.
“Seamus, this smells like strawberries. Like, wild strawberries! My Aunt
Murray’s got a-ah...“
Seamus kissed him and grabbed him forcefully.
“I’ll pick you a barrel of strawberries next summer, but can’t you, er…?” he
said biting Dean’s ear roughly, thinking it absurd for Dean to get sidetracked
at a time like this.
Dean hummed an apology as he eagerly reached for Seamus’ dick and was surprised
to find that the other boy was right. The sensation was incredible. They
resumed in tandem with a renewed sense of fervor. Dean barely had two brain
cells to spare for any other coherent thoughts as a fireball of energy was
rumbling in his stomach.
He couldn’t believe it! They were finally doing it.
And it would have been incredible to finish if it weren’t for the blast that
shook the room.
“What the—?” Seamus said still jerking Dean, but with his head cocked towards
the door.
The chandelier rocked violently tinkling in alarm as shards fell to the floor.
The bottles, tubes, and boxes tumbled off the nightstand and the fire flickered
ominously.
Dean disentangled himself from Seamus and sat up.
“Shit! I think someone’s trying to get in! Listen!” he whispered also turning
his ear towards the door.
Sure enough, there was a garbled human voice outside the room. Quicker than
struck lightning, Dean and Seamus leaped out of bed, just as another blast to
the door rocked the foundation of the room.
“Who the bloody hell is up this late?” Seamus swore as he hopped on one foot
trying to pull up his jeans sans underwear. “Accio shirt!”
Dean already pulled his shirt over his head with his jeans still unzipped, and
was simultaneously plunging his barefeet into his trainers— socks and boxers be
damned.
Dressed haphazardly with their wands gripped tight, they both edged toward the
door hesitant.
“How do we get out?” Seamus whispered.
Dean shrugged just as perplexed. Whoever was behind the door would surely see
them as they ran out. The room shook again, leaving a splintered crack
zigzagging down the door.
“Just... hex the shit out of ‘em. Ready?” said Dean grasping the door handle,
but keeping his eyes locked on Seamus. Seamus flopped his arms in the air
feeling thoroughly cheated out a perfectly good night.
Dean yanked the door open and they tumbled headfirst into—
“Malfoy!” Seamus screeched in disgust as he got to his feet first.
Malfoy looked up between the two of them smirking. “Did you enjoy your monkey
sex, you fa—”
The slur got stuck in his throat: Dean silenced him non-verbally. Malfoy
clutched at his throat. His gray eyes wide open in panic, but he and Seamus
caught on quick.
“Petrificus Totalus!” Seamus hollered caring less about casting non-verbally
just now.
His voice echoed down the drafty, dark corridor. A cat’s meow answered in
return.
Mrs. Norris.
“Who’s there? Do you see them my sweet?” Filch called out in the distance.
A faint halo of light grew brighter and brighter as Seamus and Dean gawked at
one another in silent horror. Malfoy remained frozen on the stone floor. Mrs.
Norris, the wretched tabby and Filch’s faithful sidekick, meowed again at the
end of the corridor pacing back and forth as she waited for Filch to catch up.
They didn’t have to think. They dashed off down the opposite end of the
corridor at high speed. Seamus knocked his wand against the air and light
beamed brightly from it as he seized the hem of Dean’s shirt dragging him
behind a tapestry that was a well-known shortcut. They made it to the painting
of the Fat Lady, who woke up with a start, in less than twelve minutes.
Seamus bent over clutching a sitch in his side. Dean, conditioned after summers
of football drills, merely shivered from the cooling sweat all over his body.
He gave the password with a bite of impatience. The Fat Lady, never one to hold
her tongue at any hour of the day, bristled in her seat not bothering to keep
her voice down.
“And just what were you two doing at this time of night?”
“Not what,” heaved Seamus, “but who.” He hitched his thumb in Dean’s direction
and winked.
The Fat Lady gasped dramatically, thoroughly scandalised. Her thick fingers
clutched at the frilly lace of her pink bosom with her jaw unhinged. A familiar
and unwanted cackle echoed in the distance.
“Oh come on! Widdershins!” Dean hissed.
As if it pained her to look at them, The Fat Lady draped her arm over her
heavily made-up eyes as the door to the Gryffindor common room swung open.
***** Karma and Hindsight are a Bitch *****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                                 CHAPTER SEVEN
                        Karma and Hindsight are a Bitch
 
            “You’re dead. You and your filthy mudblood boyfriend,” Malfoy spat,
shoving Seamus into Neville.
            A small group of Slytherins and Gryffindors attempted to enter the
doors of the Great Hall for breakfast. Dean clamped down on Seamus’ wand arm
with a vice-like grip.
            “Don’t you dare call him that!” Seamus shouted with zero regard for
bystanders watching curiously.
            “ ‘S alright Seamus,” Dean said in an unusually calm voice. “See,
I’d rather be a mudblood than the son of some scum Death Eater. Hey Malfoy,
think the dementors sucked all the happy memories of you from your dad yet? Oh
wait- you wouldn’t count. Nothin’ but a cowardly disappointment, aren’t you?”
He sneered victorious at Malfoy’s sickening pallor.
            Pansy gasped, but Ron whooped in laughter. Malfoy choked on the air
as if he swallowed a goblet of bubotuber pus. He whipped out his wand and—
            “Mr. Malfoy! Good morning,” said Professor Sinistra, the tall
light-skinned Astronomy witch. Her spangled navy blue pointy hat sat low on her
shaven head.
            Malfoy breathed as if he was trying to keep out some foul noxious
gas and sneered at her. His wand hand trembled with fury as Dean and Seamus
slinked away from the commotion snickering.
            “Uh yes, Professor?” he said in the same insolent tone reserved for
addressing Hagrid.
            “Mr. Malfoy, might I remind you that you have already lost your
house thirty points for being caught out of bed at three o’clock this morning
as well as securing a detention with me. Surely, you’re not so foolish to duel
right here?” she said in a crisp, loud voice of exasperation.
            Malfoy twitched, forcing out a smile and feigning politeness as he
smoothed back his bright blond hair. “Of course not, Professor.” He stashed
away his wand; his blood-shot grey eyes stalked Seamus and Dean as he stormed
off leaving Pansy to scurry after him.
            Professor Sinistra turned to the bystanders, notably among them
Ron, Harry, and Hermione, who all stood around shamelessly eavesdropping.
            “Yes?” she asked briskly spreading her arms out.
            As if jolted by an electric shock, they all scattered way to their
tables.
            “Bloody hell, what on earth was Malfoy doing at three this
morning?” Ron grinned, showering his plate of fried eggs and sausages with
ketchup.
            “Obviously nothing good,” Hermione said scooping a large spoonful
of porridge into her mouth.
            “But don’t you see? This means Malfoy’s definitely—”
            “Give it a rest Harry,” Ron and Hermione chorused.
            Significantly calmer, Seamus glanced at Dean who shook his head
smiling.
            “Go ahead. I know you’re dying to share,” said Dean pouring them
glasses of orange juice.
            Parvati, curling her eyelashes with her wand by the reflection of
her spoon, looked up and over. Lavender’s ears pricked up eagerly as well.
Seamus leaned forward and with indecent relish, launched into a hushed tale of
their encounter with Malfoy only hours before.
            “Brilliant!” Ron cheered loudly earning him glares from the staff
table.
            “And you’re sure he was trying to get into the Room of
Requirement?” asked Harry stabbing distractedly at his fried tomatoes.
            “Yup,” said Dean. “We practically fell into him as soon as we
opened the door.” Seamus wiggled a plate of strawberries at him and Dean almost
choked on his juice smiling.
            “But what were you two doing in the Room of Requirement?” asked
Neville dribbling porridge down his robe.
            “Shh!” hissed Seamus whipping his head around afraid of being
incriminated.
            Parvati sighed. “Oh Neville,” she said with the air of patience one
reserved for a conversation with a toddler. She batted her eyelashes at
Lavender shaking her head in pity as the two of them burst into a fit of
giggles.
            Nevilled wiped his robe. Undeterred by the laughter, he explained:
“It’s just that if someone’s already in the room, then no one else can get in.
Not unless they know what you’re using the room for,” he said softly.
            “So, how is it at that time of night?” Lavender asked Seamus coyly,
almost leaning across Neville to do so.
            “Cozy,” Dean answered hurriedly not trusting Seamus to not be lewd.
            “Good to know,” said Lavender directing her lustful gaze at Ron who
was demolishing a second helping of breakfast.
            He almost missed it, but Seamus caught Parvati’s forlorn glance at
Lavender, recognising the look of longing in her eyes.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Ever since their sabotaged effort to be alone in the Room of Requirement, Dean
and Seamus struggled to find time in between classes, club meetings, meals, and
actual studying to meet again secretly.
“You’d think,” Seamus said scowling at Neville and Ron, “Seeing as we’re bloody
dorm mates this would be easy. But nah, we got these two jokers poppin’ in at
all hours of the bleedin’ day!”’
He and Dean huddled in a corner of the common room pouring over their Herbology
text.
It was true. They’d given up their own dorm as a bad job with Neville and Ron’s
impeccable timing of walking in on them mid-snog. Dean absolutely refused to do
anything in the shower after nearly breaking his neck on the slippery, soapy
bathroom floor. They didn’t trust being alone in an empty classroom, not after
the Peeves incident. And to their utmost surprise, even in the most random of
nooks and crannies the castle had to offer, they were harassed by suits of
armour that wolf-whistled and delivered lewd commentary about their “technique”
or lonely portrait subjects offering up unsolicited advice regarding their
“affair".
It was no surprise then, after the first Hogsmeade visit was announced, they
ardently agreed to remain behind. It was scheduled for the second weekend in
October and they gambled no one would skip the first Hogsmeade visit: it was a
welcome reprieve for the already overworked, stressed upper level students. In
the week leading up to the visit, the tension between them was palpable.
They took turns sneaking furtive glances at each other across tables during
meal times or in class. The slightest brush of skin, if Dean reached across
Seamus or as he turned the pages of his book, could set Seamus’ cheeks ablaze.
Dean had taken to clearing his throat every time Seamus pressed his thigh
against his in Transfiguration; as a result, McGonagall offered him a lozenge
out of genuine concern.
On Friday afternoon, they sat restlessly before Snape’s baleful gaze. He paced
around the class explaining the various defensive protection shields. They
already knew how to deflect minor hexes and jinxes; now Snape was putting
through the paces of learning advanced, strenuous methods to design shields of
greater dimensions which would allow the caster to project the edges of their
spell beyond their body and even around large architectural structures.
“Our castle is protected by various spells requiring immense, powerful forces
of energy and talent. But, I see no reason why you should be unable to build
the most rudimentary of shield wards.”
Seamus’ eyes drifted from Snape’s sallow face to the back of Dean’s head.
Neville, continuing his discussion from Transfiguration, absent-mindedly sat
down next to Dean, taking what would have been his seat. But Seamus found that
he didn’t care. They didn’t need to spend every waking moment together and he
shrugged off any objections when Dean smiled apologetically as they took their
seats. Besides, putting distance between them allowed Seamus a wider view to
enjoy. He studied Dean’s broad shoulders hunched as he frantically took notes
of Snape’s lecture (which he would copy later) and smiled as he noted the tiny
curls of Dean’s small afro growing thicker by the day. Seamus contemplated the
next morning, envisioning them in bed taking one of many brief breaks and
teasing out each curl on Dean’s head with his fingers...
“Unless, of course Finnigan has derived the root spell form from the back of
Dean Thomas’ skull. Tell us Finnigan,” Snape paused at the front of the room
with a malicious smirk, “What is Morgana’s third theorem of root spell
definitions?”
Hermione’s hand shot up out of habit, but it didn’t stop Seamus’ mind from
going blank as the class slowly revolved to look at him. Dean winked and gave a
supportive, but imperceptible nod and that’s when the answer came to him. They
had just studied this two nights prior in the library. Naturally he’d been
distracted with Dean’s hand cupping his balls under the table, but Seamus could
recall just enough to get Snape off his back.
“Any day now,” Snape snapped impatiently.
Confident, Seamus opened his mouth to speak but his hands flew to his face in
pain. Dean squinted at him: Something was off about Seamus who looked like he
wanted to spit something out, but couldn’t open his mouth. Dean’s eyes scanned
the room. Of course. Pany Parkinson’s wand made tiny waves under her desk as
her wide, watery grey eyes were locked on Seamus.
Dean snatched his wand out of his satchel, aimed, and yelled furiously,
“Expelliarmus!”
Neville ducked, but he needn’t have. Dean’s aim was spot on. Snape flew forward
catching Pansy’s wand as it arched through the air.
“Fifty points from Gryffindor, Thomas,” he said in dangerously calm tone. “Dear
me, doesn’t Gryffindor only have a hundred points or so?”
“One hundred and ten!” said Blaise Zabini enthusiastically as he elbowed Pansy
with a smirk.
The Gryffindors groaned as the Slytherins tittered, smiling appreciatively at
Snape. Pansy leered at Dean mouthing ‘Oh no’ as she placed a hand near her
gaping mouth in mock concern.
“But sir! She was casting a jinx on Seamus,” said Dean with a long arm
stretched out in Seamus’ direction.
“Aye, she was Professor. I meant to answer, but couldn’t speak,” Seamus croaked
as he massaged his jaw.
“A likely tale,” Snape sneered.
“Professor, you have her wand. Surely you can tell if she did it or not,” Dean
shouted outraged by Snape’s blatant display of bias.
Snape’s black eyes flashed with scorn. He swooped down on Dean, towering over
him only just as Dean sat up straighter gripping his wand.
“Put. Your. Wand. Away,” Snape growled as specks of spit landed on Dean, “Or it
will be another fifty points and a month of detention for your cheek. Surely,
you know I could do it.”
Snape leaned in Dean’s face. As his eyes bore into Dean’s narrowed brown eyes,
Dean imagined wildly that Snape could read his mind and he specifically thought
of nothing but every swear word combination, imagining himself giving Snape the
finger and worse, before finally dropping his gaze. He stowed away his wand and
blinked hard as he took several deep breaths to calm down. It was a technique
his mother’s sister, Aunt Murray, taught him to help him control his temper
(and magical outbursts) when he was younger. Snape continued to look at him for
a moment longer, but Dean focused on the incantations projected on the screen
at the front of the class. Almost disappointed, Snape whirled away tossing
Pansy’s wand in her direction as he returned to the front of the room.
“Glad to see you’re not all mindless, wand-waving, baboons. Like Potter,” said
Snape carelessly looking pointedly now at Harry with a look of deepest
loathing. “But, the next time I see a single wand in the air after I have
explicitly stated ‘wands away’, there will be... consequences.”
Dean was so distracted by his anger at the injustice of it all, that when it
was his turn to demonstrate the Schildoer Ordinem spell (a dome-shaped, shield
barrier) to protect his slug, it erupted into flames screeching in pain as
Snape’s Incendio easily decimated his enchanted construction.
The next morning at breakfast (the morning of the long-anticipated Hogsmeade
visit) Seamus nudged him with his knee. Dean had sulked all night refusing to
talk to anyone. Seamus had kept his distance all evening, but he really didn’t
want Snape’s typical tyrannical behaviour from the evening before to upset
their day.
“Oi, we still on or what?” Seamus said taking a bite of his bacon sandwich.
Dean looked over frowning: “Course. Why wouldn’t we be?”
Seamus tilted his head and raised his eyebrows at Dean as he chewed.
Dean rolled his shoulders back and sighed. “Snape’s a right-foul git, but I’m
not letting that greasy-haired wanker put me off. If that’s what you mean.”
“Egckthlenn!” Seamus exclaimed with his mouth still full. He slammed his
knapsack on the table and proceeded to load it with apples, bananas, muffins,
and anything else that could be wrapped up and taken to their room.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked.
“Provisions. For later,” Seamus replied swallowing finally. “Trust me, you’ll
be glad I did,” he winked as he continued to squirrel away food.
Lavender scrunched her face at his behavior. “But you’re coming to Hogsmeade?
Aren’t you getting something from Zonko’s? Do you think they’ll have any
daydream quills, like the ones from the Weasley’s shop?”
Dean and Seamus exchanged the briefest of glances. They had told no one of
their plans obviously.
“Er, maybe,” Dean said noncommittally.
“Parvati, Padma and some of her mates are heading to the Three Broomsticks. You
two think you’ll make it or, are you lovebirds cozying it up at Madam
Puddifoots?” she chuckled.
They looked at her aghast making retching noises.
“I’d rather kiss a Banshee,” Seamus said greatly disturbed.
“Not enough Galleons in the world to get me in there,” said Dean at the same
time shaking his head.
“So, we’ll see you around then?” Lavender said getting up.
Dean and Seamus shrugged grumbling false noises of affirmation and wondered why
she cared as much.
“Do you- do you think Ron’ll be there?” Lavender said sheepishly, fearing that
she had given herself away.
“His arse had better be,” Seamus growled.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
            From the common room tower window they spied the tail end of the
procession of bundled students queued up to exit the castle as Filch performed
the necessary security checks before clearing them to go. With the icy sleet
raining down, Seamus was even more pleased to remain behind in the relative
warmth of the castle. The common room was crowded with all of the younger
students (third years and below) not permitted to visit and the few older
students who opted out of travelling in the icy rain.
            Seamus and Dean casually made their way back upstairs, hoping to go
unnoticed, but Dean’s notoriety as the ‘Smut Book’ author still cast a red-hot
spotlight on him (and Seamus). A trio of first years playing wizard’s chess
elbowed each other, locked eyes with Dean, and then cracked up into a
blithering mess of giggles.
            He was still chuckling to himself when they entered the blessed
empty dorm room at last. He took off his Hogwarts robe, tossed it on his bed,
and kicked off his trainers. Seamus walked to the other side of the room to his
four-poster bed and dropped his knapsack of provisions on the floor.
            “Bet you wish you weren’t all the way over there now, huh?” said
Dean unbuttoning his jeans.
            “Oh shut it. I was mad from—”, Dean’s smile faltered a bit, “—the
summer, and the train ride when I saw you two. You and Ginny all toasty
together when I went to the loo,” Seamus plopped on his bed momentarily lost in
in angrier memories as he kicked off his trainers.
            “I know,” said Dean leaning against one of the columns of his bed.
            “But what are we on that for? Come ’ere. Wanna show you something,”
Seamus said shaking his head out of the past. He reached into the drawer of his
side table and held up a large brown paper bag, jiggling it loudly.
            “Am I about to find out why you were late for Transfiguration
yesterday?” Dean asked warily as he padded over barefoot.
            “Maybe.”
            Seamus’ eyebrows hopped up and down as he danced a ridiculous jig
in excitement. Inside the bag was a small stash of condoms, lotion bottles and
lube.
            “Are you mad? You went back there?” Dean’s eyes were wide with
horror, but he was also mad at himself for being impressed.
            “O’ course I did! If they’re giving it away for free, who are we
not to take advantage of it, eh?”
            He dumped the entire contents of the bed and fished out a small
white tube with bright red text wrapped around it.
            “I believe this is your favorite flavor, monsieur?” Seamus said in
a clipped posh tone.
            Dean snatched it out of his hand grinning.
            “You’re ridiculous, y’know that? Anyway, I have a little surprise
for you too.”  He shoved Seamus on the bed. “Stay there. Don’t move.”
            Seamus too turned on to argue, remained on his back with his legs
sprawled open. Dean stepped back, pointed his wand at the curtains and shouted,
“Claustruma!” The curtains snapped together forming a rigid red enclosure
around the bed.
            “Seamus?” Dean called.
            There was no response.
            “Can you hear me? Hello?”
            He flicked his wand thinking ‘Finite Incantatem’. The curtains fell
apart from each other as Seamus’ panicked voice continued shouting from the
bed.
            “—Said I can hear you!”
            He nearly ripped the curtains down getting off the bed.
            “The bloody hell was that?” he shouted.
            Dean stood before Seamus calmly amused.
            “That will be the secret to our success. Creates a noise shield.
There’s more sophisticated silencing charms Flitwick’s showed us in the Charms
club, but this one only let’s you hear people outside of the spell. See, you
could hear me, yeah? But guess what? I couldn’t hear you at all!” he explained
breaking into a toothy grin.
            “That’s fucking brilliant!” said Seamus fascinated, “But what
happened to the curtains? I tried to pull them open—”
            “—It’s part of the spell. Seals tight any material you focus on.
Flitwick says, if I work hard enough I could do it to air or even water.”
            Seamus let out a whistle. “You’re bloody brilliant, you are.”
            He got up and kissed Dean proudly. Then, walking backwards, he
climbed on the bed, kneeling into the condoms and bottles on his bed as he
pulled his shirt over head. Dean followed, his whole body tingling. Seamus held
up his wand.
            “Shall I do the honours?” he asked pointing at the curtains.
            “Be my guest,” said Dean kicking off his jeans. “It’s ‘Claustruma’.
Focus on creating a sealed space.”
            Seamus squinted at the curtains, uttered the incantation, and
tossed his wand on the pillow. Dean pulled him close as he inhaled the wafting
scent of field-picked strawberries.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            They lay side-by-side cramped in Seamus’ bed, catching their
breath.
            He shivered as his sweaty body registered the chill in the air.
Seamus flipped on his side and flung his limbs across Dean’s legs and stomach.
In response, Dean spread an arm wide to allow Seamus’ head to nestle in the
crook of his neck, using his shoulder as a pillow.
            Dean felt as if he was being re-introduced to a new body and a
whole new person. His toes, his nose, his fingers, his nipples, his knees...
were different. He didn’t have words to describe the tingly spark coursing
through his body and circling his brain. The closest thing he could think of
was casting a spell for the first time with his wand and being aware of the
paradoxical sensation of something alien, yet innate and familiar in his body
coming alive, making its presence known.
            He looked down at Seamus, who he could tell was awake, but resting
comfortably in silence. He smiled as small tufts of Seamus’ breath tickled his
hairless chest.
            “Seamus,” he whispered hoarsely.
            “Hmm?”
            “You think we should get up at some point?”
            “Mmm-mm.”
            “Is that a yes?”
            “No.”
            “So, you don’t think we should get up?”
            “I think, you should shut up and let me enjoy this moment.”
            A deep rumble of laughter shook Dean and Seamus join in
reluctantly. He finally lifted his head of Dean’s shoulder, his loosely curled
hair sticking up in three directions. Dean, as much as he would never admit it
aloud, thought Seamus’ bed hair was the cutest thing ever and ruffled up his
curls even more.
            “This was nice, y’know. Really. Really... nice,” Seamus said
stretching cat-like.
            Dean poked at the raised purplish mark he left on the back on
Seamus’ arm.
            “What kind of maniac leaves a lovebite on someone’s arm?” Seamus
said snatching his arm away, sitting up.
            “The kind who tries not to leave marks other people can see you
dope.”
            Seamus grinned flinching away from Dean who tried to pinch him, as
he fell back against the bed. He ran his thumb over the darkening mark high up
on Dean’s neck who wasn’t so dark that marks, bruises, or bitemarks would go
unseen.
             “Whoops,” Seamus said still grinning.
              “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”
             Dean held his gaze and then held up a hand with his fingers spread
apart. A quizzical expression passed over Seamus’ face, but then he smiled and
grasped Dean’s hand locking their fingers together.
              “Thanks,” Dean said solemnly.
              “For what?”
              “For not writing me off. Completely, I mean,” he said simply,
lowering their hands to his stomach.
               “Oi, you goin’ soft on me now, eh Thomas?”
               “Only after you’re done sucking me off,” Dean quipped, surprised
by his own wit.
              Seamus’ mouth flopped open with a small pop and leaped up
reaching for his pillow. “You cheeky bastard,” he cried turning red all over
again as he bashed Dean in the face.
            “Don’t act like you don’t like it!”
            They wrestled, laughing loudly, until they were puffing heavily
again.
            “I knew you’d come around though,” said Seamus falling against the
pillow.
            “Oh, did you now?”
            “Yeah. ‘S not like I wasn’t above using a love potion if it came
down to it,” Seamus said kneading Dean’s calf muscle with his toes.
            “Rubbish!”
            “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mr. Thomas.”
             “If you were so keen to use a love potion, why’d you take so long
to talk to me then?”
             “Were you or weren’t you still parading around with Ms. Weasley? I
wasn’t gonna turn in that easily. Had to make sure you weren’t trying to have
your cake and eat it too.”
              Dean frowned slightly at Seamus’ light scolding.
              “Fair enough,” he whispered and leaned over to kiss Seamus’ firm
stomach, resting his chin there lightly.“Good thing I came around when I did,
hmm?”
               And he resumed kissing Seamus’ warm pink stomach moving further
down until Seamus whispered a breathless, “Yes.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
            For days afterwards, Dean and Seamus endured taunts from Lavender
and Parvati for being no-shows during the Hogsmeade visit.
            The four of them were seated in the common room with their books,
rolls of parchments, ink wells, and spare quills scattered all over their
table. Lavender rolled up the sleeves of her tightly-filled cream sweater,
flipped through their Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, and elbowed
Seamus.
            “You missed a sumptuous cup of hot chocolate at Madam Puddifoot’s.
Cho said there was even a two-for-one sale.”
            “Had me own hot chocolate. In bed.” Seamus winked leaning back on
the two rear legs of his chair. “Kept me warm just right.”
            Lavender and Seamus made it their secret missing to outwit each
other with terrible puns, double entendres, and cheesy euphemisms. Dean and
Parvati sighed wondering what they had done in their past lives to suffer in
silence with their juvenile behaviour. Initially, Parvati had joined in to
tease Dean and Seamus, but slowly she took a backseat, becoming a spectator.
She was surprised to learn Dean was just as annoyed as she was.
            Lavender opened her mouth to deliver some ridiculous retort about
hot chocolate, when Parvati threw her hands up in the air jingling the eight
gold bangles on her wrist.
            “Enough! Can’t you two give it a rest?”
            She stood up abruptly, slamming her books into a stack, and
stuffing everything into her bag.
            “Parvati,” said Dean taken back.
            “Is this whole damn school obsessed with sex?” she yelled.
            “Probably,” said Seamus tactlessly.
            “Seamus!” Lavender hissed lashing at him with her quill before
standing up. “We’re just joking around,” she said putting a hand on Parvati’s
shoulder. “I told you if you wanted to me set you up with that cute boy—”
            Parvati slapped Lavender’s hand away.
            “Oh shut up!”
            She snatched her bag off the table and stormed out of the portrait
hole. Lavender’s hand was still frozen in the air, her mouth agape in shock.
She sat back down slowly peering around the room (at Ron in particular) in
embarrassment. Dean and Seamus stared at her equally dumbstruck. Lavender
regained her composure by smoothing over her freshly tweezed eyebrows and
letting out a long puff of air.
            “Wow. Guess she’s still upset with Padma ditching us for her
boyfriend. Can you believe it?”
            “Wait, what?” said Dean scrunching his face up in confusion.
            “I knew for sure she was like...“ Seamus wagged his thumb between
himself and Dean.
            “Right!” gushed Lavender, her round eyes bulging wider. “Anyway,
he’s one of the Ravenclaw chasers, Remier? Renoir?”
            “Remington,” said Dean through gritted teeth.
            “Whatever,” she said waving him quiet. “Apparently, Padma offered
to “tutor” him in Arithmancy and he’s... been showing her the proper way to sit
on his broom!”
            She and Seamus fell forward and snorted through their nose with
laughter. Dean’s grin slid off his face as he spotted Lavender’s (innocent?)
hand on Seamus’ thigh. He twitched with a tinge of jealousy. He knew it was
ridiculous, but he simply couldn’t help it.
            That evening, Parvati got her answer hours later, as news of Katie
Bell’s attack, cursed during the Hogsmeade Visit, fully circulated within the
castle. Wild, improbable theories about the curse and possible suspects were
all anyone discussed for days later.
                                        
                      *                                 
               *                                              *
          
            Halloween dinner was decorated splendidly as ever with live bats
and chattering carved pumpkins. The ghosts were on top form performing solemn,
gruesome requiems with the Glee club, but a dark mood had settled among the
students. Three days earlier, Pansy Parkinson was sent to the hospital wing
after a suspicious encounter with a boggart. Peeves relayed the entire episode
to Snape, McGonagall, and the Bloody Baron (the Slytherin house ghost). Rumour
was she tried to persuade Peeves to lead the boggart near the Gryffindor’s
common room to attack unsuspecting students. But Peeves, owing no loyalty to
any student or house, responded by locking her in the cupboard with the
boggart, cackling away in glee.
            Filch was the first to find her screaming and sobbing convulsively.
Since he was a squib and could do no more to the boggart then he could do to
Peeves, he fainted from the sight of his own worst nightmare. Snape and
McGonagall raced down the corridor, vanquished the boggart, and escorted Pansy
and Filch to the hospital wing, where they both received slabs of Honeyduke’s
medicinal-strength chocolate. But Pansy, so incapacitated by fear, remained
there for three days.
            “I wonder what she’s so afraid of,” Parvati said as she blew on her
spoonful of tomato soup.
            “Don’t you go feelin’ sorry for her! She deserved what she got!”
said Seamus hotly, snapping a chocolate frog in half.
            Neville sat across from them eating a brownie sundae. “I wonder who
she was trying to set it on? We know how to deal with a boggart, but can you
imagine if it was a first year? Terrible,” he said shaking his head.
            Dean and Seamus kept mum on the rest of the conversation, with a
sure hunch that Pansy had targeted them. Ever since she was forced to serve
detention (as well as Malfoy) on account of them, they had secretly waged a
private war of hexes and jinxes. Seamus retaliated against her in
Transfiguration (after the Langlock incident in Snape’s class) and she sprouted
an incredible set of antlers. Pansy hexed Seamus with the Tarantella Spell as
they passed on separate staircases; with his jerking, spasming legs he nearly
tipped over one of the moving stairs before Dean grabbed him and Parvati set
the counterspell. Livid that Seamus could have died if he fell off the moving
staircases, Dean had retaliated by jinxing her feet to the muddy ground on a
rainy afternoon as they passed each other near the greenhouses. She was coated
in mud up to her thighs from sinking uncontrollably into the earth. So it was
no real surprise that she had escalated to something involving a dark magic
creature and neither of them felt a sliver of sympathy.
***** Imago Animatus *****
                                        
                                        
                                 CHAPTER EIGHT
                                Imago Animatus
 
            November started on a morbid note.
            Madam Pomfrey stepped into the greenhouse during their Herbology
lesson. Her pastel green robes were dry even though icy sheets of rain slashed
against the windows. Professor Sprout just completed an unusual circuit around
the classroom, dousing students with small streams of water. Their assignment
consisted of using a fire charm, (learned only days before) to prune the
branches of the Cryptic Crataegus, which would only yield to the cranky purple,
magical flames that students were currently sustaining burns from. When she saw
Pomfrey wave her over urgently, Professor Sprout hurriedly walked to the front
of the class and the two frantically whispered beneath Sprout silver flyaway
curls.
            Most students were too busy struggling to control the spurts of
purple flames that stubbornly refused to burn in the direction they needed it
to go. In order to get the flames to comply, it required a solemn, dirgeful
incantation to be sung, but most of the students were either to impatient to
sing in a lamenting voice or simply embarrassed to sing aloud at all. Seamus
took the momentary distraction of Pomfrey’s entrance to catch his breath.
            “Ms. Abbott, please come with me dear,” said Madam Pomfrey, her
voice sharply ringing throughout the greenhouse. If she thought she would go
unnoticed amidst the chanting voices and sporadic eruptions of fire, she was
wrong. Several heads looked up at Madam Pomfrey and then turned to the middle
of the room. Hannah Abbott slid off her stool blushing slightly at having been
singled out.
            “Please take all of your things with you, love,” said Professor
Sprout gently.
            Now Hannah looked alarmed by Sprout’s unconvincing calm smile. She
was used to Sprout’s gruff manner as Head of the Hufflepuff house. Hannah’s
long, reddish-brown pigtails flopped behind her as she scurried out of the room
with her bag and dragonhide gloves.
            Seamus exchanged a ‘What’s that all about?’ glance with Dean, but
he shrugged and the two of them resumed their chorus of incantation over their
flames. Others were not so studious; Hannah’s desk partners and fellow
Hufflepuffs Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan hunched over their pot in a
worrisome conversation.
            “I want all of you to concentrate please,” Sprout shouted, clapping
her hands twice. “There’s only thirty-five minutes rem—”
            “NO!”
            The wind carried Hannah’s wild sobs back in their direction.
            “Stay here! Back to work. All of you!” yelled Professor Sprout as
she dashed out of the door.
            Before the door closed shut, the entire classroom shot over to the
windows, which were mostly blocked with vines and foliage on the inside, and
sheets of slanted rain pounding on the outside.
            “Impervius,” said Hermione stabbing at the windows with her wand.
            The leaves and plants, even the Venomous Tentacula, bowed beneath
the window sills and the rain flew in the opposite direction. Seamus climbed on
his stool for a better view and others followed suit.
            Hannah’s cries stopped as Madam Pomfrey caught her just as she
fainted. Professor Sprout conjured a stretcher and the two quickly escorted
Hannah’s levitated body to the castle doors.
            “Look out!” Justin Finch-Fletchley shouted, dashing back to his
plant station next to Neville.
            The rest of the class scurried back; Hermione flicked the
counterspell at the windows as she hopped back on her stool. The plants had
barely resettled against the windows, when Professor Sprout, drenched and
pointy hat askew, walked in out of breath. She waved her wand over body drying
instantly.
            “Since you all are making such fantastic progress,” she huffed, not
fooled one iota by their feigned diligence, “I expect a detailed anatomical
sketch and—” they groaned miserably, “—and eighteen inches explaining the
various usages of the Cryptic Crataegus by the next class. Detention to all who
dare return empty-handed.”
            Mutinous mutterings and sighs of exhaustion continued as they
packed up once the bell rang. It was a general consensus that the essay was
tacked on to spite them.
                                        
                                        
                                        
            “And just when the hell are we going to have time to write another
essay? Has anyone finished McGonagall’s theory of whatever?” growled Seamus
slamming down his back into the couch seat next to Dean.
            They were drying off in the common room near the windows during
their free period before Charms.
            “At least you two actually got yours to give up a branch and petal!
Look at this pathetic thing,” lamented Lavender holding up a badly charred leaf
with burn holes.
            Parvati gasped holding her diary. She had been pacing in front of
them, her lips moving wordlessly until she stopped and sank to the floor
clutching the book.
            “Ohmygods, Parvati! What?” whispered Lavender.
            Dean stopped digging in his bag for a quill and Seamus’ head lifted
up in alarm like a beagle in a hunt.
            “What happened?” Dean asked sharply.
            Parvati put her finger to her lips and shuffled over on her knees.
Dean and Seamus sat on the edge of the small couch. Lavender moved from her
armchair to the floor next to Parvati who rested on her heels in a stupor.
            “Her mom died. That’s why Hannah collapsed. That’s why Pomfrey
herself came and escorted her out of class,” she said tearfully.
            “What? How do you know?” Seamus whispered aghast.
            Parvati held up her diary. “Padma.”
            She flipped open the book to show Seamus and Dean pages filled with
two sets of handwriting.
            “She was in the hospital wing— you know, she wants to be a healer
like our dad, when they brought Hannah up. She heard them talking...“
            “Yeah, but when did you see Padma?” Dean asked, his eyes
suspiciously narrowed at the book.
            “I didn’t. This is our Glimmer Book. Our cousin Naveen enchanted
one in our first year. It’s how we talk to each other since we’re sorted in
separate houses.” Parvati closed the book and cradled it to her chest.
            “Cool, huh?” said Lavender. “We have one too,” she pointed between
herself and Parvati.
            “But you see each other everyday!” said Seamus uncomprehending.
            “Yeah, but we can’t always talk in front of each other in class,
can we? Surely you two know that by now,” said Lavender with a smug lift of her
eyebrows.
            Seamus blushed annoyed at the reference to Dean’s smut book fiasco.
            “Anyway,” Dean said cutting off that line of thought, “Did they say
how she died? Was it an accident—” he hesitated off their reaction, “—or was
she murdered?”
            His question sobered them up.
            Parvati shrugged morosely and said that she didn’t know, but
pointed it out that news of Mrs. Abbott was bound to be in the Daily Prophet
the next day. Dean volunteered to take out a subscription, so they could stay
abreast of the news. Lavender suggested they get Hannah flowers, but Parvati
shot it down.
            “Why not? It’s for condolences,” asked Seamus.
            “I know, but we can’t. At least not yet,” Parvati lowered her husky
voice even lower, looking around guiltily. “I don’t think we should tell anyone
or say anything unless Hannah says something first. Otherwise, how would we
explain we know?”
            Seamus was about to disagree, but Dean tapped him on the knee and
he decided to heed Parvati.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
           Days later word got out. The Daily Prophet reported the death of
Hannah’s mother as well as several other family members of Hogwarts students.
Not wanting to overwhelm Hannah, Lavender and Seamus collected signatures from
their Herbology classmates on a card Dean made by hand. Professor Sprout was so
touched by their thoughtfulness, she awarded them five points each and allowed
Parvati and Lavender to create a small bouquet out of the flowers from
Greenhouse Six.
            On a blustery Saturday morning before the sun rose, Dean bundled up
and headed to the Owlery to send off an unexpected letter to his mum. It was a
brief, mundane note filled with pleasantries. He could no longer pretend he
wasn’t shaken up by the recent reports of murders and disappearances. He just
wanted to say hello and know that she was safe. He reread it three times in the
common room to make sure the tone was just right, lest she suspect something
awry and send him a bundle of letters like she did his very first term. He
hadn’t written since her last letter— filled with veiled threats and frank
disappointment about him being disciplined at the start of the term for nearly
dueling with Ron.
            Although Christmas break was nearly a month away, he had already
made his decision about where he was spending it. He didn’t expect Seamus to
join him and by the time he met him in the Great Hall for breakfast, Dean had
resolved that he would spend all of break studying defensive magic on his own.
            “Like hell you are! I’m staying here with you then,” Seamus
declared, having none of Dean’s “nonsense”.
            “What about your mum?” Dean asked immensely relieved as they piled
their plates with pancakes, scrambled eggs and sausages.
            “You leave me mam out of this Thomas,” Seamus said affectionately.
“She’ll understand.”
            But Mrs. Finnigan did not understand. She sent an owl every other
day in an effort to change his mind. He crumbled the latest letter unread as
they headed for the library.
            “It’s a shame we can’t send them Howlers. Show them how it feels
sometime,” he grumbled.
            Dean already completed with his Transfiguration essay. He wanted to
browse several spell books for non-academic purposes. Seamus, assuming it was
for the Charms Club, point blank refused to join and accused Dean of being a
kiss-arse. He had barely unpacked his books and writing supplies before Dean
returned to their table with two armfuls of stacked books.
            “Blimey, you trying to read the library before Christmas?” Seamus
said genuinely disturbed by this new studious side of Dean.
            “Shut it,” Dean grinned setting them upon the table carefully. “I’m
looking for new defensive spells.”
            “Defensive spells? For what?” Seamus picked up a dusty volume and
flipped through it with a cursory glance at its yellowed pages.
            “For what?” Dean looked at Seamus in disbelief. “Because You-Know-
Who’s murdering folk left and right, you tossed pot!”
            Seamus tossed the book aside on the glossy desktop.
            “Oi, calm down. I’m only askin’. You sound like he’s about to walk
in here any minute.”
            “That’s the problem! You and everyone else in this school act as if
everything’s rainbows and unicorns. Things are happening to people, Seamus.
Things no one knows about yet because they’re just gone or the Prophet’s afraid
to report it or...“ Dean trailed off agitated and tired of whispering. He
flipped to a well-hidden peppermint imp wrapper he used as a bookmark.
            Seamus slipped out a Chocolate Frog from his bag forgetting where
he was. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but where and when are you going to have
the time to learn new spells on top—”
            “How dare you!”
            Vulture Pince (one of the more polite monikers students used)
swooped down on Seamus. He jumped so bad, the chocolate frog, which only had
one good jump to begin with, leapt onto a book and across the table. Madam
Pince hissed “Incendio!” and the frog mid-leap combusted into bright orange
flames. Sparks floated away before they left scorch marks on the table. With a
clipped wave, the chocolate webbed prints vanished off the book and table.
            “How dare you!” she shrieked again. “Get out! Out! Now!”
            Her wand lashed at Seamus’ materials and it all rose into the air.
Dean watched half-amused as Seamus ran for it without a word of goodbye. His
bag and books knocked at the back of his head. Dean chuckled to himself quietly
(Pince was still within earshot) unaware of the Slytherin girl watching him
intensely.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
            Seamus scratched out the same line for the fourth time and threw
his quill down in defeat.
            “Bloody hell, this is impossible innit?” he asked Parvati, who
abandoned their Transfiguration assignment minutes ago.
            She was lost in thought, almost tearful. He followed her line of
sight across the nearly empty Gryffindor common room: Lavender and the newly
christened “Won-Won” sat tangled in a stunningly disgusting display of
snogging. Crestfallen, Parvati gazed down tucking a strand of her shiny, black
hair behind a pierced ear. She sniffed looking up at Seamus, and flushed at the
sight of him shrewdly observing her.
            “T-those two are a mess aren’t they?” she said with an exaggerated
cheerfulness.
            “You won’t always feel as bad,” he said thoughtfully, not fooled.
            Parvati sat up straighter and shuffled a short stack of parchment
notes clearly in no danger of being disorganised.
            “What? What are- I don’t even...“ she sputtered her nose growing
faintly pink beneath her tan skin.
            Seamus cocked his head and she gave up the game.
            “Was I really obvious?” she asked weakly casting a paranoid glance
around the room.
            Seamus picked up his quill again twirling it absent-mindedly.
            “Nah, I just recognised the look is all. Damn near wanted to Crucio
Dean when he was with Ginny.”
            Parvati snorted incredulously.
            “I did!” he exclaimed earnestly.
            “Yeah, but we all knew that was a poorly-written ruse. Come on,
that was doomed to start. Everyone who’s anyone knows Ginny’s fancied Harry
since, like, forever,” she whispered in full gossip mode.
            “So just you two then. You’d damn near have to be Imperiused to not
know Ron and Hermione...“
            And he made a lewd gesture. Parvati clasped her hand over her mouth
to stifle her laugh.
            “You really think so,” she breathed, immensely cheered up.
            “Definitely.”
            Dean emerged through the portrait hole and made his way over,
looking pleased with himself.
            “You guys almost done? Almost all of the fifth years are camped out
in the library.”
            He tossed his satchel on the table and slouched into the seat
across from Seamus next to Parvati.
            “They’re revising for O.W.L.s aren’t they? Anyway, we weren’t
really working. Par—”
            Parvati kicked Seamus under the table mouthing “Shut up!”
            “Oh come off it! You think I’m not gonna tell him?” he said
pointing his quill at Dean.
             Dean eagerly leaned forward sniffing the gossip beans about to be
spilled. “Tell me what?”
             “That.”
              Seamus cryptically tilted his head at Lavender and Ron, who
miraculously hadn’t come up for air yet. Dean briefly stared at the kissing
couple slightly repulsed before looking back between Seamus and Parvati, trying
to calculate the odds of getting “that” right.
            “So, you fancy... Ron, also?” his face scrunched up as if he’s just
licked a lemon.
            Seamus and Parvati let out a loud chorus of “What?” and fell back
against their chairs as if they been blasted by the Impedimenta Jinx. A group
of second years by the fireplace looked up from their game of Exploding Snaps;
several other Gryffindors actually studying glanced over annoyed, but curious.
            “What? Eww, no!” Parvati gagged.
            Confused, Dean looked over again at Lavender, now running her brown
hand through Ron’s red hair and rubbing their noises together. Then, he faced
them with an—
            “Oh. Wait, seriously?” his mouth gaped open in surprise.
            Parvati groaned and hid behind her propped up Transfiguration
textbook. Seamus shook his head, clearly disappointed Dean was so slow on the
uptake.
            “Figure it out, have you?”
            “Right. Cause you knew all along?” Dean scoffed.
            “He did actually.”
            Parvati lowered the book, glaring at Dean, mildly offended he
guessed Ron first. Seamus raised his eyebrows and tapped his temple with a
satisfied smirk,  preferring to boast through gestures. Dean rolled his eyes.
             “Whatever. Won’t be long. I mean, once Ron wisens up about
Hermione and all,” Dean said with a short shrug.
            “See! Told you so,” said Seamus cheerful.
            “Okay, but no one’s really doubting that are they? But you don’t
know how she is. Been gushing about him for weeks now.”
             Her dark-lined eyes watered up.
            Dean dove into his satchel, pulled out his ragged sketchbook and
began to sketch with wild abandon. Seamus huffed loudly, annoyed that he would
have to handle a tearful Parvati alone. Before he could utter a word of comfort
however, Dean ripped out the sheet and set it on the table. It was a large,
outline drawing of a rose with a long stem and two thorns.
            “What’s your favorite color?” he asked.
            “Orange” said Seamus.
             “Parvati?” Dean finished giving Seamus a look with his head
tilted.
             “Yellow,” she answered quizzically looking at Seamus.
             Dean took out his wand and rapped on the sketch like an orchestra
conductor with a baton. On the third tap, he said “Imago Animatus.”
            Before their eyes, a canary yellow rose bloomed up from the paper
leaving behind a chiaroscuro shadow on the paper. Parvati gasped lifting the
rose off the table and sniffed the soft, fragrant petals.
             “Whoa!” Denis Creevy squeaked from across the room. He craned his
neck to get a better look over the heads of fourth years.
             “That’s really impressive Dean,” said Hermione stopping abruptly.
Her bushy hair was draped over to one side in a messy, haphazard bun. She had
been hurrying out of the common room deliberately looking away from Ron and
Lavender.
            “Cheers Hermione,” said Dean beaming and feeling smug from her
compliment. “Still not as clever as you.”
           “Oh shush,” Hermione blushed, but she didn’t exactly disagree
either.
           Lavender cackled loudly, her long brown legs kicking the air as if
Ron’s lap was a human swing seat. Hermione stiffened visibly after looking
behind her involuntarily.
           “See you,” she said in a strained tone.
            Parvati overcame the urge to look, focusing steadily on her rose.
“How did you learn this?”
           “Charms Club. You should come. In fact,” and Dean’s voice dropped to
a slight whisper, “I’m thinking of resurrecting the D.A. club.”
             “You never told me this!” Seamus said feeling left out. “Why
didn’t you ask me?”
              “You got yourself chucked out the library by the Vulture. Not
much I could’ve said at that point.”
              “Really? Why?” Parvati asked lowering the rose in alarm.
              “I met someone in the library—”
               “Who?” asked Seamus irrationally jealous.
                “—And she said she had some information on You-Know-Who,” said
Dean.
               “Impossible! Are you sure she’s not just yanking your chain?”
Parvati said dismissively.
               “Shh! C’mon let’s go for a walk. We’re not getting anything done
here,” said Seamus.
               It was true. An entire half hour passed and neither Seamus nor
Parvati were any close to finishing McGonagall’s assignment then when he first
walked in. Dean unwisely boasted that he was already finished earlier as they
packed up to leave the common room.
               “Well? Hand it over,” demanded Seamus with an outstretched hand.
               Dean snorted.
               “No. How are you going to learn if I just let you copy?”
               “Oooh, listen to you! Little Miss Hermione two point oh,” said
Parvati twirling her rose.
              “But I’m your boyfriend,” said Seamus, hiding his shock of his
utterance.
              Dean froze with his back to them. They hadn’t specifically
discussed anything of the sort, but instantly he realised that it didn’t
matter. He rotated slowly to look back at Seamus (and Parvati looking worriedly
between them).
               “That you are,” Dean nodded, “But I’m still not letting you
copy. So, you two coming or what?”
               Parvati sniffed her rose beaming proudly. Seamus snatched up his
bag.
               “Unbelievable,” he grumbled.
***** Password Reset *****
                                        
                                        
                                 CHAPTER NINE
                                Password Reset
           
Fat, fluffy snowflakes blanketed the Hogwarts castle and grounds a week before
Christmas break, but instead of enjoying snowball fights or bewitching snowmen
to chase after Filch, the fifth, sixth, and seventh years worked harder than
ever. The sixth years finally progressed to the highly anticipated unit of
human transfiguration, which proved just as daunting and overwhelming as
everything else so far.
More than once, Dean threatened to hex Seamus in the shower after Seamus kept
hounding him about whether or not he needed to use the Engorgement Charm. The
fact that Dean explained he was perfectly “adequate” did not soothe Seamus’ ego
one bit.
“For the last time, I’m not going to help you with anything even remotely
related to that. Bugger off yeah?” said Dean as they stalked through the
library stacks searching for an empty table.
“Oi, you’re the one who wanted to join the Charms Club for more practical
spells!”
“Practical defensive spells. Defensive Seamus. I might be wrong, but I don’t
think Death Eaters are easily disarmed by big cocks.” Dean hissed to him
trailing behind.
“How would you know? Why don’t you practise ‘disarming’ me, eh?” said Seamus
frustrated.
Romilda Vane shushed them with a wide smile on her face as they passed.
It’s not as if Seamus didn’t believe Dean was in the right to be worried about
the growing threat of Voldemort’s insidious reign of terror. Half the school
was tense about receiving that one fateful owl post. The Gryffindor prefect
Andrew Lau nearly wet himself in Defence Against the Dark Arts the day before.
Snape called him to the front of the class to tell him McGonagall received a
message directly from his mother. It turned out his mother had only sent extra
provisions since he would remain at Hogwarts for the holiday break. But Lau
returned to class fifteen minutes later blanched, yet relieved. Clearly, he
(and everyone else) had expected something far worse.
In spite of the anxious mood, Seamus was mildly annoyed that their extra
“studies”, regularly scheduled classes, club meetings, and meal times even were
cutting into the brief, cherished moments that could be spent shagging. And he
was unapologetic about it.
“We’re going to have the entire room and probably most of the common room all
to ourselves during break. You’re tellin’ me you can’t hold out til then?” said
Dean concentrating on the Disillusionment Charm. His silver goblet glistened
with the sheen of a bubble in sunlight instead of completely being camouflaged
with their background surroundings as Flitwick instructed.
“Yes, but what if You-Know-Who comes crashing through the Great Hall with
Inferi and Death Eaters AK’ing us all over the place? Bet you’ll wish you
kissed me a little longer and sooner since Sunday.”
“Are you going to concentrate on anything at all today?” Dean snarled letting
his wand arm drop. His goblet reappeared fully visible.
Seamus raised his eyebrows rising to the challenge. In silence, he waved his
wand and the goblet instantly disappeared from view. Dean huffed enviously.
Seamus groped for it briefly, picked it up, and soundlessly mouthed “Aguamenti”
as he continued to concentrate deeply on his Disillusionment Charm. A
carefully-measured stream of tropical blue water arched from his wand to the
camouflaged goblet giving the appearance of water flowing into a pocket of air
unspilled.
“Oooh!” said Lavender across the room.
“Well done Mr. Finnigan! Five points to Gryffindor,” squeaked Flitwick
impressed by Seamus’ creative visual display.
“How’s that for concentratin’, eh?” he smirked.
Dean scowled.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
        
The night before Christmas break was spent in a rowdy, but anxious atmosphere.
All efforts at studying were shamelessly abandoned. Most kids sat around
chatting, making out, playing wizard chess and other games. A few eager beavers
were in their dorms packing.
Dean sat in a threadbare, red armchair. At his feet below, Seamus was sprawled
on the floor playing Exploding Snaps with Quidditch Keeper Cormac McLaggen.
Dean’s eyes glazed over the scene until a tidal wave of panic crashed over him.
How could he have not known of the real danger they were in? The more he kept
up with the news of the latest disappearances, murders, and meaningless
arrests, the more horrified he was by his ignorance. Sitting up straighter, he
scanned the room as Seamus’ glib comment earlier rang in his ear. He suddenly
wondered about his schoolmates, particularly the younger students. If Hogwarts
ever did come under attack, how could kids just learning how to open locked
doors, the phases of Jupiter’s moons, or the difference between a kneazle and a
porcupine defend themselves against the darkest, most evil wizard?
And then he came to his senses: Dumbledore.
Their headmaster was one of the greatest wizards of the century! Everyone knew
with Dumbledore around, Hogwarts was the safest place to be. Of course, it was
only outside of school they would have to worry...
Cormac McLaggen lost spectacularly at the game of Exploding Snaps. Just as he
placed his last Jack of Hearts at the top of the precariously stacked card
house, it exploded. Smoke tendrils floated from his singed eyebrows and golden
blond curls of his fringe.
“Ah! Dammit to hell Finnigan!” he stood up dusting ashes off his lap.
In true sore-loser fashion, McLaggen kicked and stomped the rubble of their
card house into Seamus’ unburned face. Dean almost launched out of his chair at
the offence, but Seamus doubled over beating the shaggy, purple rug with his
fists, thoroughly amused.
“D’you see his face?” Seamus snickered wiping a tear from his eye. Shaking with
laughter, he pointed at McLaggen’s back as he stomped up the stairs to the
boys’ dormitory.
“Double or nothing,” said Dean getting out of his chair to on the floor.
Seamus’ giddiness was a tonic for his anxiety. Suddenly, Dean felt very foolish
panicking over horrors so far removed from him. Nothing could hurt them here.
Not now. At the end of the day, they were all still kids. They weren’t trained
in magical combat as Fudge’s Ministry foolishly fretted last year. No, they
were students receiving a magical education, training to live a “normal”
magical life.
So why did he still feel nagged by a sense of dread?
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
           Dean lay in bed wide awake. Ron and Neville’s snores filled the
room. Harry— where the hell was Harry? He didn’t care. This was his one shot if
he wanted to take it. He crept out of bed and padded stealthily across the
room.
           “Seamus,” he whispered crouched by his the bed. “Can I join
you?”         
            Seamus rolled over with a sigh. Curls covered half of his face as
his eyes blinked wide with surprise, slightly frightened. Seamus threw back his
covers to welcome him grinning. Dean scrambled in and cast the familiar spell
at the curtains. They were still getting used to navigating their bodies in
Seamus’ bed in the dark. Finally, they found a comfortable position: Dean on
his side with the covers only on his feet; Seamus on his side partially bundled
up, but his leg and arm clutching Dean.
            “Well, well, well, Mr. Thomas. To what do I owe this honour?”
            “Shut up.”
            “No, really. What happened to, ‘we’ve got all break’ eh? I was
almost well on me way to a good sleep.”
            “You can sleep on break—”
            “Ah, don’t think so! If you think you’re gonna be well-rested—”
            “Shut it, Seamus,” Dean whispered shaking slightly as he tried to
stifle a laugh.
            “I thought they can’t hear us?”
            “They can’t.”
            “Then why the bloody hell are you whispering?”
            “Force of habit,” Dean admitted.
            Seamus hummed, concentrating more on his hand stroking the dip in
Dean’s lower back.
            “So, what is it? What’s bothering you?” he asked oddly perceptive.
            Dean almost denied that there was anything wrong, but allowed
himself to relax under Seamus’ warm and soothing touch.
            “Do you think I’m over-reacting about the defensive spells and You-
Know-Who and all that? Ernie MacMillan said—”
            “Ernie MacMillan is a prat!” Seamus huffed throwing back his head
against his pillow. “We don’t have some Ministry bat stopping us from doing
magic, but you really think Snape’s gonna hold our hands and sing us a lullaby?
No! The more we learn on our own, the better. We can’t be students forever.”
            Dean nodded, but then realised Seamus couldn’t see his reaction and
quickly hummed in agreement.
            “I was only joking earlier y’know. O’ course I’ll help you look up
spells and stuff, if it’ll help us. Like, really.” Seamus said solemnly.
            “Really? You’ll join the Charms club?”
            “Don’t push it Thomas.”
            Dean chuckled and shifted a little closer nudging Seamus’ forehead
with his nose.
            “Flitwick’s already offered to give anyone who comes help on their
wandwork. Just think: we can ask him almost anything, get demonstrations—”
            Seamus puffed out a mouthful of hot air.
            “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll go.”
            “Yeah?”
            “For Merlin’s sake, yes.”
            A surge of gratitude course through him. Dean kissed his forehead
and then bent his neck awkwardly to kiss Seamus near his cheek. His hand snaked
down Seamus’ stomach.
            “Oh no you don’t,” Seamus said pulling his head away and catching
Dean’s hand. “You save that for tomorrow. We’ve got all break, remember?”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Seamus made good on his promise/threat. They didn’t get out of bed until well
after 1pm Christmas Day. Fresh out of the shower, Seamus cartwheeled naked from
their closed door down the middle of the room and almost crashed into Neville’s
vacant bed. Dean, wrapped in a towel that hung low on his hips, howled with
laughter. He tossed Seamus a towel before sitting on his own bed to take stock
of his presents.
Although Mrs. Thomas was disappointed Dean opted to stay for all of break, she
sent him two lovely presents and passed on the gift from his sister Anise. In
return, he sent them an assortment of cauldron cakes and a homemade card by
owl. Parvati gave him a flowery set of stationery (“Now you have no excuse not
to write me next summer!”); Lavender gave both of them a joint present of
Daydreaming Quills. He and Seamus pooled their money to get them enchanted
friendship bracelets made of unicorn hair (or so it claimed), which could only
be removed once the friendship was over.
Once they were partially dressed, Seamus gave him his poorly-wrapped present.
Dean set the wrapping neatly aside and opened the small, handmade booklet.
“What the...“ he whispered.
Each page featured a moving picture of the two of them. Sometimes Parvati,
Lavender, or Neville were in frame, but mostly the photos were all candid shots
of Dean and Seamus studying in the common room, goofing off at meals, shoving
each other in the corridors. The last picture was his favorite: slightly out of
focus, it was a close-up of Dean and Seamus gazing into each other’s eyes
sharing a serene moment before looking away with their heads bowed in nervous
silent laughter.
A familiar tightness seized up in his chest and a lump in his throat restricted
his breathing. Dean took several quiet breaths before speaking.
“How did you- who did this?” he asked astonished.
“Y’know Creepy Creevey? Colin, Harry’s number one fan? Paid him two Galleons,
fourteen Sickles, and three Knuts to follow us around and get what he could,”
said Seamus studying Dean intensely.
“When?” Dean gushed closing the book gently.
“The night after the duel. After our first real kiss anyway. So? What do you
think?” Seamus asked his leg tapping the floor nervously.
Dean was speechless. “Seamus, this is incredible. You’re incredible. And now, I
feel like a bit of a twat.”
“Don’t,” said Seamus blushing, thinking he was apologizing for not getting him
a present.
Dean opened up his trunk and pulled out a thin, flat box wrapped in royal blue
paper.
“Technically, I did it over the summer, but—”
Seamus snatched it out his hands giddy. “You did this over the summer?” he
cocked an eyebrow smiling.
“ ‘S not as good as yours,” Dean frowned.
“This isn’t a competition, y’know.”
Seamus ripped the wrapping paper savagely, flipped the box lid onto the floor,
and pulled out a book. A canvas sketchbook the shade of a brown paper bag. But
the pages weren’t blank; they were filled with colorful doodles, black-and-
white sketches, scratched out haikus, journal entries, four- and five- panel
comic strips. Several pages were adorned with Seamus’ named scrawled in various
typographical texts and half-finished portraits of his head and face. Nothing
animated. Just typical muggle sketches.
“Did most of them from memory,” said Dean in a choked voice. “And the letters,
erm, it’s stuff I wished I’d said earlier.”
His voice trailed off as he watched Seamus turn pink as he read a letter.
“Blimey,” Seamus whispered. He sniffled. “I love it, you daft little bastard.
If it’s all from you, why wouldn’t I like it?”
Smiling, Dean moved to give him a hug, but Seamus stood up shakily and walked
over to his own bed standing with his back turned. Dean wanting to give Seamus
his space, ran his fingers over the cover of his photo album. He re-read the
inscription inside:
                        To Mr. Thomas,
                           Here are some of the
                           best, BLURRY, moments of
                           my life. Glad you’re in it.
                                                      Mo Ghrá,
                                                      Mr. Finnigan
 
Later that night, Dean lay awake next to a snoring Seamus, unable to sleep with
his body still buzzing.
“Seamus?”
“Not again,” Seamus grumbled turning over.
“No, Seamus. What’s up with you calling me Thomas, Mr. Thomas?”
“Eh?”
Seamus burrowed deeper under the covers, but Dean yanked the covers away
exposing him all the way down to his waist. Seamus swore mightily through his
chattery teeth.
“I said what’s up with this whole ‘Mr. Thomas’ thing you got going on?”
“You really want to know?” Seamus croaked shivering wide awake with one eye
open.
“Yeah.”
Seamus snatched back the covers holding it over his nose and glared at Dean
like an angry crocodile.
“It’s simple,” he said loudly with his voice muffled behind the sheets. “If I
say, ‘Oi Thomas, do that again and I’ll kick your bony arse’, that means you
yank these covers again and I will kick your bony arse. But if I say, ‘Oi aye,
Mr. Thomas, what a lovely arse you got there’, that means you come a little
closer and I’ll tickle that lovely arse you got there. Got it?”
Dean smushed his body right against Seamus, their body heat doubling in
intensity beneath the sheets.
“Exactly how close?”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
They spent their days and nights like a honeymoon unapologetic about snogging
in the common room when they wanted a change of scenery. Only three other
Gryffindors remained behind and Dean and Seamus ran into them during meals.
Mealtimes were awkward over break: there was a large table seating the five
Gryffindors, three Slytherins, two Hufflepuffs and a few staff members
including McGonagall, Flitwick and on rare occasions, Trelawney, the human
Divination professor. Andrew Lau tried to use these moments to admonish them
for their behaviour, but luckily Trelawney and McGonagall’s bickering seem to
take center stage.
But for the other twenty-plus hours not spent eating en masse, Dean and Seamus
whiled the hours away shamelessly making out, practicing new jinxes and charms,
making out some more, playing reckless games of Wizard Chess, and finally
retiring to their dorm room to play musical beds and other amusing, childish
games before exhausting their bodies and minds with distinctively, creative and
acrobatic antics.
Greatly appeased, Seamus worked with gusto to help Dean find spell books and
otherwise expand his own magical knowledge in an albeit hodge-podge way. One
afternoon earlier than usual, they left to go to the library.
“Finally leaving the rooms for a bit of fresh air, are we?” heckled the Fat
Lady.
“Shut it,” Seamus warned as she swung closed cackling behind them.
They settled at “their’ table in the empty library, which now resembled a vast
Cathedral filled with towers of books as shafts of weak, wintery, sunlight
beamed through the stained glass windows near the domed ceiling.
“So what are we looking up today?” asked Seamus eagerly. Secretly, he hoped if
he could help Dean find what he was looking for, they could cozy up on the
‘good’ couch in the common room before tea.
“Not exactly sure yet. I think it might be in the Restricted Section,” Dean
said skimming his notes.
“We could break in y’know,” Seamus suggested in jest leaning back on the rear
legs of his chair.
Dean’s eyes flicked up at Madam Pince reading the Daily Prophet near the front
entrance.
“You up for creating a diversion?” Dean said seriously.
“Seriously?” Seamus brought the chair down on all four legs creating a thumping
echoing that caught her attention.”It’s only two of us here, but I think I
might have a Dungbomb that’s about to expire.”
“Or you could wait until after hours obviously,” said a girl’s voice with a
heavy Eastern European accent.
Standing at the edge of the stacks, a petite girl in baggy clothes of no more
than thirteen folded her arms bored. Her black hair was buzzed, except the long
curly fringe on the right side of her head. A faint moustache covered her upper
lip and thin black hair was all over her olive-toned arms.
Seamus registered only one thing: the silver snake on a emerald green patch on
her robe. This girl was a Slytherin.
“What do you care?” he spat with disgust, house rivalry taking priority over
reason.
“I don’t,” she shrugged coldly.
Dean stood up quietly. This was going to be much more awkward than he expected.
“Seamus, this is Oksana Temirbek. Oksana, this is—”
“Yes, yes. Your Shay-moos: light of life, fire of loins. Boytoy Extraordinaire.
Blah, blah, blah,” she said suddenly interested in the book titles in front of
her.
Seamus nearly tumbled out of his seat in rage. He opened his mouth, probably to
curse at her, but Dean grabbed him by the back of his sweater.
“Calm down, yeah. She knows about some of the things about You-Know-Who. And I
invited her here,” Dean whispered hotly in Seamus’ ear.
“This is your ruddy source? A bloody—” Seamus choked out.
Madam Pince looked up sharply, her head whipping around over her frilly
collared dress. Dean waved with a toothy smile, waited for her to resume her
reading, then tugged Seamus in between the stacks closer to Oksana. Seamus
dragged his feet with the stubbornness of a hippogriff glaring at her. She
returned an equally icy death stare of her own, unflinching in their towering
presence.
“I told you. This is no good. They are all like him. None of them will accept
me,” she said waving a careless hand in Seamus’ direction. Heavy dark bags
under her slanted, hazel eyes made her look older and weaker than she actually
was.
“Damn right!” Seamus whispered, smacking Dean’s hand off his sweater.
“Yeah, he will,” said Dean to Seamus blocking his way out. “You don’t even know
her! Can’t you just hear her out?”
“Are you mad? How thick are you to piss about with this- this-” he stuttered
angry beyond words. “What does she know? The Dark Arts probably!”
“Most certainly!” Oksana hissed. She bumped her flat chest at Seamus and stuck
her nose at him up with a vicious sneer. “My captors taught me things that
would make your Dumbledore weep. But if you think I am Voldemort sympathiser,
you are as dumb as you look!”
Dean held up his hand to silence both of them. Footsteps were rapidly
approaching.
“Vulture Pince!” Dean whispered panicked.
He and Seamus scrambled and yanked books off the shelves to pretend they were
browsing. Pince stopped at the end of the aisle they congregated, trying to
stand as straight as the slight hump on her back would let her. Her bloodshot
green eyes narrowed in suspicion. Oksana rolled her eyes and with a loud ‘tut’,
shoved Seamus one-handed against the shelves as she strolled sure-footed to
Madam Pince without a trace of fear. Her oversized trousers and robe swished
loudly with every step.
“Good afternoon again Madam Pince,” she said with a slight bow of her head, “My
friends and I... we looking for book on...“ Oksana rotated slowly to face Dean
and Seamus with a saccharine smile plastered on her face.
“Navigational spells,” said Dean, blurting out the first thing he could think
of.
Madam Pince looked down at the three of them, an unlikely trio. Staff members
were always encouraged by Dumbledore to facilitate inter-house “alliances”
whenever possible, but she could not hide her shock of Gryffindors and
Slytherins working voluntarily.
“And is this a class project?” she asked squinting at Seamus, who was still
glaring at Oksana.
“Yes,” Dean and Oksana chorused nodding enthusiastically.
Dean did a small double-take at Seamus.
“Yes ma’am. Would really appreciate the help,” Seamus murmured reluctantly
playing along.
Madam Pince bristled, but gave a rare smile. “Follow me,” she said in a
pleasant tone Dean had never heard before.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
As far as Dean was concerned, the introductions were not a complete disaster.
Pointed in the right direction, they spent the afternoon entertained by an odd
medley of spells that Dean and Oksana thought were interesting. They read about
the Skin-Protectant Charm, which coated the skin with a light-weight barrier to
protect against excessive heat or cold; the Point-Me Spell, which always wands
pointed true North; and the Cloud Gathering Spell, which summoned clouds to
entrap enemies and float them away. The hostility between Seamus and Oksana
melted— not completely, of course. He stiffened when she was near, paranoid she
would hex him behind his back, but it was a start.
Opting for fresh air, they snuck up to the Astronomy Tower to practise a few
spells. Oksana remembered every wand movement and incantation with perfect
clarity and corrected them when needed. After dinner, they returned. Dean
insisted on mastering the Skin Protectant Charm shirtless until he only felt
warmth as the blustery winds howled around them. Seamus conjured a flock of
birds and tried the Cloud Gathering Spell with relative success. Dean and
Oksana weren’t exactly sure if the cloud floated away because of the spell or a
combination of the wind and birds fluttering within.
“There are others, Slytherin children, interested in learning with you. I tell
them our idea Dean, but they fear retribution? Retaliation? Yes, retaliation
from others,” Oksana said resting against the rampart in a skimpy chemise under
the Skin Protectant Charm.
“Aren’t you afraid?” said Seamus fully clothed and shivering.
“Me? Hmph! They fear me. Yes, even the ones in your year. Once this girl- Pansy
Parkinson- you know her, yes?”
Seamus and Dean nodded and huddled closer, curious to hear of whatever
misfortune Pansy suffered at the hands of a thirteen-year old girl.
“Stupid girl!” Oksana said rolling her eyes as Seamus smirked approvingly. “She
hex my shoes. It bite my toes all day. Right before Halloween. So I trap her in
closet.”
Seamus frowned. His ears pricked up sensing Oksana’s ominous tone.
"No, Peeves...“
 Oksana sighed, her black curly fringe barely fluttering in the whirling wind.
“Don’t be stupid! Peeves cannot touch us or hold us against our will anywhere.
Dumbledore forbid it. I know this. I bind her tongue and body with boggart.
Now, she almost cry everytime she see me. Good, yes? For me, of course,”
Oksana slouched and bit her thumbnail as if discussing what she ate for
breakfast. Seamus remained still and his eyes narrowed at Oksana. Dean folded
his arms and nodded impressed.
“How old are you again?” he asked incredulous.
“Thirteen. Last Monday. Why?”
“And she didn’t report you? If they tested your wand, you’re done for,” Dean
warned.
Oksana pocketed her wand and held up her hands.
“In orphanage, I learn old magic. No wand. See?”
She held Dean immobile with an unspoken spell. Only his eyes shuttled from one
side to another. Seamus stumbled backwards horrified. Oksana, deep in
concentration, walked around Dean in a perfect circle shearing off the sides of
his head leaving only a small tuft of his tightly-coiled afro on the top. His
cut hair never made it to the stone floor. The whirling wind whipped it up and
tossed over the tower.
“Bloody hell!” Seamus cried seizing his wand out of his pocket. He hesitated
only to wonder if it was wise to hex her.
Oksana folded her arms across her chest with her narrow hip out to one side in
front of Dean appraising her work. Unpetrified, Dean stroked the smooth, flat
hair on his scalp and shrugged appreciatively.
“Not bad Barber Jane. Not bad. Though, next time you should ask before shaving
a bloke. Just common courtesy and all.”
Seamus huffed in disbelief that Dean could be so calm.
Oksana shrugged. “I heard you missed your cut since you stay here for break, so
I try.” She smiled at Dean but frowned as her head turned to discover Seamus
fuming. “He likes it. What’s your problem?”
Seamus shook his head gripping his wand tightly and then headed for the stairs
without a reply. Oksana’s arms flopped to her sides as her head rolled back in
an annoyed sigh. But when Dean snatched up his shirt and sweater dashing down
the steps after Seamus, she followed. The two of them found Seamus at the
bottom of the spiral stairs pacing like an impatient panther.
Dean pulled his sweater over his head unsure of Seamus’ reaction. The fact that
Seamus hadn’t stormed off all the way to their common room without him and
Oksana was a good sign. Sort of.
“Wanna join us in the common room?” he asked turning to Oksana in an effort to
buffer Seamus’ hostile behaviour. “It’s still empty and probably warmer than
the dungeons.”
Seamus’ trainers squeaked against the floor as he stopped abruptly to stare at
them. Initially he hadn’t trusted her, but later was actually grateful for
Oksana’s help. However, now he was ready to rid himself of her company and an
invitation to the Gryffindor common room was taking things too far. Oksana
gleaned as much from Seamus’ body language and addressed Dean only.
“No. Thanks. It was... an interesting day. This was nice, but it’s getting
late, no?” she said half-heartedly, peering down the dimly-lit corridors.
“Yeah Dean, it’s real late. Think we should all be getting back to our own
common rooms, eh?” Seamus said loudly.
An elderly man with a towering, white curly wig wearing heavy velvet robes
pretended to be asleep until Seamus waved his lit wand over the portrait. The
man woke up with a theatrical start.
“Ugh! My dear boy! I’m trying to sleep now. I suggest you all do the same!” He
threw a hand with large ruby rings at them and closed his eyes snoring
unconvincingly.
Oksana unrolled her robe sleeves and wrapped it tighter around her frail body
as she stormed away. Dean rounded on Seamus to tell him off, but Seamus already
set off in the opposite direction.
“What the hell Seamus?” he said catching up.
“Are you daft? There’s something not right about that girl. Didn’t ya hear what
she said about Pansy?” Seamus said not slowing down.
“And who was it said she deserved what she got? Since when do you care about
Parkinson now?”
Seamus ignored Dean all the way back to the Gryffindor common room. Before they
reached the portrait, they knew something was off. The Fat Lady was always
pristinely styled. The tightly-coiled spirals of her chocolate brown curls were
usually pinned to the side of her head. Her pink-icing satin corset dress
painfully cinched in her expansive belly, leaving her pale heaving bosom
exposed. But the woman in the portrait who greeted Seamus and Dean looked— and
there was no other way to describe her— a hot mess.
A halo of frizzy curls partially obscured her blotchy face. A pool of wine
stained the front of her dress. Her white lace stockings and garter, always
covered by her cascading frilly dress, were exposed from the thighs down, one
of them drooped at her ankle. Several empty wine bottles littered the bottom of
the gilded frame. Next to the Fat Lady, her friend Vi, a skinny hag with dirty
blonde hair, held up a ruby-encrusted goblet almost as big as her head.
“Ah, not tonight,” grumbled Seamus as they stood aghast at the indecent sight
before them.
“Baubles,” he said loudly but without any hope of getting in.
The two boisterous women pitched forward drunk.
“An’ a bibbity bobbity hubbity bubbity... to you too!” cheered the Fat Lady
barely able to remain sitting upright.
“Cheers, love!” cackled Vi.
The Fat Lady leaned over to tap her bottle (she’d given up glasses at this
point) of wine with Vi’s goblet, but missed and toppled out of frame.
“Aw, no way! She’s fucking pissed. C’mon,” Seamus ordered storming away.
Dean followed utterly perplexed as to where they were going and how it would
help them get inside. They climbed two changing staircases and headed down a
dark corridor Dean never been down before. Seamus banged on the wooden medieval
door rudely. They heard a muffled thump, a couple of angry voices inside and
then very loudly:
“What on earth—!”
The door flung back so violently that it slammed against the inside of the wall
of the room. Thick purple smoke billowed out of the room like fog.
They had only seen McGonagall in her night clothes on two other occasions: Most
notably, the night Sirius Black broke into Hogwarts three years ago. She looked
just as formidable now as she did then for being roused out of bed after hours
unexpectedly. A cascade of black hair streaked with silver hung over one
shoulder as she stood in an ankle-length red tartan robe tying the belt into a
furious knot at her waist.
“Detention! Detention!” she yelled as she brandished her wand from her robe
pocket.
“Wait professor—” Dean ducked convinced she was about to hex them.
“The Fat Lady’s totally pissed ma’am. She fell out her frame and can’t let us
in,” said Seamus more annoyed than afraid.
McGonagall shut her eyes. A vein jumped in her pale, thin neck. She took a deep
breath and said to the unseen person in the room: “I’ll only be a minute
Wilhemina.”
She slammed the door shut and set off at a furious pace. Dean and Seamus
followed at a slower pace running down the list of female staff members who
could possibly be in McGonagall’s room at that time of night. The fluttering,
flickering flames of the lanterns bolted to the stone walls provided more
shadows than light. The only sound beside the wind howling outside the castle
was the swish of McGonagall’s robe flapping around her ankles.
They rounded the corner. Vi spotted them first, tapped the Fat Lady, and then
darted out of view. The Fat Lady, now within frame, was too drunk to get off
the floor (still littered with bottles) and return to her velvet cushioned
wooden settee. She greeted them with a hearty burp resting on her side like a
beached whale.
“Why I never... “ McGonagall grumbled, flipping her waist-length hair out of
her face.
She did a complicated spiralling gesture with her wand as if trying to detangle
a ball of yarn one-handed. A flash of orange light burned in front of the Fat
Lady and she slowly looked up at them— sober and completely horrified.
“P-p-professor,” she gasped, her hands groping all over her hair and body as
she surveyed the aftermath of her binge drinking. “I don’t—”
“Not another word! This is disgraceful and I am utterly appalled with your
behaviour! What kind of example are you setting for the students? The other
portraits?” McGonagall’s voice steadily increased by an octave. She could
clearly be heard down the end of the corridor, probably over the wind outside,
Dean guessed with a suppressed smirk.
Before the Fat Lady could respond, McGonagall rapped the wavy golden edge of
the frame and cast a shrewd glance at Dean who was way too entertained by the
situation.
“Abstinence!” she said sharply. “The new password is abstinence.” She now
glared at the Fat Lady.
“Yes, Professor. Of course,” The Fat Lady simpered, fully seated,
surreptitiously kicking wine bottles out of frame.
“And you two—” McGonagall shrieked rounding on Dean and Seamus like a vicious
bird of prey. They nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Let me remind you that
just because your dorm mates are absent, that does not mean you ought to forego
the use of strategically-timed silencing charms!”
A bomb of embarrassment exploded beneath Dean’s skin. His jaw flopped open and
close. Seamus gasped softly next to him, looking as if he had a particularly
bad sunburn.
“I trust Professor Flitwick has shown you a variation or two, has he not?”
And without waiting for a response, McGonagall strode off. Her hair caught bits
of the moonlight streaming through the windows in her wake.
Once out of earshot, the Fat Lady said: “She’s right you know.”
Seamus and Dean swivelled over to look at her indignant.
“You got some nerve to talk!” Seamus shouted. “Abstinence!”
The portrait door swung open and Seamus stormed in streaming a litany of
curses.
“I can hear you two all the way down here!” she teased.
“What rubbish!” Seamus hollered without looking back just as the door finally
clicked shut.
***** Spoken Like a True Hufflepuff (or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or Slytherin)
*****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                                  CHAPTER TEN
                         Spoken Like a True Hufflepuff
                   (or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or Slytherin)
                                        
            On the last night of break, as more people poured in via the Floo
network, Dean stood over his unused bed, fluffing his pillows. Secretly he was
pleased others were returning. After the disastrous meeting with Oksana and
Seamus, and the mortifying telling-off from McGonagall the night before, he was
eager to return to the hustle and bustle of classes.
            “What’re you doin’ over there?” asked Seamus returning from the
showers. There was a long patch of red skin from the hot water down his back
that looked as angry as he sounded. He sat down on his bed.
            “It’s the last night. How would I look crawling out of your bed in
front of everyone in the morning?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice even.
            “Ehm, I don’t know. How about as ridiculous as that Slytherin
crawling out of our portrait hole, yeah? What d’ya think, eh Thomas?”
            Dean slammed down his pillows.
            “Are you jealous?” he said incredulous.
            “Are you blind? Fuck’s sake Dean! How can you be so naive? She can
do wandless magic! That’s dark magic,” Seamus shouted.
            Dean covered his eyeballs with his fists and sighed. Was he showing
his ignorance once again about the wizarding world as a muggleborn?
            “For the umpteenth time, what’s the big deal? Didn’t we all do
wandless magic one time or another? Did that make us evil?”
            “Don’t be so bloody obtuse!”
            “Ooh, big word. Someone’s been perusing more than the Syllabary!”
            “Fuck you, you ignorant bastard!”
            “Fuck you, you prejudiced cock-up! This is beyond a damn Quidditch
rivalry—”
            “Oi! Is that what you think this is about? Mark my words. Your
girlfriend’s evil. Evil!”
            Just as Dean gave Seamus the finger, Neville stumbled in dragging
his trunk.
            “Hey guys,” he said taking in the scene, “G-good holiday?”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Nine days passed (so far) since they last spoke. This was even
worse than the entire summer of silence and the cold shoulder at the beginning
of the term, because then Dean hadn’t known the dull ache of missing Seamus,
his boyfriend: his sly grins, his whispered voice in Dean’s ear at night, their
frantic, rushed kisses between classes. Dean always thought only stuffy old
married couples argued over something as ridiculous as politics, but here they
were anything but, about to break up over house sorting ideologies.
            “Ugh Dean, you’re so dramatic! Haven’t you ever had a fight with a
boyfriend before?” said Parvati digging into a quiche one morning as he
confided his fears.
            “Firstly, hell no, I ain’t never had a boyfriend before and
secondly, look at him! He’s... he doesn’t even care,” Dean snuck yet another
forlorn glance at Seamus who laughed loudly over a bowl of cereal with Lavender
and Ron. “Just look at him, having the time—”
            “Oh quit your moaning! Look at me. Hey!” she snapped her fingers in
his face, her bangles clanging angrily.
            Dean set his fork down, his appetite gone. “What?”
            “It’s just for show you dope. C’mon, you seriously think anyone can
sit with those two without a serious urge to puke?”
            They both looked down the table with objective eyes: Lavender
adjusted the ostentatious gold letter chain “Won-Won” (her Christmas present)
on the front of Ron’s robe, pecking his cheeks. She made a ghastly kissy-noise
with each peck as Ron tried to subtly shift away blushing furiously.
            Parvati shook her head with her eyes squeezed shut. Dean couldn’t
tell if she was trying to self-inflict the Obliviate Spell or if she was just
feeling ill.
            “Look. People fight all the time. You’ve seen me and Padma. And
she’s my twin!” she said opening her eyes and shoving her quiche remains away
from her.
            “Okay, but this is different, isn’t it? This is about a girl.”
            Parvati gasped. “I’m sorry. What?”
            Dean sucked his teeth. “Not like that. Remember when I told you
about someone I met in the library?”
            “Yes, this secret ‘friend’ of yours who might know something about
You-Know-Who. I swear Dean, if you tell me you’re stepping out on Seamus, I
will get up right now,” she said holding a silver butter knife as she squinted
at him with her lips pulled tight.
            “Calm down, will you? I already said, it ain’t like that didn’t I?”
            He sighed and told her everything about Oksana Temirbek over break.
Parvati blinked rapidly at a loss for what to say.
            “Well, he’s not wrong is he? I mean, she petrified you and then
shaved your head? And Pansy was in the hospital for three days Dean!”
            “Aw, don’t you start! She said she was taught that way. No wands.
These wizards forced her to do things, so she’s different, yeah. But evil?
Nah.”
            Parvati raised an eyebrow and turned around slowly. Her head ducked
up and down as she squinted at the far side of the Great Hall where the
Slytherins ate.
            “You can’t see her from here, so quit it.”
            Parvati whipped her head back around to glare at Dean. Her long
black plait almost landed in her plate.
            “Whatever. She sounds like every other dodgy Slyth-freak here.
Sorry to say it, but I think I’m with Seamus on this one.”
            “Parvati,” Dean moaned. He had hoped she would be the voice of
reason.
            “What?” she shrugged exaggeratedly before gulping down the rest of
her orange juice. “You two were squirreled away all break. Maybe it’s not even
about her. Maybe he just wants some space?”
            “Doubt it. He practically hounded me because we weren’t, yknow.
Everyday.”
             Parvati blushed and smiled coyly. Dean instantly regretted his
admission.
             “Don’t tell him I told you that.”
             “Told me what?” she joked with a well-practised look of feigned
confusion. Then she stood up and slung her new violet dragonhide bag over her
shoulder.
              “Come on. We’re going to be late for Herbology.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Dean was happy he saved as much money as he did over summer holiday. He hadn’t
expected Apparition lessons to be as expensive. Neither did other students who
spent allowances on frivolous things over Christmas break. But no one was
letting the cost dampen the excitement of lessons.
Harry Potter reluctantly gave a subdued description of his side-along
apparition experience with an older wizard (he wouldn’t name names), but
Neville, Seamus, and Dean stood around a table in the common room awed and
envious regardless. Dean’s hand accidentally brushed against Seamus, but he
didn’t move it. The corners of Dean’s lips twitched. Although they technically
weren’t on speaking terms, he sensed the glacier of anger between them
beginning to thaw.
The day before Seamus’ birthday, he finally decided to call a truce.
“Come to your senses, have you?” Seamus said leaning against the small granite
sink in their dorm room. His folded his arms and stared out the window at the
setting sun that didn’t make a dent in the mound of snow on the castle grounds.
“I’ve decided that I don’t want to spend your birthday… fighting.” Dean said.
He dried his hands and hung his wet shirt on the edge of his bed to dry. It had
been another messy day in Potions.
“So how about it then?” Dean asked pulling on a new shirt.
Seamus dropped his arms grateful.
“Alright. If I have to sit next to Lavender and ‘Won-Won’ one more hour...“ he
mimed strangling someone.
Dean grinned. “Serves you right. Though, really my sympathies lie with Ron. Can
you imagine if she and Parvati...?”
 “Nope,” said Seamus strolling out of their dorm. “Between you and me,
Lavender’s strictly dickly.”
“What?” said Dean frowning as he followed him down the stairs and through the
common room.
“Y’know, she’s all about the sausage and beans,” Seamus winked back at Dean as
they exited the portrait hole.
“Seamus, I know what you mean!” Dean said.
“Oh... made up you two?” said the Fat Lady smoothing down her dress with a
sober jeer.
“Shut it!” Seamus and Dean bellowed without a backward glance as they headed
down to the Great Hall.
“I meant, how do you know for sure?” Dean said feeling a prickly sense of
irritation he couldn’t taper down.
“Let’s just say, I’m not surprised her patronus isn’t a giant squid. Her hands
went everywhere. Fast.” Seamus nodded at Dean and cupped his balls discreetly.
Dean suddenly found it difficult to move. Or blink. Or breathe.
“When the hell did this happen?” he said in a low furious growl.
Seamus stopped with his hands on his hips.
“What’s the matter with you? Yule Ball you twat.”
Fury morphed into confusion as Dean tried to remember if he was remembering
things correctly.
“I thought you said—”
“C’mon! Course I fooled around with her. What? You think I can’t get it up for
the birds? It’s just not me thing is all.”
Seamus shrugged and resumed walking. Dean followed dazed, pretending he wasn’t
nearly devastated by this admission. It seemed absurd to care about something
that happened two years ago. With a girl. But it was like an itch he couldn’t
scratch hard enough. An itch that irritated his ego.
Finally, as the food appeared in abundance for dinner, Seamus burst out
aggressively: “Are we making up or what?” You already said you don’t want a
row, so drop it!”
Lavender and Parvati paused their conversation to eavesdrop.
“We are. I- I’m just surprised...” Dean tried to believe the words coming out
of his mouth, but his eyes landed on Lavender’s face... her glossy dark pink
lips, the flyaway black curls of her shiny straightened hair... and then the
memory of her hand on Seamus thigh in the common room resurfaced... Dean
swallowed hard and clamped down on the urge to strangle her as Seamus had mimed
minutes ago.
Seamus elbowed him hard and held out a heavily buttered dinner roll: the final
peace offering.
“Obviously, it didn’t mean anything, so don’t get your knickers in a twist,
eh?”
Seamus widened his eyes (following Dean’s murderous gaze) at the girls for them
to mind their business. Parvati stuck her tongue out and Lavender smirked as
they resumed their conversation in low, hushed tones, punctuated by giggles.
Dean accepted the roll. “Okay. So does this mean you’re definitely coming to
Charms club on Thursday?”
Seamus gave him a look over the rim of his glass.
“We’ll see.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Dean spent his entire free period before Transfiguration hanging up posters all
over the castle for the new Charms Club. Four hours later, he paced nervously
in a handsome, wood-panelled classroom next to Flitwick office, anticipating
the arrival of new club members. They trickled in bunches: Seamus, Parvati and
Lavender begrudgingly entered first and sat in the back; Neville, Luna
Lovegood, and five of her Ravenclaw housemates followed sitting near the front,
except Padma and her boyfriend sat near Parvati and Lavender; the animated and
small-statured Creevey brothers and two of their fifth year Gryffindor friends
stumbled in; lastly, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones and two other sixth
year Hufflepuffs dashed in hurriedly clutching Arithmancy texts and unrolled
scrolls of parchment.
A platter of fruit-filled muffins and chocolate biscuits sat untouched next to
the large silver flagon of pumpkin juice on a small table near the floor-to-
ceiling window. Flitwick greeted everyone from a high table at the back of the
room as he graded essays.
Dean took several deep breaths as he waited for everyone to settle down before
addressing them formally. Finally, he cleared his throat. Lavender turned
around in her seat to face forward, Colin Creevey put away his magically-
enchanted camera and everyone gave Dean their full attention. For about twelve
seconds.
“Er, hey everybody,” Dean’s voice broke but he worked past his nerves. “Welcome
to Charms Club. Er, I decided to set up this meeting—”
The door creaked open again. Everyone looked over and a gasp of revulsion
wafted through the room.
Slytherins stood near the door looking every bit of the misfit. Oksana in her
baggy clothes was the smallest and appeared to be the youngest. Her housemates
looked older and were definitely bigger, but Oksana leaned against a wiry Asian
boy, Wren Liu. His shoulder length black hair was pulled into a high ponytail,
but everyone focused on the jagged, pink burn that extended from his ear to the
middle of his chin.
“Oho! Welcome, welcome!” squeaked Flitwick delightfully surprised.
The rest of the room was not so welcoming. A stifling, hostile silence
descended upon the room as the Slytherins took the only seats remaining— the
ones closest to Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender. Dean waved them in weakly and
scratched at the back of his shaven head as he watched everyone’s predictable
reactions. Seamus scowled. Lavender elbowed Parvati who snapped her compact
mirror shut glaring at the burly blonde Slytherin girl who dared to sit next to
her. The Ravenclaws grumbled inarticulately, but loud enough for Dean and the
Slytherins to get the gist. Even Justin and his fellow Hufflepuffs squinted
suspiciously as Oksana and her housemates passed. A chubby, blond boy slyly
reached for his wand as if he expected to deflect a curse at any minute. Only
Luna concerned herself with the position of the cotton pearly clouds floating
above in the oval-shaped Baroque painting that filled most of the ceiling.
Dean breathed a sigh of relief grateful for the silence (even if it reeked of
animosity). Considering his worst-case scenario consisted of everyone hexing
the Slytherins on sight and storming out, this was not too bad of a reaction.
Flitwick continued to glance at the group, but remained uninvolved.
“Excellent. Now we’re all here,” Dean said faking a confident cheerfulness he
did not possess. “How about we discuss the spells—”
“What are they doing here?” said the chubby blond Hufflepuff brandishing his
wand.
“Ollie don’t!” whispered the willowy brunette next to him. She tugged his robe
sleeve because he stood up. “What if they tell their parents to attack ours?”
she said panicked.
The Slytherins hissed deeply offended, but Oksana barked out a laugh in
derision with her nails digging into her crossed arms.
The meeting spiraled just as Dean had sadly anticipated. Ollie’s singular
question of protest broke the vocal dam holding back the room’s confusion, deep
distrust, and misplaced feelings of intrusion.
“For your information, they’re here because this is a school-wide club and it’s
open to everyone,” Dean shouted at the dozen or so cacophonous voices of
protest.
Arvo Antonelli, a Ravenclaw boy looking like a real-life Rembrandt painting
with shoulder-length black ringlets and widely-spaced brown eyes, shot up out
of his seat after Ollie.
“Anyone here, interested in the Dark Arts?” Antonelli said rallying the room.
“No!”
“Boo!”
The room shouted loudly drowning out Flitwick’s tiny voice.
Oksana’s friend Wren tapped her thigh and stood up abruptly.
“Sod this! We’ll go then,” he fired back in a thick Kensington accent. The
other Slytherins got up as well.
“Now wait, wait!” piped up Flitwick holding his quill in the air. His thick
dwarf legs hopped down the small ladder from the high desk to the floor and he
waddled as fast as he could to block the Slytherin’s premature departure.
“Go’n let ‘em go,” shouted Seamus shaking his head. Justin and Ollie waved
goodbye and threw Seamus an appreciative wink.
“All of you- SHUT IT!”
Dean’s voice exploded bouncing off the wood-panelled walls as if he used the
Sonorous Charm. He stalked over to the Slytherins and placed his massive hand
on the door. His long brown fingers splayed at the top of the door as he
towered over Oksana’s scowling face, certainly Flitwick, and everyone else
except for the burly blond girl.
“Sit down. Please?”
All traces of insecurity and nerves evaporated from his voice. He strolled back
to the center of the room as everyone took their seats and addressed his school
mates once more.
“Last year, the Ministry sent us a dingbat ol’ teacher who forbade us from
doing magic. This year they sent us Aurors. Wanna know why? Cause You-Know-
Who’s out there! For real this time. And he ain’t some trumped up rumor or
twiddling his bloody wand bored out of his demented skull in a cave somewhere!”
Dean slipped his wand out of his back pocket and flicked it harshly at his bag
in the lone empty seat.
“Accio Prophet!”
Out of his satchell soared a crumpled, rolled up copy of the Daily Prophet,
which landed squarely in his hand and unfurled itself.
“Eighteen people have ‘disappeared’ or died so far. And you think they’ll just
tell their parents to come after your parents? How do you know their families
aren’t being targeted also?” Dean pointed back at the Slytherins as he turned a
furious gaze at the Hufflepuff girl who tugged on Ollie’s sleeve. She had the
good grace to look ashamed, pale with embarrassment.
“And that’s just the ones they even know about to tell us. Now, eighteen. ‘S
not a lot, is it? But that’s all of us in this room.”
Dean paced waving the newspaper in the faces of the Gryffindor, Ravenclaws, and
Hufflepuffs. The cover photo featured moving pictures of stoic and sullen faces
of Ministry officials speaking to grieving family members at a press
conference.
“The reason I invited everyone here and why Professor Flitwick agreed to chair
our club is that we need to learn more. Now. Beyond O.W.L.s, beyond N.E.W.T.s.
And before you say it, yeah I know. Dumbledore’s here and most of our parents
are still alive, but... what if?”
He looked at Luna and the rest of the Ravenclaws who nodded solemnly at him.
“What if, you came from the market during summer holiday and the door’s off the
hinges and there it is: The Dark Mark floating over your mum’s door?”
He whipped his head at Ollie and Justin and the Hufflepuffs who shivered and
blushed looking at one another.
“What’re you gonna do then?”
He shrugged and surveyed their fearful faces. They looked as if they had walked
through one of the house ghosts. Oksana ignored Wren’s look and kept her eyes
fixed on Dean looking more awake than he had ever seen her.
“I’ve never seen the Dark Mark, but I heard it’s quite terrifying to behold. It
even scares away the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. They don’t move for anything,”
said Luna finger-combing her waist-length blonde hair as if she sat at a vanity
preparing for bed.
Heads slowly turned to look at her unsure if she was taking the piss or not.
“Alright, well. I have,” said Dean, his brown eyes locked on Seamus. “You
remember. The Quidditch World Cup. It’s fucking terr— uh, sorry Professor,”
Dean jerked his head up at Flitwick.
Susan Bones and Parvati gasped the loudest with their eyebrows raised, looking
at Flitwick curiously. Everyone else teetered quietly. Flitwick blushed behind
his white fluffy beard clearly amused and waved Dean to carry on. Almost to no
one’s surprise, Seamus spoke up instead.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said. His brown eyes didn’t leave Dean’s. “So, I reckon,
we- we could all learn... together,” he finished reluctantly, but looked around
stony-faced at everyone who turned in their seats to face him.
Antonelli stood again with a hand on his hip, his curls bounced against his
shoulders clearly agitated.
“But how do we know we can trust them?”
Oksana had had enough. She stood up so forcefully her chair left marks in the
floor.
“Trust! You idiot boy,” she sneered loudly over the grumblings in front of her.
“You think I’m Slytherin because I’m ‘bad’, because I enjoy the Dark Arts, yes?
Wrong! I am Slytherin because I know how to lie, to conceal because I can curse
anyone without this stick you all love so much,” she tossed her wand behind
her, but Wren caught it with a sly grin apparently used to her antics.
“These things I do, I do so easily because they Crucio, Crucio, Crucio me!” She
stripped off her Slytherin robe and flipped up her tattered sweater over her
head revealing a tattoo-like network of pink scars all over her sunken abs and
and the knots of her spine. There was a collective sound of people shocked and
disgusted by the evidence of her torture.
“I watch them kill my bunny Piotr. My friends too. So I stop having friends.
For awhile.” she looked down at Wren and then over at Dean and offered the
rarest and briefest of smiles. “Any of you ever been Crucio’d? For hours? Trust
me: if he wins, you will. Know this, if you know nothing else. I abhor this
Voldemort! More than anything. I don’t care about your stupid houses Gryffindor
this, Slytherin this. It means nothing to me. I am only grateful to Dumbledore
who spared my life and bring me here to learn good magic. So I don’t care if
you trust me. Or us. I am only here to fight the one they call the Dark Lord.”
Dean nodded and clapped and several people joined in. Gobsmacked, Antonelli sat
down shakily.
“Here, here. So who else wants to fight You-Know-Who?” Dean asked loudly.
The room cheered and Flitwick winked from the back.
“Brilliant. I believe introductions are in order then.”
***** Quidditch (Just Because) *****
                                        
                                        
                                CHAPTER ELEVEN
                           Quidditch (Just Because)
 
            “Blimey, I didn’t think you could be a muggleborn and Slytherin,”
said Seamus.
            He and Dean were one of many students hunkered down to study in the
Gryffindor common room.
            “Slughorn said she’s the rarest of the rare. Hasn’t been one since
1843 or something,” said Dean scratching out a word on his Defence Against the
Dark Arts essay for Snape.
            Oksana stunned everyone at their third Charms club meeting with her
admission of being an orphan muggleborn. Ollie Appleby whispered to Justin and
Seamus darkly that no family meant she had nothing to lose in the war against
Voldemort. Justin, a muggleborn like Dean and the Creevey brothers, felt
something akin to admiration for her. He knew it had to be nearly impossible to
live in a house famed for its pure-blood heritage and silently wondered how she
coped with the hostility and incessant “mudblood” slurs he had endured in the
presence of most Slytherins.
            Seamus flipped closed his book and yawned loudly stretching his
arms high. Dean yawned involuntarily and rubbed his eye one-handed.
            “You cannot be tired already! It’s only been two hours,” Dean
whined, knowing if Seamus quit for the night so would he.
            Before Seamus could reply, Harry Potter rushed over to the table,
slightly out of breath. His lightning scar was just visible beneath his shaggy,
wind-swept black hair.
            “I’ve been looking for you Dean. Er, could I have a word?” he cast
an awkward glance at Seamus.
            Sensing he was unwanted, Seamus huffed but remained seated as Dean
held up his hand gesturing him to stay.
            “It’s okay, Harry. What is it?” Dean asked curious.
            Harry pushed up his glasses by the bridge on his nose and steadied
himself for Seamus’ reaction.
            “It’s just that Katie’s still not back yet and our first- well,
second Quidditch match is coming up. You did the best at the Chaser tryouts, so
do you want it? A spot, I mean? Just until Katie comes back,” he added quickly.
            Dean’s mouth parted slightly in surprise, but he glanced briefly at
Seamus who was doing a remarkably commendable job of squashing down his envy.
He nodded almost imperceptibly at Dean and reopened his book.
            “Yeah, sure,” Dean said beaming up at Harry.
            “Excellent,” said Harry more relieved that the encounter wasn’t
more awkward than it needed to be. “Practise starts tomorrow night on the pitch
at seven-thirty.” He waved them goodnight and zigzagged his over to Hermione
and Ron on the other side of the room.
            Dean tapped his quill against his book thinking of something to
say, but Seamus beat him to it.
            “Well done, I mean it. If not me, I’d rather you get it than that
dope Belby,” he said staring at Dean with an earnest expression of support and
approval.
            “Cheers mate,” Dean said hooking a socked foot around Seamus’
barefoot beneath the table.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            As pleased as he was to be a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch
team, Deam was undeniably swamped more than ever. In addition to classes,
studying, Charms Club meetings, practising new spells, finding time to snog
Seamus, Apparition lessons every Saturday, there was now Quidditch practices—
almost nightly leading up to the upcoming game on Saturday evening. Not to
mention the insidious pre-game antics of bullying and harassment he was a
target for at all hours of the day it felt like. The slurs and dastardly banana
peels chucked at him he could handle (even if it boiled Seamus’ blood). But it
wasn’t long before he secretly wished for Katie Bell’s return as he ducked a
Furnunculus Charm and Stinging Hex for the sixth time that week.
            Two nights before their game, after Harry had just genuinely
praised them for their first successful team practise, McLaggen strolled over
boasting that fate was right all along to cast him as Keeper. Banned or not,
Ron was clearly not destined to play Keeper at all that year. Lavender set her
spoon down rolling her eyes annoyed.
            “What are you talking about? Ron loved being Keeper. He just lost
his temper that one time.”
            Seamus and Dean gave her the side-eye remembering they had been on
the cusp of being expelled. McLaggen flexed his pec muscles beneath his
Quidditch jersey and stroked his short, golden curls.
            “Blimey, didn’t you hear? He’s in the hospital wing,” he said with
an unsympathetic snort. “Poisoned or something or another.”
            Lavender choked on empty air and clutched Parvati’s shoulder with
hysteria bubbling inside her. Parvati desperately tried to pry her fingers off
with little success.
            “Wh-what? When? What happened to him? How could no one tell me!”
She cried shrilly. “Ohmygod! My Won-Won!”
            Without waiting for answer, she sprinted away from the table
knocking over unfortunate meal-goers in her way.
            “What a daft bird,” McLaggen snickered watching her leave.
            “Shut your mouth!” Parvati screamed brandishing a dirty knife at
him.
            McLaggen snorted and brushed off the crumbs that hit his chest from
Parvati’s knife. Dean looked up at the staff table; surely they would lose
points for this unmistakable display of violence.
            “Whoa, Parvati,” Dean said in a calm voice.
            Seamus gently lowered Parvati’s hand, but she snatched her hand
away and he put his hand down. After a deep breath, she calmly gathered
Lavender’s and her belongings and walked away without a goodbye.
            “Girls, eh?” McLaggen said shaking his head. He swiped the last
dinner roll (the one Seamus had been saving for Dean), stuffed it in his mouth,
and sauntered away.
            “This is’ll be interesting,” Dean said as he stared at his plate.
            “What the actual fuck?” said Seamus still glaring at McLaggen
chewing while he walked.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
By the next morning, news of Ron Weasley being poisoned was already old news.
Harry was kind enough to keep Romilda Vane’s name out of it. Otherwise, no one
was concerned or disturbed as they had been upon hearing of Katie Bell’s
attack, who still hadn’t returned from St. Mungo’s. Most students reasoned no
real harm was done: He was poisoned in the Potion Master’s office and
administered an antidote promptly. Both sympathy and interest were in short
supply. Only Lavender, visibly subdued and afflicted with incessant sniffly,
was outraged.
“Can you believe she didn’t even tell me! Walked right by us to the loo and
nary a word!”
When not listening to Lavender and Parvati abuse Hermione, Dean (and Seamus)
had the distinct misfortune of McLaggen’s loathsome presence. During the early
weeks of the first term before he and Seamus reconciled, Dean thought of
McLaggen as a slightly pretentious, if not harmless (and good-looking) chap.
They didn’t hang out regularly before as classmates, but now as Quidditch
teammates McLaggen was insufferable. It was bad enough he criticised everything
Harry (their team captain and Quidditch member since his first year at
Hogwarts) said on and off the pitch, but McLaggen’s comments about Hermione
Granger pushed Dean and Seamus over the edge.
They were camped out in the library. A steady stream of warm, yellow sunlight
passed through the ceiling stained windows as March was proving to be
unseasonably warm. Dean was sneaking blind handfuls (number two out of three)
of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans on a bet, which he lost to the Creevey
brothers earlier that day. Seamus was stuffing squashed Chocolate Frogs in his
mouth whole because... he was Seamus.
McLaggen and Belby spotted them and made a beeline for them from Madam Pince’s
desk station.
“Is this seat taken? Excellent,” McLaggen said already butt in chair.
It didn’t matter: neither of them could lie just then. Dean’s cheeks were
bulging from the ridiculous amount of candy unchewed. He turned his face to
look at the Creevey brothers who red-faced with laughter held up two fingers
and a thumbs-up. Faint webbed footprints poked out of Seamus’ cheeks as the
frogs were hoping for one jump at least. Belby sat down across them and nodded
as a way of greeting. McLaggen elbowed Belby, the closest thing he had to a
best friend, and directed his attention to a busty Eloise Midgen another sixth
year witch.
“Gotta love this warm weather we’re having, eh? ‘Specially if it’ll have the
ladies all hot and bothered,” McLaggen leered, but then he sat back looking at
Dean and Seamus’ candy-filled, puffed out cheeks. “No offense Finnigan, Thomas.
We all know this isn’t your area of... expertise, but live and let live yeah?”
He chuckled off Dean’s panicky, souring face and mistook Dean’s whimper of
agony (he was now consuming cinnamon, trout, algae and probably eye of newt)
for an inarticulate objection of talk about girls. Seamus finally swallowed his
two frogs and burped an obscene belch into his robes. Muffled, it still
attracted the attention of fifth years four tables down and several other heads
popped up. Dean almost choked laughing so hard; McLaggen and Belby yanked their
shirts into their mouths to stifle their laughter, but a glob of snot down
Belby’s left nostril.
“Shut it!” Seamus warned, willing himself to calm down. He was bent over his
book so close, his chin rested against the cool desk.
“Are you under the effects of a Cheering Charm? I can hear you all the way over
there!” hissed Madam Pince as she hovered over their table with her hands on
her bony hips, birdlike.
“No miss.”
“No ma’am.”
At the far end of the stacks there was a small eruption of water and books.
Pince practically flew to the scene of the crime.
“Anyway,” said Belby wiping his face with the back of his hand and down his
pants (just as Dean conjured him a tissue), “You think this heat’ll thaw out
Granger?”
McLaggen swung his long pale neck like a giraffe at Belby. “Please. It’s only a
matter of time. She can’t ignore me forever. Obviously she wants me or why else
ask me to Old Sluggy’s party, eh? Just need a win on Saturday and the cat’s in
the bag.”
He slouched down with his elbow hanging off the back of his chair raising his
dark blond eyebrows at them. Seamus and Dean (really Seamus) were quite keen to
disabuse McLaggen of this view. They had it on the best authority (Parvati)
that Hermione only asked him out to make Ron jealous, though she asked Seamus
and Dean to keep it to themselves, particularly out of earshot of Lavender.
“Though if she’s straighten out that nest of hair, no one would ever know—”
“Everyone knows she’s muggleborn,” said Dean sharply, sick of talk about wizard
blood status. Or lack thereof.
“—that she’s not white,” McLaggen finished.
It took them all a moment to realise what the other had said. Seamus actually
crushed his quill. The ink trickled out of his fist like coagulated droplets of
blood. Dean sat back thunderstruck.
“Not that there isn’t anything wrong with her- not being- erm. No, I think you
misunderstand—” stuttered McLaggen sitting erect in his chair realising his
gaff off Dean and Seamus’ expressions.
“Oh, I think we got the gist just fine,” said Seamus already slamming his books
into his bag. Ink splattered everywhere.
“No seriously, I don’t care about that! And I certainly don’t care that she’s
muggleborn. I... Dean, come on! You’re a... This is just...“ McLaggen turned to
Belby who shook his head looking down.
Dean waved his wand to mop up the ink and stood next to Seamus.
“See you on the pitch tomorrow,” he said in a carefully measured tone of
calmness before following Seamus out.
They were near the moving staircases before Seamus opted to trade a variety of
sexual favors with Dean if he would bludgeon McLaggen in the game. Vi, the Fat
Lady’s drinking buddy, hollered from her portrait: “Kinky! I like blindfolds!”
 
 
 
The game was an unmitigated disaster.
Dean, like all of the Gryffindors, wished it was McLaggen who had been knocked
out cold instead of Harry. But losing 320-60 to the Hufflepuffs left a sour
taste in his mouth. All of those hours practising were null, in vain, a
complete waste of time; he could have done ten other things that yielded a
better result. Fortunately, two weeks later Katie Bell returned to the
Gryffindor common room to a room full of applause. Her strawberry blond hair
was cut chin-length and she was about a stone lighter, but ultimately she was
cleared to continue her courses and resume her position as Chaser. Dean
conjured a bouquet of daisies instructing her to never leave again.
He sat alone at the common room table while Seamus completed a detention. When
he saw Harry, he waved a hand of acknowledgement: Harry looked apologetic about
cutting him from the team.
“ ‘S alright. Bet you wish you could do without McLaggen though?” he said with
sympathy.
Harry’s hand subconsciously rubbed against the spot where the Bludger hit and
gave McLaggen a murderous glance behind his back.
“Don’t get me started,” he muttered. “You did great though. Maybe next year, if
you’re interested and Ginny’ll probably be captain... “ Harry trailed off
knowing he said too much.
“You’re not coming back next year,” Dean intuited in a quiet voice.
Harry nodded emphatically. “Of course, yeah. It’s just there’s a lot of
priorities y’know? Angelina wasn’t joking. Captaincy is stressful actually.” he
smiled wistfully.
“But you should’ve told me is the point!”
Lavender and Ron argued as they entered the common room.
“And why aren’t you wearing my present? I didn’t find it in a bin, y’know!” she
shouted.
“Bet he wishes he could chuck it in a bin,” Dean snorted.
Harry rolled his eyes. “Just between us, I can’t wait until he chucks her.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
                                        
For Dean’s birthday, Seamus planned an elaborate, romantic dinner date at Madam
Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. Three days before their Hogsmeade visit, a notice went up
informing students that the visit was cancelled due to security restrictions.
“This is plan b,” he said as they huddled in the blindspot of Aurors, students,
and staff, near the Greenhouses after Herbology. He held out a massive cupcake.
“Knicked this from the kitchen didn’t you?”
Seamus scowled. “They practically gave it away! You know how them elves are!”
It wasn’t the ideal time or moment. They both sustained scratches and cuts from
their lesson involving the deceptively-looking Snargaluff, but it was worth it
to stand beneath a cerulean sky with feathery cirrus clouds floating across the
sun. Given the security measures restricting the students movement, any time
spent outdoors was time well-spent.
A large ‘17’ block candle squished the icing on the cupcake.
“Now watch this,” said Seamus tapping his wand to the candlewick.
A tiny fluttering flame burned on the wick. Dean held back his remark that
lighting a candle was elementary magic. Seamus squinted at the candle, his lips
gnashing against his teeth as he tried to cast a new spell non-verbally.
Satisfied, he removed his wand and side-stepped anxiously watching the candle.
“Come on! We haven’t got all day!” he prodded.
The numbers ‘1’ and ‘7’ twitched and began to sway as they sang “Happy
Birthday” to Dean, who broke out in a wide, surprised grin. But then the ‘1’
realised it was melting from the fire on its head and together the ‘17’ waddled
off the cupcake icing, plunged into the depths of the grass below, and
scampered off with their wick still lit.
“Oi, you nutters! He was going to blow you out!” Seamus shouted after it
disappointed.
“ ‘S okay,” Dean said licking the icing as he stepped closer. “I can think of
something to blow later,” he whispered into Seamus’ ear.
“Bet you will. I take it you like it then?” Seamus asked blushing.
Dean answered him with a long sugary kiss, grateful that it was a private
affair.
For Seamus’ birthday, he had recruited Parvati, Lavender, and Neville to
instruct all of the paintings in the common room to sing Happy Birthday when
Seamus entered the room. But of course, as half of the portrait subjects never
remain in their frames, by the end of Seamus’ birthday, the entire school at
one point or another witnessed Seamus being serenaded throughout the castle as
he walked to classes and meals. Joking classmates and housemates showered him
with confetti and made his birthday a day-long spectacle.
Not only was Seamus improvised idea even better than a trip to Puddifoot’s
(anything was better than that), but it was an adorable bit of magic they had
learned in Charms Club.
Flitwick essentially gave them private lessons on advanced Charms theory. After
their first riotous club meeting, although they agreed they wanted to learn new
spells, no one had a clear idea of what to focus on. Flitwick captured their
curiosity with an engaging explanation about the various Locomotor, Chantis,
and Animatus categories of spells. They revisited the basics— levitation and
small locomotor spells— then progressed to finer, advanced motor definitions
that included controlling the speed and direction of inanimate objects. They
started with small objects: rocks collected near the Black Lake, rope strands
Hagrid donated, a retired teapot from the staff room. Although not everyone was
at the same level of spell-work, Flitwick found a suit of armour (after
expelling Peeves from it) for those ready to practise one of the most advanced
Locomotor spells.
“Whether or not you use verbal or nonverbal cantations, remember-” he said with
a small knotted finger in the air, “- You must clear your mind and fuse your
body with the object. Be the master of it! Guide it! Now make a circle.”
After only a few weeks together, the members of the Charms Club were no longer
partial to their houses. Her words had been incendiary, but Oksana accomplished
the seemingly impossible: uniting all four houses. For all of their mistrust
and initial animosity, Ollie (Hufflepuff), Antonelli (Ravenclaw) and Seamus got
on swimmingly with Wren, Oksana’s friend. They were instantly won over by his
tale of his burn scar (“My dad’s a dragon handler- retired in the Department of
Magical Bites at St. Mungo’s now, but when I was eight, I tickled this newly
hatched Horntail while it was sleeping, and you know what they say about
that,”).
However, many people were still afraid of Oksana. Not counting her Slytherin
housemates, only Dean, Luna and occasionally Padma, volunteered to pair up with
her. Dean thought she was unequivocally cool and Luna found her appearance and
lack of skepticism about her magical beliefs refreshing.
With their robes off and wands out, they spread out haphazardly still chatting.
Because Oksana was usually one of the first to correctly perform a spell, often
non-verbally to the amazement and envy of the Ravenclaws, she stood inside the
circle ready to cast first. She wiggled her fingers and cracked her knuckles.
Then, firmly clutching her wand, she performed the delicate wave movements
humming softly the incantation she seized in her mind.
The suit of armour trembled as a ripple of air cascaded over it. Then, as if it
did it everyday, it waved to the group and walked out the door. They cheered
and giggled as it returned through the door waving. It picked up three pieces
of fruit in the bowl near the door and juggled while simultaneously skipping in
figure eights.
“Well done! Twenty points to Slytherin,” said Flitwick clasping his hands in
unadulterated glee.
The group broke out in gasps and groans of amusement and awe, that was probably
tinted with a shade of jealousy. The movements were so human-like, it was
impossible that a person wasn’t inside. Finally, the suit of armour handed all
of the oranges to Flitwick before collapsing to the floor in a heap of metal.
And with a shuddering breath, so did Oksana.
***** Destination, Determination, Deliberation *****
                                        
                                        
                                CHAPTER TWELVE
                   Destination, Determination, Deliberation
 
            Oksana’s collapse provided the club with another valuable lesson.
            “Can anyone tell me one of the rudimentary caveats of any spell?”
piped Flitwick once Oksana had been successfully revived.
            Padma raised her hand.
            “The preface in our first Standard Book of Spells explained about
the consequences of magic. Essentially, there must be a balanced ratio of the
proportional value of energy required versus converted potential energy
expended by the caster.”
            “Excellent! Ten points to Ravenclaw!” Flitwick said snapping his
fingers excitedly. His shockingly white hair crackled with giddiness.
            “Sorry, what does that even mean?” blurted out the burly blonde
Slytherin Morena Hull.
            “It means you have to listen to your body and not overextend
yourself. Certain magic requires a lot of energy and you have to make sure you
can handle it.”
            “Exactly Ms. Patil!” cried Flitwick.
            Several people looked back at Parvati in surprise.
            “What? I know things! No need to look so surprised,” she said in
mock surprise as she flipped her long hair behind her.
            The group laughed guiltily. Dean winked.
            “Yeah, but no ten points to Gryffindor?” said Lavender disgruntled.
            Padma held up ten fingers at Parvati mouthing, “Aha”.
            Both Parvati and Seamus gave Padma the Two-Fingered salute while
Dean, Wren, and Antonelli chuckled.
            “Maybe he can’t tell you apart?” said Wren with his arms folded.
            Parvati gave him a look. “Rubbish! Do we even look like the same
person?”
            Wren looked over at the guys who shrugged wordlessly. “Well, you
are identical twins...“ he said trying to maintain a rational conversation.
            Flitwick allowed them to continue their attempts with the suit of
armour, but as a precaution against having a room of fainting, overexerted club
members, they were only allowed to do broad general gestures. Luna made it tap
its head and rub its belly; The Creevey brothers made it clap slow and then
really fast; Wren made it do a push-up; Dean made it walk over and bend down to
give Flitwick a high-five.
            Given that Flitwick was also the chair of the Glee club, he
couldn’t resist introducing the group of Chantis spells— incantation that
allowed inanimate objects to speak, sing, and otherwise communicate with
speech.
            “But, we’ll save that for next week!” he grinned, his fluffy white
beard twitched as the group groaned in disappointment.
            “A whole week,” sighed Dennis Creevey looking up at his older
brother Colin as they walked out the door with the group.
            “I’ll see you in a bit,” Dean said to Seamus who was in step with
Ollie and Antonelli.
            Dean hung back with Wren, who sat next to Oksana still resting in
her chair.
            “Ugh. I”m fine. Please!” she said waving them off.
            Flitwick marched over. “Young lady, I am officially escorting you
to the hospital wing. It’s nothing serious, but Madam Pomfrey, hmph! Dumbledore
may have my hide if you’re not given the once-over!”
            Knowing it was a losing battle to argue with a professor, Oksana
acquiesced.
            “See you guys at dinner?” Dean asked.
            “Sure Lionheart, yes.” She said smiling weakly. She winced as she
got to her feet.
            Of course they wouldn’t actually talk in the Great Hall. Overcoming
their differences in the wood-panelled classroom was one thing, but an open
display of friendship was a work in progress.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
          
The week before April twenty-first, the sixth years were consumed with nothing
other than passing their Apparition Test and obtaining their licence. Harry and
Neville would not be of age until the end of July, but mostly everyone else who
was eligible, were nervous to the point of collapse. The auspicious afternoon
arrived on a crisp, sunny Saturday. Seamus and Dean embraced tightly, relieved
to have passed and then gave congratulatory hugs and handshakes to others.
Hagrid and the head of the houses monitored and counted the heads of the test-
takers. They had all been warned not to attempt to disapparate beyond the town
lines of Hogsmeade, but there there was always someone every year who mucked it
up.
Dean shook hands with Justin Finch-Fletchley and turned around to ask Seamus a
question, but he was nowhere in sight. Easily one of the tallest students
(Slytherins had resorted to calling him a Giraffedor, which he and Seamus
thought were among the nicer names he had been called that year), Dean could
spot Seamus’ light brown curls anywhere. But not now. Seamus was actually
missing. Just as he was about to do something foolish, like alert a professor,
Dean finally saw him in the distance jogging from the direction of the Hog’s
Head Inn with his knapsack.
Dean glared at Seamus before he even opened his mouth.
“Whatever it is, no. Just no.” he said turning his back on him, but keeping a
lookout for professors in spite of himself.
Hagrid, half-giant, half-human, was never in danger of being lost ever, but he
wasn’t as nearly as observant as McGonagall. Or Snape. Seamus, unfazed by
Dean’s unfortunate timing to have a conscience, stood close to Dean and slowly
pulled out a dusty bottle of Firewhiskey. Dean whirled around now shielding
Seamus from view.
“You dolt! How’re you gonna get this past Filch?” Dean said more angry that he
was impressed and irrationally thirsty.
The bottle disappeared in his knapsack and Seamus pulled out two empty
Gillywater bottles.
“Hurry up and pour.”
Dean did a quick surveillance of the situation. Everyone was still chatting,
but just then, Hagrid gave the signal to the teachers that they were good to
go.
“Shit,” he whispered.
He didn’t trust himself to pour it without spilling using magic, so he did it
manually with only a couple of drops splashing on the dirt road.
“Excellent!” beamed Seamus.
They both sealed a bottle and carefully stashed them in Seamus’ bag. Dean
casually tossed the empty Firewhiskey bottle to the ground and joined the large
queue of students excitedly chatting away.
 
 
 
“Cheers!”
Neville, Dean, Seamus, and Parvati toasted shot glasses in the rowdy Gryffindor
common room. Lavender retreated to her room crying. She failed on account of
being distracted over Ron.
“Poor thing,” Parvati giggled downing her fourth shot.
Just then, the prefect Andrew Lau entered through the portrait hole as Lavender
confronted Ron and Hermione unaware Harry stood next to them under his
invisibility cloak. The four of them stood at the bottom of the stairs leading
to the dormitories.
“What were you doing up there with her?” shrieked Lavender tearfully.
“Uh-oh, here we go... “ slurred Parvati in a sing-song voice.
She fell back in her chair with her head lolling to the side. With his eyes on
Lau, Seamus casually flicked his wand under the table focusing on their shot
glasses just as Andrew Lau strolled up to their table with his eyes narrowed in
suspicion.
“What’s this?” he asked observing the four of them, Parvati in particular stuck
out her tongue then giggled. Without waiting for an answer, he flipped his
perfectly styled black hair out of his face, snatched up Dean’s glass, and
sniffed it.
“ ‘S only water, mate,” shrugged Seamus innocently.
Dean and Neville looked at each other trying to stay cool. Lau set Dean’s glass
down and cocked an eyebrow.
“You’re drinking water. Out of a shot glass?”
He whipped his head down at Parvati who instantly used her long black hair as a
cloak to hide behind. Then he turned to stare at Neville who was so red in the
face he looked like he was trying to lay a dragon’s egg. Dean nodded solemnly
for one second before pulling his shirt collar over his face trying to disguise
his giggles with fake coughs.
“C’mon, we’re celebrating!” Seamus said spreading his arms wide.
“What do you MEAN, I’m not your girlfriend!” Lavender bellowed drowning out
Lau’s response.
The entire common room gawked at a red-faced Ron and a teary-eyed Lavender.
“Oh, darling, nooo!”
Parvati knocked Lau aside and stumbled over to Lavender and Ron. With all
pretense of sobriety forgotten, she threw her arms out and put all of her
weight on Lavender. They crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Ron skidded
out of the way with his arms held high as if surrendering to a higher power.
Only Hermione and Lau rushed over to help.
Still on the floor, Parvati put a finger to Lavender’s lips: “You don’t need
him Lav,” she said flat out drunk.
Ron piped up. “Yeah, Parvati’s right. You can do better.”
“Shut up Ron!” Parvati, Lavender and Hermione yelled.
Parvati cupped Lavender’s chin as Lau tried to help her up.
“I love you. So much! Too much!” she confessed as Lavender groaned under her
weight while Lau propped Parvati up.
“Parvati, I love you too, but you need to stand up—”
Parvati threw her head back, sobbing hysterically and shook off Lau with a
surprising force that sent him staggering back.
“No you don’t! Cause you don’t even know, do you? You! Don’t. Even... “
Ron side-stepped them eagerly as Hermione and Lavender propped up Parvati. Her
black curtain of hair draped over them as she sobbed uncontrollably. They
looked like the losing contestants of a six-legged race as they headed
precariously up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory.
“I don’t feel so good,” Parvati shouted in a weepy voice from above.
Suddenly, there was a loud retching, a splash of chunky liquid on the wooden
floor, an “Eurgh!” from Lavender, and then more staggering footsteps. It was
safe to assume Hermione used ‘Evanesco’ non-verbally to clean up the mess.
Lau stared at Ron’s retreating back (he ducked through the crowd and out of the
portrait hole) and then turned his steely gaze onto Seamus and company. With a
final look of contempt, furious he couldn’t catch them in the act, he marched
up stairs.
“Bloody hell,” said Seamus, “Someone can’t hold their liquor.”
The entire room nearly shook from laughter. Seamus, Dean and Neville banged
their fists on the table incapable of pretending any longer.
“That was an impressive bit of magic off the cuff like that,” said Dean with a
hiccup. “I reckon McGonagall would be really really proud.”
He blew Seamus loud kisses letting his arms flail in all directions laughing.
Seamus reached beneath the table for their half-full second bottle.
“Eh, Neville? I’ve summat t’show this man. Right ‘ere. My man. A’ight?” Seamus
said his six shots finally catching up to him as he pointed at one of the Deans
before him.
Neville blushed at being forced to participate in their ridiculous charade.
“Maybe’s Ron—” he burped, “heading for dinner?”
Neville stood up wobbling. He waited a moment to steady himself, blinked his
eyes wide open twice and then slowly fumbled his way to the couch with two
girls reading and pitched over into their laps, passed out.
“Atta boy,” said Seamus grinning. “Shall we?”
He stood up, more steadier than Neville, and held out his elbow. Dean, who
quite astutely paced himself with only three shots of Firewhiskey, hooked his
arm with Seamus. They took the stairs two at a time to a lowly chorus of
“Ooooh!”
“You have no shame Seamus Finnigan,” said Dean entering their dorm room.
Seamus, grateful Dean’s bed was closest to the door, tossed the bottle on
Dean’s bed and shrugged off his shirt.
“Bottoms up,” Seamus said in a very loud, clear voice.
“Are you asking or telling,” Dean smirked. He picked up the bottle and took a
long swig.
Seamus unzipped his jeans.
“Why don’t you come closer and find out.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
             The next morning Seamus and Dean woke up wishing they could trade
their Apparition Licence for the unknown spell McGonagall cast on the The Fat
Lady to sober her up, sans hangover.
             “That’s the next spell we need to learn in Charms Club,” Seamus
croaked.
             Every sound was magnified and the light! Dean wondered where did
all of the windows come from? Why did the sun have to shine so bright on this
particular day? It was only their saving grace that there were no classes, no
club meetings, or obligations of any kind to fulfill on Sunday. Most of all,
Seamus had no compunction about stumbling out of Dean’s four-poster bed to use
the loo. It was just as he had envisioned the scenario to play out: Neville
snored loudly in bed; Ron and Harry did a double-take mid-conversation about
Malfoy, then returned to their talk with shrugged shoulders; and Seamus enjoyed
taking a very satisfying piss.
            Monday morning however was an even more sobering affair. For the
first time since their fourth year when Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard
Tournament, Parvati sat with Padma at the Ravenclaw’s table for breakfast,
sipping a mug of tea with a splash of tears. The next table over, Lavender sat
in a mild state of shock: she tried to cope with failing her Apparition exam,
being publicly dumped by Ron, and dealing with the cold-shoulder from her best
friend and partner in crime, Parvati.
            Seamus offered her a warm shoulder and was surprised (if not
relieved) to find Lavender all cried out. Her brown face was wet with tears,
but there was no sobbing, weeping or hysterics. She merely sat comatose unable
to eat anything.
            “Have a spot of toast, yeah? D’you want half my orange?” asked Dean
tossing the perfectly spiraling peel on his plate and separating his orange
into two even halves.
            Lavender shook her head glumly and stared unblinkingly at her shiny
unused plate.
            “I’ll see you guys in class,” she said flatly rising from the table
mournfully.
            They watched her depart.
            “You think I can make it from here? Get her with a nice Cheering
Charm?” said Seamus squinting with one eye closed.
            Dean shifted to look behind them at Parvati. She met his eye
briefly before ducking beneath her hair and shielding her face with her hand as
if she were under the glare of a harsh, artificial spotlight.
            “This is ridiculous. What is she doing over there?” he said
angrily.
            “These girls Mr. Thomas are mad! Mad, I tell you, the whole lot of
‘em,” Seamus grinned.
            Dean couldn’t share in his humour just then. He simply nodded
glumly.
            “Guess so.”
 
 
            Later that evening, the murder of the Montgomery’s five-year old
brother shocked the students of the castle. There were daily lists of
disappearances and murders reported in the Daily Prophet, but the savagery of
his death shook most students out of their academic and extracurricular
bubbles.
            At their weekly Charms club meeting, talk finally turned to
defensive applications of Charms.
            “There is no known antidote for a werewolf bite as you all know,
but the advent of the Wolfsbane potion—”
            “Yeah, but what do we do if one comes at us? It’s not as if we can
conjure a goblet of potion out of the thin air and tip it down its throat,”
said Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley in a rare display of panic and rudeness.
He smoothed down his wavy brown hair. “Sorry, I- I know the Montgomery sisters
really well.”
            Technically, he had been dating the elder sister Julianne for eight
months, but no one felt the need to bring this up.
            Flitwick waved his apology away. “Quite all right, quite all right.
Well, any suggestions?”
            Straightaway Oksana, Padma, and to everyone’s surprise, Neville
raised their hands.
            “Any binding magic- Incarcerous, Petrificus Totalus,” said Padma
putting her hand down.
            “And you can use the Impedimenta spell or,” Neville blushed, “The
Leg-Locker curse.” He mumbled something about Malfoy and first year.
            Or, you can use Avada Kedavra, yes? Problem solved,” said Oksana
shrugging. Her forehead wrinkled in confusion at the crescendo of angry voices.
            “You would use an Unforgivable Curse?” said Justin aghast sitting
on the edge of his chair.
            “You would spare a werewolf’s life?” Oksana asked incredulous with
her eyebrows raised.
            “Yes!”
            Dean shot up out of his chair with his fists by his side. “Not all
obviously. But one of our best Defence teacher was a werewolf. You think Lupin
deserves to die?”
            Oksana bristled. Her impassive face gave away no emotion and Dean
wasn’t sure if she was mad, embarrassed or a combination of other emotions.
            “I remember this Lupin from my first year. Snape—” and all of the
non-Slytherins moaned sounds of disgust, but Oksana continued unperturbed,
“—made his views about him especially, well known. Of course I don’t think
Lupin deserves to die. But, do you think he would have spared you, or any of
you, that night in the Forbidden Forest?”
            She looked around pleased to see that they were caught up short,
each wrestling with the notion that the situation was kill or be killed. Dean
shook his head.
            “There are other things to do to someone besides commit murder,” he
sat down hard on the seat of his chair.
            “Sadly, Voldemort knows this too.”
            Oksana leaned back in her chair and patted the curse scars on her
stomach.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            “Told you she’s mad.”
            “Actually, what you said was, ‘Mark my words, your girlfriend’s
evil!’ “
            It was past one in the morning. The mood in the near empty common
room, as it was throughout the castle, was subdued. Seamus sat on a smaller
couch with Dean’s head in his lap in front of the fireplace. He gently walked
his fingers through the soft, tight coils growing back on Dean’s scalp.
            “Do you think she has a point though? Are we just being really
thick?” Dean said sitting up suddenly.
            “Dunno.”
            Seamus took the opportunity to scooch down and put his feet in
Dean’s lap.
            “But I s’pposed we can’t shout ‘Expelliarmus’ all the time either,”
he said his brow furrowed.
            The portrait door opened and everyone in the common room sat up
alarmed. Curfew was hours ago. It was only Harry Potter, but with the extra
security measures, additional Aurors roaming the corridors (even during the day
now) and the password to the Gryffindor common room changing every four-to-five
days, students were on high alert.
            Seamus sat up placing his feet on the floor once more as Harry
strolled over looking depressed.
            “Dean, I really don’t want to explain why, but I need you to play
Chaser in the last match against Ravenclaw,” Harry said with no preamble.
            “Seeing as I don’t care to play, I really think you should,” said
Dean coldly.
            The dying flames reflected in Harry’s lenses obscured his green
eyes, but Dean caught the shadow of anger as it passed over his face. Harry
took a deep breath and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair stressed out.
            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
            “It’s all right.”
            “No, I- I messed up. Badly. I’ve—” he crouched down looking around
suspiciously at the remaining Gryffindors scattered all over the room.
            Dean and Seamus hunched forward recognising that Harry was about to
divulge something of interest.
            “I cursed Malfoy and I’ve been banned from Quidditch and I’ve got
detention with Snape for the rest of the term,” he said still horrified by it
all.
            Dean and Seamus sat back awed and then burst out laughing. Someone
huffed in the distance behind them, slammed a book shut, and left the room.
            “Glad to amuse you,” said Harry wryly taking a seat on the floor
with his legs crossed.
            “Mate, why don’t you just shag ‘em, get ‘em out your system, and—”
Seamus dusted his hands in the air.
            “If I were into blokes...“ Harry looked up at the decorated ceiling
pensively. “Nope, I’d still curse him. Not with the shit out of that book,
but...“
            “What book?” Dean asked.
            Harry explained about the potions book belonging to the ‘Half-Blood
Prince’, which he stashed it away in the Room of Requirements.
            “You cheatin bastard!” Seamus hissed.
             “A cathedral-like room? Shit, there could be all kinds of things
in there!” Dean said amazed.
            “And it wasn’t cheating, it’s just notes from someone else,” said
Harry defensively.
            “Sure. So, what was this curse eh?” said Seamus a little ticked off
from Harry’s success at Potions. “Well? Come on!” he probed measuring Harry’s
reluctance.
            “No! It’s something only someone dabbling in the Dark Arts could
know. Look, it slashed his chest, like some massive animal’s claws,” Harry
pleaded disgusted with himself.
            “Still waiting Potter,” said Seamus tapping an imaginary
wristwatch.
            “Sectumsempra,” he hissed ashamedly.
            Dean stared at Harry curious.
            “Why’d you use it then?”
            “Because it said, ‘For Enemies.’ ”
***** P. D. A. *****
                                        
                                        
                               CHAPTER THIRTEEN
                                   P. D. A.
 
            The final Quidditch match of the school year ended as Dean dreamed
it would when he was younger and still gave a damn. They won. Ginny Weasley
caught the Snitch, not in record time, but early enough to earn them the House
Cup. He was lifted off the ground and paraded about like a star footballer in
the muggle world. But as Dean walked up to the castle with the typical rowdy
celebratory Gryffindor crowd up to their common room to party, he was miffed
that Seamus hadn’t waited for him.
            The cheers echoed down the corridor, which meant there was a queue
at the portrait hole. He got in finally and was gobsmacked. The room was
decorated to the hilt with banners, floating bubbles, and moving candid photos
of the team from their last game (Dean’s first game as Chaser) hung up on
streamers. He caught Seamus’ eye who set up an enchanted butterbeer dispenser
and was showing a third year how he kept it going.
            They met in the middle of their windy path towards each other.
            “Congratulations, Mr. Thomas, for a most splendid game of
Quidditch! What a precious display of athleticism, I shall remember it for—”
            Dean kissed him. More to shut him up, but really was there a better
way to end his career as a Quidditch Chaser? The room exploded in cheers and
wolf-whistles; Colin Creevey conjured a cloud of raining confetti and Dean felt
both ridiculous, yet perfectly at peace.
            “You planned all this didn’t you?” he said ignoring the pats to the
back of his shoulder.
            “Maybe,” Seamus teased, his hands snaking their way inside Dean’s
Quidditch robes.
            “But you didn’t know if we’d win.”
            “I had faith in you.”
            “I didn’t get a chance to score.”
            “I had more faith in Ginny.”
            Dean let out a belly laugh and Seamus snuggled against him. There
was a new, different whooping chorus. Dean looked behind him to see Harry and
Ginny snogging (finally!) just inside the portrait door. Dean clapped along
with everyone else and was surprised to see Seamus’ scowling face as Harry and
Ginny exited the room.
            “What? You knew they were always... “ he said baffled by Seamus.
            “Damn. Is it wrong I’m still holding out for him an’ Malfoy?”
            “You’re ridiculous you are, Mr. Finnigan.”
            Dean flung his arm over Seamus’ shoulder and they mingled
officially declared.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
By Monday, the Gryffindor’s glow of victory glimmered, but all of Hogwarts had
officially steamrolled into the dreaded revision portion of the school year.
End of the year exams were now only weeks away. And while students dreamt
lovingly of any number of activities they would do during their summer holiday,
they had to slug it out in a hot, stifling castle.
Seamus fanned himself with one side of his robe as they trundled to the
sweltering Transfiguration classroom. Just as March was unseasonably warm, May
arrived unfavorably hot. One of the benefits was that it did give Seamus the
opportunity to go commando and boast about it to Dean. As they unpacked their
materials in class, Seamus whispered sweet naughtiness in Dean’s ear.
“Oi, Dean. Guess what I’m underneath me jeans?”
Dean sigh. “Seamus, for the tenth time, I was there when you got dressed. I
know you’re not wearing your kit, so will you please shut it?”
“How can I improve my sexy talk, if I don’t talk sexy, eh?” Seamus shrugged
with a wink.
Lavender and Parvati giggled.
 “Here’s an idea. Learn Mermish and go jump in the Black Lake.”
They weren’t really saying anything of substance because the real goal wasn’t
“sexy talk”, it was to keep things light as Parvati and Lavender navigated a
new chapter of their friendship. Neither girl could change her feeling for the
other: Lavender, strictly platonic; Parvati, tragically unrequited. So they
reached an impasse: a compromise to respect each other’s “space” and remain
friends.
During their Charms club meeting, requests for practising new spells (or spells
they hadn’t mastered yet- Ravenclaw Antonelli still struggled with the Patronus
Charm) were becoming varied, but practical. Justin Finch-Fletchley suggested
they learn a smattering of Locator spells to aid in the recovering of items,
finding people, and places. Although there was no ‘homework’ per se assigned
(usually everyone worked on their own or with friends to develop a particular
spell they personally fancied), Flitwick decided to give them a timed practice
session with an incentive to master this new spell quickly.
They stood in a wide circle arms-length apart.
“A Frenchman Jean-Pierre Trouvé created this spell in 1602, tired of losing his
favorite chipped vase for his daily bouquet still life portraits. Anyway, the
incantation is ‘Truvo Objutus’ and the wand movement is a twist of the wrist as
so,” Flitwick demonstrated with a slow spin of his forearm. “Now I want all of
you to close your eyes. Concentrate on the most valuable possession that lies
somewhere in this castle, and in this castle only.”
There was a number of snickering as everyone peeked with one or both eyes to
see if everyone else had indeed closed their eyes. Only Luna swayed slightly in
a meditative state.
“Now, if you’re concentrating on your object it should all be here when you
open your eyes.”
Parvati gasped.
In Flitwick’s short outstretched palm was her burnished gold locket. A present
for her thirteenth birthday, given to her by Lavender. She stole a glance at
Lavender, but looked away before they made eye contact. Everyone else reacted
to the small pile of their personal treasures in front of Flitwick: Dean’s
photo album, the Christmas present given to him by Seamus; Luna’s stained and
frayed quilt, which had been her mother’s; Neville’s picture of his parents
smiling on their wedding day, decorated by Droober’s gum wrappers.
“So this will be a bit of a challenge. I have now hidden all of your objects
somewhere in the castle,” Flitwick said with a light flick of his wave
vanishing the objects to the horror of everyone. “You all have until the start
of dinner to find them. Remember, a twist of the wrist and Truvo Objutus’. See
you next week!”
He quickly scurried out of the room deaf to the sounds of panicked voices. The
meeting adjourned with them dashing out to recover their items like bloodhounds
on a hunt.
“But it could be anywhere! What a dirty trick!”
Parvati slumped to the floor just outside of the classroom distraught. Lavender
hesitantly touched her shoulder and crouched down.
“Parvati, Flitwick has it in a room somewhere we can all get to. I’m sure of
it,” Lavender said sagely.
“They wouldn’t be in Snape’s sleeping chambers or the Room of Requirement,”
said Dean.
“Unless you really value his knickers,” joked Seamus walking off.
They all chuckled as Parvati smiled weakly getting to her feet.
“Yeah, that makes more sense,” she said nodding sheepishly. “All right, let’s
do this? Wait, can we even work together?”
“Probably... not for long. Pretty sure our stuff won’t be outside the Great
Hall in a pile. Leave it to Flitwick to have us scampering all over the bloody
castle,” Dean sighed. “But let’s stick together until then, yeah?”
“How will we know we’ve found it?” Lavender asked trying to remain calm.
“Oi! Give it to me!”
Seamus’ voice echoed from the girls lavatory near the classroom.
“Seamus?” Dean called out. He hadn’t realised Seamus wasn’t there.
The three of them jogged down half the corridor.
“Oh no,” whined Lavender recognising the bathroom.
“What?” Dean asked looking between them.
“Moanin’ Myrtle,” Lavender and Parvati said sharing an annoyed look before
heading in resigned.
They found Seamus near the stalls with his wand tip glowing red as a lit
charcoal lump. He stared at the ceiling nearly petrified. Moanin’ Myrtle, a
fourteen-year old ghost (and only known casualty of the Salazar Slytherin’s
basilisk, which was hidden in the Chamber of Secrets) floated in the ceiling
flipping through Seamus’ Christmas present— Dean’s handmade sketchbook.
“Hmm, this haiku is not very good, but I like this drawing,” she said dreamily
in annoying high-pitched voice. Her pigtails swung side-to-side as she turned
the pages in an exaggerated fashion.
“Well, I’ve found it, but how do I get the bloody thing,” said Seamus out of
the corner of his mouth.
Dean hovered next to him just as perplexed. None of the other ghosts they had
ever encountered ever took their things without permission. Peeves didn’t
count, as he was a poltergeist and a menacing one at that.
“Dunno mate. Summoning charm?” Dean whispered back.
Moanin’ Myrtle’s eyes flashed behind her oversized, owl-shaped eye glasses and
she snapped the book closed.
“Or how about, YOU JUST ASK HER!” Myrtle raged, her voice taking on a deep,
sinister tone.
Lavender squeaked and huddled back to the door as Myrtle descended upon Dean
and Seamus in the blink of an eye. Seamus’ wand glowed even brighter as she
hovered near with his book.
“W-well, can I have it then?” Seamus asked.
“No!” Myrtle flew into a stall and dangled the book over the toilet. “Say the
magic word,” she cackled in that ear-tingling girlish tone.
“Myrtle, you give that back! How dare you!” said Parvati stepping forward.
“Shh!” Dean warned Parvati, feeling completely out of his depths.
“Sod this. Accio book!” Seamus shouted stabbing his wand at the book. It soared
out of Myrtle’s transparent hands and squarely into his. The wandlight
immediately went out.
“I wasn’t really going to do it,” said Moanin’ Myrtle genuinely full of remorse
and she sank onto the toilet weeping pitifully.
At the best of times neither Dean nor Seamus were good at helping living girls
when they cried; they certainly were not interested in consoling a volatile
ghost. Dean turned to them and mouthed, “Let’s go!” The rest of them nodded and
tiptoed backwards across the cracked, moldy tiles.
 “Honestly, I’m not sure who’s more mental- the staff or the ghosts!” said
Seamus during dinner.
“I beg your pardon,” said Nearly Headless Nick floating by shaking his head as
he continued to mutter, “Rude, insolent... “
Dean shook his head and scooped up a spoonful of onion mash and chives. “Both.
Figure you gotta be mental to deal with this lot.”
Parvati beamed taking a sip of water. The entire Charms group had converged at
the Great Hall clutching their items and laughing together, house rivalries
damned. Dean held a cracked snow globe of Oksana smiling. They both ignored the
treacherous leers from both of their houses and instead made a show of saying
goodbye in front of everyone.
“Well, personally I think in the end, since it all worked out, that was a
pretty cool meeting,” said Parvati cheerfully.
“Oh was it Weepin’ Wendy?” teased Seamus.
“Get stuffed Seamus,” said Lavender nudging Parvati with a smile.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
To everyone’s surprise, the Charm club meetings became even more interesting
and fun. It was a nerdy way to blow off steam as the stress of exams
exponentially grew. After their latest meeting, the four of them sat in the
common room packing up early for the night. Dean was pretty sure Snape would
give him another ‘A’ (for Acceptable, the lowest passing grade) on the next
essay due. Usually, Snape reserved his malignant attitude for Harry, but ever
since word got out that Oksana, Wren and other Slytherins were fraternizing
with the other houses in Flitwick’s Charms club, Snape turned his attention on
everyone else. He bullied Neville mercilessly, expecting to see him flounder as
he had in Potions. But in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, the
harder Snape pushed, shockingly the harder a new, defiant Neville shoved right
back. Just as he had improved his spell work in the DA the year before, Charms
club helped Neville develop his confidence magically.
“Anyone up for a game of Wizard chess?” Seamus said, setting down the wooden
tray of dozing pieces.
Before Dean could decline, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny dashed out of the portrait
hole. They’d been looking distinctively pale and tense all night, huddled in a
corner around a large, yellowed piece of parchment. Nearly tripping down the
stairs of the dormitory, Neville sprinted out of the portrait hole grasping his
wand. Seamus looked at Dean and Parvati. Dean looked at Lavender and Seamus.
Without a word, they got up from the table leaving everything except their
wands.
Outside the portrait hole, they collided into Neville, Luna, Oksana and Wren.
“Did you see it too?” Neville asked, holding up his fake Galleon from their DA
days.
Dean’s lips made an ‘O’ shape. Parvati snatched the fake Galleon out of
Neville’s hand.
“You still have this?” she asked surprised.
Luna pulled one from her purple jean pocket. “I always hoped we’d use these
again, but with Charms—”
“Excuse me! What is going on here? Isn’t it past your bedtime?” said the Fat
Lady behind them in a churlish tone.
Luna jumped slightly, her hair hopping behind her. “Oh, hello. Didn’t see you
there. Funny you guys get a portrait—”
“Just ‘cause you’re off the bottle, don’t go takin it out on us!” yelled Seamus
cutting off Luna pointing his finger at the Fat Lady.
“Hey!” shouted Oksana getting their attention, “Something is happening. We have
to go!”
“Go where?” asked Lavender.
“Why?” asked Dean.
“The coin says ‘Astronomy Tower. Death Eaters in!” cried Neville.
The Fat Lady gasped and so did Lavender and Parvati.
“Yes, that’s what we tried to tell her,” said Oksana furious. “I was watching
Malfoy tonight. You always joke Harry Potter is so concerned with him, but he
left our common room with some disgusting dark art object. We saw them,” she
said turning slightly to Wren. His black hair was pulled tight as always in a
high bun and bounced as he nodded vigourously.
“But she wouldn’t let us in without a password!” said Wren jabbing his thumb at
the Fat Lady.
“It is my job!” she shouted indignant.
“But how could Death Eaters get in? Aren’t there supposed to be Aurors
patrolling the corridors” asked Lavender slightly panicking. “Are you sure
that’s what it said?”
“Well, we’ve got to stop them—” said Dean.
“Or find a teacher!” argued Lavender trying to be reasonable.
“No! The Aurors,” said Parvati.
They agreed to split up into two groups: Dean, Oksana, Seamus and Wren would
head to the tower; Parvati, Neville, Lavender, and Luna would notify a teacher
or Auror, whoever they found first.
They had a solid plan, but how naive they were to try and achieve it.
 
 
 
Naturally, Parvati and Lavender immediately thought of Flitwick as a professor
who would hear them out without dismissing them summarily under the threat of
detention. But on the way to his office on the fourth floor, voluminous black
robes flapped toward them like a human-sized bat: Snape. His lackluster curtain
of black hair fluttered behind him as he sprinted towards them in an un-Snape-
like fashion. His black eyes flashed in the dark corridor and Neville could
tell Snape was already privy to the unfathomable attack taking place in the
tower.
“Oh bugger, we’re done for,” Lavender whispered as Snape reached them within
arms-length.
But Neville didn’t care. He strode up to Snape, nearly the same height,
embolden by his sense of duty to fight against Death Eaters once again.
“Professor Snape, listen—” he said urgently.
Snape took out his wand. “Get to your rooms! All of you or it’ll—”
“No!” Neville roared. “You’re going to listen to us. There’s an attack or
something in the Astronomy Tower!”
“You have to get Dumbledore now!” shrieked Parvarti.
To their immense surprise, Snape stepped backwards terrified. But he had to
play his part as menacing as possible because they were indeed wasting time. He
regained his composure and brandished his wand at them sneering viciously. For
the first time in a long time, a familiar flicker of fear was alight on their
brown and pale faces.
“Go. To. Your. Room. Ms. Patil, one more word—” Parvati opened her mouth to
object, “—from any of you, and I will personally see to it that you are
expelled from this school. Now move out of the way!”
He cut through their human defence and sprinted out of sight.
Lavender sniffed and shook her head despairingly. “But, we have to do
something...“
“I think he knows,” said Neville with a hard look.
“Obviously. Did you see his face? He certainly didn’t expect us to know,” said
Parvati bitter.
“Perhaps all of the teachers have been alerted then?” said Luna, calmest of
them all.
Neville shrugged at Parvati. “Can’t hurt to check, right?”
Lavender looked as if she wanted to disagree, but she said resolutely: “Let’s
check Flitwick’s office. If he’s not there, then we’ll go back. I don’t fancy
getting chucked out in our sixth year.”
 
 
 At the same time, Dean, Seamus, Oksana, and Wren dashed through the corridors
startling only napping portraits and snogging couples. They hurtled up a dark
staircase taking a shortcut and were nearly cursed within an inch of their
lives by a mousy-haired Auror. Dean had seen her a couple of times morosely
patrolling the halls.
“What are you doing here! It’s past curfew!” she shouted in a voice that belied
her stature. Her wand tip crackled with energy aimed at all of them.
“Tonks!”
A familiar voice called out from behind her. The wizard dashed toward all of
them emerging out of the shadows.
“Professor?” asked Dean amazed to see the towering, shabby-dressed former
Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
“Lupin, please,” he said catching his breath.
“Remus we don’t have time for bloody introductions! Listen to me all of you!”
Tonks blurted bluntly. She took in their stances, wands out, and the
particularly ferocious look on Oksana’s face. “Go back to your common room—”
“Malfoy’s brought Death Eaters into the castle and we’re going to fight that
little git.” Oksana said stepping forward into Tonks’ face.
Neither Tonks nor Lupin could hide their shock quick enough, but Lupin
recovered first.
“Listen to me. All of you, Tonks is right. You belong in your rooms,” he said
more gently, but firmly.
“I can help you. You know this,” said Oksana looking at Tonks directly.
“Ah, so this is Dumbledore’s prodigy,” Lupin smiled sadly. Regretful to do it,
he also aimed his wand at them just like Tonks.
“I know you think you’re ready, but we don’t have to time to fight you. We’re
all on the same side,” he said in a rush.
“Same side, yes. But underage, so go!” Tonks shouted impatient.
Her body grew fourteen inches high and her face morphed into a terrifying
griffin-like visage with flaming, fire-truck red hair. “Go!” her voice bellowed
and they all stumbled back.
McGonagall had discussed last week about metamorphagi. At the time, Dean
thought it was fascinating to read about it and study the colourful moving
pictures in a library book. However, in presence of one it was bloody
terrifying. Seamus stumbled back the farthest, reminded of a Banshee.
Somewhere in the distance above them, a faint echo of a child’s scream wafted
down the corridor. Tonks turned and ran looking like a witch set ablaze with
Lupin on her heels.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Both parties met just out of earshot of the Fat Lady. Seamus spied Vi, the
skinny blonde hag darting out of frame after a whispered conversation in the
Fat Lady’s ear while watching them huddle at distance.
“If the whole bloody school didn’t know, they will know,” Seamus said as a
reason for suggesting they hang back.
Parvati and Neville recounted their doomed encounter with Snape first. Then,
Seamus and Oksana shared their bitter and terrifying experience with the
Aurors. It was unanimous: they would wait in their common rooms until there was
some official word.
Oksana bit her bottom lip and heaved an angry sigh as she paced restlessly.
“But we could have helped,” she growled and stormed away without warning. Wren
stroked his scar absent-mindedly with a shrug and followed her to the Slytherin
common room.
“Guess there’s no harm in waiting,” said Luna. She turned slowly and walked
away from the remaining group of Gryffindors.
But the wait was excruciating. They sat in a small huddle at the table nearest
to the door of the common room. Sick with anxiety, Dean sat on his hands to
keep them from shaking. Seamus sat by his right side; his right leg thumped the
floor vibrating Dean’s lower body. Neither of them spoke, but Dean was only
slightly comforted by the fact that he knew they were safe and that the Death
Eaters hadn’t won or there would be a castle-wide evacuation. But his eyes
darted over to the corner Ron, Hermione, and Ginny occupied, wondering whose
screams they heard and contemplated a host of gruesome possibilities.
After years of waiting (or had it only been forty minutes?), Harry dashed
through the portrait hole. He sported nothing worse than scrapes or bruises.
The bottom of his robe was shredded as if he dodged a particularly nasty spell,
but he was alive. Dean, Seamus, Parvati, Lavender and Neville converged on him.
“What happened at the Tower?”
“We know Death Eaters got in! Who’s hurt?”
They bullied him as quietly as humanly possible as not to alarm any of the
other kids in the room. Harry looked thunderous with grief and shoved them
aside impatiently as he headed for the dormitory stairs.
“Hospital wing,” he spat over his shoulder.
Dean rolled his eyes anticipating Harry’s terse reply. Lavender whimpered.
“We can’t all go,” Dean said looking at them. “You know how Pomfrey is.”
Lavender lowered herself into Parvati’s vacant seat apprehensive. “I’ll stay.”
Parvati gave her a look of disapproval, but sighed and leaned against the back
of the chair. “Fine. You guys go. But tell us everything when you get back!”
She jabbed an accusatory finger at them as if they openly conspired to withhold
information right in front of her.
Dean raised his eyebrows at Seamus, the question unspoken. Seamus nodded
grimly. Neville sighed resigned and stepped back. Dean took a final glance at
the rest of the kids studying and chatting in the room, blissfully unaware of
whatever catastrophe that may or may not have been averted. Then, he and Seamus
waved the three of them goodbye.
 
 
 
Lupin leaned against the wall adjacent to the entrance of the hospital wing. In
his arms, he embraced Tonks, now normal-sized sporting her drab mousy brown
hair, and rubbed slow wide circles on her back as if in a trance. When Lupin
heard Dean and Seamus approach, he stood straighter grasping Tonks tenderly by
her arms. She looked over at them and stalked away in silence, dabbing her red-
rimmed eyes.
“Hey Professor,” Dean said in a soft shaky voice. His eyes darted at the closed
wing doors, but he could hear garbled, mournful voices behind them.
“Mr. Thomas, I’m no professor of your now. Call me Lupin, please.”
Lupin extended a hand to Dean (surprised that he remembered him after all of
this time) and to Seamus. His premature graying brown hair was disheveled as if
someone yanked on it in a wrestling match. His eyes were bloodshot as if he had
also been crying or forgone sleep for days.
“Okay Lupin, what happened? We did as you said. We waited. No one else really
knows that anything’s happened.” said Dean with a steely gaze.
“Well, Mr. Thomas, Mr. Finnigan, we fought the Death Eaters, but it appears—”
Lupin’s voice cut out abruptly as if he suddenly ran out of oxygen to breath.
His head ducked down for a moment and he grimaced experiencing a deep pain in
his gut.
“Dumbledore’s dead.”
***** Decisions Unmade *****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                               CHAPTER FOURTEEN
                               Decisions Unmade
                                        
Chaos, for once not instigated by Peeves, broke out in the castle in a matter
of minutes. On the opposite side of the Astronomy Tower, students in the North
Tower sighted the Death Mark. The Head Boys and Head Girls along with the
Prefects from all the houses attempted to marshall the students off the lawn
directly below the Astronomy Tower where glimpses of Dumbledore’s crumbled body
was confirmed dead. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, soared overhead with his song
of lament filling every room of the castle. It didn’t help that Hagrid wept
nearly inconsolable on the grass or the portrait subjects flitted mournfully
from frame to frame. When news of Dumbledore’s death reached back to the Fat
Lady, Dean heard she flung the door wide open without the password given
sobbing uncontrollably.
Dean and Seamus lay speechless on Dean’s bed as the sun rose. Robbed of energy,
they didn’t bother to close the bed curtains or change clothes. It did not seem
possible. How could the greatest wizard of their time be murdered so ruthlessly
by the rumored Dark Arts professor?
Even worse, by morning the rumors of the school closing— all end of the year
exams had been postponed— sent students spiraling into hysterics. The Owlery
was nearly empty as owls flew all over the castle. By the late afternoon, the
first wave of parents arrived to collect their children. Lavender cried in the
common room after Parvati’s abrupt departure. They promised to write as soon as
Lavender went home as her parents were also on their way.
An small barn owl flew away as Dean and Seamus sat on a bench in the Great
Hall, re-reading Mrs. Finnigan’s note.
“I don’t believe it. She’s on her way!” said Seamus thumping the bench as he
stood up. He crumbled the note and jabbed it with his wand setting it on fire.
They watched it bob up and down in mid-air, the ashes floating off.
“Do you think she’ll make you go before the funeral?” Dean asked hunched over,
resting his elbows on his knees.
Seamus paced agitated a short distance in front of Dean.
“I’m not going anywhere! If she thinks she can march me out of Hogwarts like a
sniffler on a leash—!”
“Seamus! Seamus!”
He froze in place. His mother dashed into the hall, past other parents and
their frightened children. Her moss-green travel cloak fluttered behind her.
“Oh blessed be, yeh a’right! Ah was worried sick when yeh didn’t write back and
now with Dumbledore... “ she said sniffling and clutching Seamus by the elbows.
The extra four inches Seamus grew throughout the year put him clearly above the
top of her curly blonde head.
Seamus flushed a pale pink as he stared down his mother impatient with her
excessive coddling.
“How can I’ve done? I’ve just got the letter today?”
Mrs. Finnigan’s round pink face scrunched up in confusion. “No love, Ah sent it
two days ago. Then, sent that letter straightaway today.” She cradled Seamus’
hardened face, “But yeh’re a’right now. Are yeh packed?”
Seamus stepped backward out of her grip to stand out of arm’s reach next to
Dean.
“No ma’m, I’m not packed. Because I’m not leaving. Not today anyway.”
Mrs. Finnigan could give the Veelas a run for their Galleons with the speed her
demeanor changed. Her face contorted into fury as she stood rimrod straight,
all traces of airy concern and worry vanished.
“Oh, aye? Is that what’s happenin’ eh? Let me tell you Seamus Callum, we’re
leaving right now! So go’n and get yer things. Now! Ah’ve been sitting home
crying me eyes out, worried something fierce an’ now yeh’re telling me yeh not
go’n!”
Her voice rose steadily through the cathedral-like hall reaching Howler volume.
Dean noticed several distraught students rubbernecking, welcoming the
distracting scene unfolding before them. Seamus replied with a bitter, louder
retort. Whatever he said wasn’t in English, but Dean didn’t need to be fluent
in Irish Gaelic to know that Seamus wasn’t backing down. Fed up, Mrs. Finnigan
grabbed her son by the arm, but he snatched it away.
They continued screaming all the way towards the corridor that lead toward the
steps headed for the front doors. At one point, Seamus pointed back at Dean and
Mrs. Finnigan threw Dean a look full of a thousand accusations before
surrendering in defeat. She smoothed down the front of her traveling cloak and
her honey blonde hair, making a theatrical show of wiping away tears before
storming down the steps and out the front doors of the castle.
Dean approached tentatively standing a step or two behind Seamus catching the
tail end of Mrs. Finnigan’s grumbling words about Seamus’ “ungratefulness” and
“insolence”. Seamus was still breathing heavily as he watched her disappear
without a backward glance. He turned to Dean with fire in his tired brown eyes.
“She’s going to get a room in Hogsmeade. I told her to get comfortable and that
we’ll see her at the funeral.”
Dean’s body swayed as if blown back by an imaginary wind. He whistled and
slipped his hand in Seamus’ threading their fingers slowly.
“You’re a braver man than me,” said Dean smiling at him. “My mum would’ve
slapped me into last week if I even raised my voice.”
Seamus grinned wide remembering Mrs. Thomas whacking Dean over the summer for
using the most inoffensive of curses.
“Wanna get out for some fresh air?” Dean asked.
Seamus shrugged, but squeezed his hand tighter. Dean steered them out of the
front door into the blinding sunshine. Without speaking, they ambled over
towards the Black Lake, which was a bit too crowded for their tastes. Everyone
else had the same idea: to distance themselves from the castle and the
devastating memories of Dumbledore’s death.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            The only funeral Dean ever attended was for a great-aunt when he
was seven years old. It was a typical solemn quiet ceremony. His great-aunt had
been estranged for a long time and left the family nothing but cat-pissed
furniture and debts. The only people in attendance standing over the dark hole
in the ground was his mother, his older sister Anise, two elderly great-uncles
and the priest. He remembered with clarity that his father had left only six
weeks prior, so his mum had to show him how to tie his own tie; she wouldn’t
allow the faded clip-on he wore for school.
            Nothing could have prepared him for the massive wizardly turn-out
of mourners wishing to pay their respects. Empty, sterilised words of reverence
were spoken as was to be expected of a public funeral for a dignified wizard
like Albus Dumbledore. But the striking display of the majestic, searing purple
flames that burned into a pearly-white marble tomb, the arrow salutes of the
centaurs from within the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, the shrieking
dissonance of the Merpeople’s mournful farewell at the shore of the Black Lake—
all of it left Dean mystified of a magical world he still knew so little about.
            Dean sat with that familiar sensation of hollowness, but now it was
accompanied by a stomach-churning knot of wriggling nerves. He had to be
vigilant, constantly clamping down the urge to be sick. Seamus rubbed his
bruised knuckles against each other. He had punched the wall in anger and
refused treatment from Pomfrey as they stood in the hospital wing blindsided by
the news Lupin delivered baldly. Now, Seamus sat with his head hung low
avoiding everyone’s eyes and more importantly Dumbledore’s gleaming tomb. As if
it wouldn’t be real if he didn’t look.
            Dean glanced over at Seamus helpless to offer any meaningful words
of consolation; he could barely speak, but he gently nudged Seamus with his
knee. Seamus looked over, his eyes still downcast to see Dean offer up his
palm. The corners of Seamus’ mouth turned up slowly and he slid his hand over
Dean’s interlocking their fingers.
            Finally, groups of people stood up to leave. As they followed the
procession, Dean looked around them noting how many of his housemates had
already left, but then he saw a familiar and strangely comforting face: Lupin.
Also being one of the taller humans, Lupin caught Dean’s eye and paused with
Tonks (they held hands also) as Dean and Seamus approached. Lupin’s squinting
eyes flicked down at their hands and to their surprise, he smiled wider as if
reminiscing over a first love. He gave Tonks an extra squeeze as she let go to
blow her reddened nose.
            “Good to see you two again, though not on this particular
occasion,” Lupin said with a small smile.
            “Likewise,” Seamus croaked as Dean nodded.
            “Dean, could I have a word?” Lupin asked.
            Seamus moved to pull away, but Dean squeezed his hand signaling him
to stay. Seamus frowned at Dean taken back. Lupin and Tonks exchanged a knowing
look.
            “You can say whatever it is, we’re... “Dean looked at Seamus
wanting some kind of affirmation.
            “Together,” confirmed Seamus with a hard nod.
            “So I see,” said Lupin smiling warmly. Tonks waved him off as he
extended an arm for the three of them to walk over towards the glittering
ripples of the Black Lake, away from the procession returning to the castle.
            “I don’t know if you heard, but there’s talk of keeping Hogwarts
open next year,” he said with a tightness in his throat.
            Dean had mixed feelings about the idea: a Dumbledore-free Hogwarts?
It didn’t sound right. Seamus shook as if he was buzzing from a shock.
            “That’s good isn’t it? It’ll be, well, it’ll be different with
Dumbledore gone and all—” Seamus said optimistically, but Lupin shook his head
violently.
            “No! There’s... there’s rumours of a registry. A registry for,” and
he looked regretfully at Dean, “for muggleborns.”
            Dean swayed on the spot letting go of Seamus’ sweaty hand.
            “What?” Seamus barked. “How? What for?”
            The pallor of his face began to redden with seething anger.
            “Look, I- I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. It’s not
official and Tonks only heard snatches of it from of the Order- er, one of her
colleagues.” Lupin said running a hand through his hair and down the back of
his sweaty neck.
            “Like hell you shouldn’t!” whispered Seamus furiously, finally in
touch with the blinding temper clouding his other emotions.
            Lupin sighed, then smiled almost tearful.
            “You two remind me of...“ he shook the unspoken memories away as if
he trying to dislodge a fly off his hair. “Dean, I think it might be dangerous
for you to return next year. Obviously, it’s your parents—”
            “I’m of age. Besides my mum doesn’t know anything and I’d like to
keep it that way.” he said numb. “Why are you telling me this?”
            Lupin stashed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket.
            “Tonks has been impressed with your charm activities as of late.
Obviously, she didn’t have issues with Transfiguration, you can see what she
is, but she loved Charms just as much. She’s really impressed with everyone,
especially as it’s rumoured you’ve all become good friends with some of the
Slytherins. Bridging chasms, my friends and I could never do here,” Lupin said
wistfully looking back at the castle briefly.
            Seamus made a face as if he wanted to declare that he wasn’t that
friendly with Slytherins. Lupin grinned noticing as much. Dean turned to Seamus
slightly alarmed.
            “Guess my reputation precedes me?” he said wondering what was
rumoured about them.
            “A bit. Look, I wish I could send a notice to everyone, but given
my ‘creature’ status—” Lupin said bitter.
            Dean and Seamus cut him off with a short burst of protest.
            “Rubbish! You’re not a ‘creature’!”
            “Sir, you’re anything, but—”
            Appreciative, Lupin held up a hand for them to calm down.
            “Prejudices, stereotypes, I can’t really fight them. You two will
soon find out, if you haven’t already. Not everyone is as welcome and brilliant
as Dumbledore. Being who I am in our world... well, you know is a severe...
handicap. Whether or not I could help someone, most people would not even blink
before cursing me because they assumed I was nothing more than a blood savage.
So, I guess I’m offering you help Dean because I know you would accept it. I
think.”
            He pulled out a small sealed cream-coloured envelope from inside
his jacket pocket. Dean took it flattered and curious.
            “This is the address of my fiancée- Tonks and I are engaged- her
parent’s home. I trust you are both familiar with the Fidelius Charm?”
            They nodded.
            “Excellent. Well, Dean, if either over the summer of at the start
of the term you decide not to return to Hogwarts, and if you find it necessary
to leave your mother’s home, then we are inviting you to stay. Have you earned
your Apparition Licence?” Lupin said all smiles gone.
            “Yeah, but... “ said Dean, his mouth was full of unasked questions
bubbling up in his brain.
            Lupin turned to Seamus. “I remember you’re a half-blood. Your
mother’s a witch, so it’ll be easier to prove your blood-status when the time
comes, but I need you to understand—”
            “I understand perfectly well what you’re saying,” said Seamus
breathing hard. “You think he should just take off running, on his own, because
some crazy old dingbat at the Ministry—”
            “—The Ministry may not be what it appears to be! There are things
happening that even we don’t understand,” Lupin snapped.
            Footsteps crunched the crisp grass ahead of them. They looked up to
see Tonks looking more composed.
            “Is everything ok?” she asked standing close to Lupin, but not
touching. Lupin nodded, but sighed exasperated.
            “That address Dean, is for you only,” she said nodding at the
envelope in his hand. “If I were you, I’d take some time to think about, well,
your options really. Think of it as a contingency plan.” she folded her arms
with a sense of finality to the conversation.
            “A plan for what?” asked Seamus.
            “A plan for survival.”
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Neville’s bed was stripped and empty. Harry and Ron were nowhere to
be found and thank goodness because it was their worst row yet.
            “No,” said Seamus sharply turning away to pace.
            Dean hung his head backwards emptying out his lungs with a long-
suffering guttural sigh.
            “It’s- it’s safer this way,” he said snapping his head forward to
look at Seamus from across the room.
            “The hell with what’s safer!” Seamus hollered. “There’s nothing
safe here anymore! Dumbledore’s dead—”
            “Exactly! Which means I may not be safe here. You heard what Tonks
said. And Lupin. Think about it: the disappearances, even from last year.
Remember Ollivander? And if people don’t die, then they get locked up in
fucking Azkaban...? I dunno, but if I have to, then maybe I will... leave.” he
said with a shrug pacing aimlessly.
            “Is it because you think I”ll slow you down or hold you back or
something?” Seamus asked with his hands on hips.
            Dean halted and spun around to look away. He was too angry to focus
clearly.
            “Hold me back? Are you taking the piss Seamus? They have all of our
names, our addresses, probably surveillance photos, hell I don’t know!” he
yelled clutching the bridge of his nose. A dull drumming was beating against
his eyes.
            Seamus scrunched up his nose.
            “Surveillance photos? Seriously?” he snorted shaking his head. “The
only thing you know is that you don’t know anything. Just like they don’t know
anything. You’ve got that much right. So you can’t say what you’re gonna do or
not do or where you’ll go alright?”
            Dean leaned against the tall wooden post of his bed. A bed he may
not sleep in next year. Or ever again.
            “Seamus,” he snapped as the exhaustion caught up to him, “Just let
it go. It’s like Lupin said. You’re a half-blood with a witch mother. It’s not
like you have anything to worry about.”
            Seamus out of words, but not out of anger, launched himself at
Dean, fists swinging. Of all their rows, arguments, and heated discussions,
they’ve never resorted to hitting each other or cursing each other with magic.
Dean charged at Seamus with a stony expression, not to fight, but to restrain.
His height gave him the advantage as he grabbed Seamus by the wrists and held
them above their heads. He knew Seamus didn’t really want to hit him. Hot angry
tears dripped down Seamus’ splotchy face. His wrists went limp in Dean’s hands,
the fight extinguished by his tears, and he collapsed against Dean’s chest as
his body spasmed in defeat.
            Dean dropped their arms and crushed Seamus tight against him.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
             They wished there was a spell or charm to help them remember
everything about The Moment.
 
             Dean:Goosebumps erupting from the way Seamus’ calloused fingertips
tickled up the back of his thighs before cupping his arse; Seamus’ curly hair
darkened and slick with sweat as Dean finger-combed it off his forehead; the
taste of sweat on Seamus’ collarbone because he hadn’t swiped his tongue there
yet; the sound of Seamus’ gasping in ragged breaths, his head bent so far back
as his tightly-coiled body spasmed about to come.
             Seamus: The velveteen softness of Dean’s earlobe between his teeth
as his tongue slowly caressed it; the aubergine color of Dean’s hard nipples on
his heaving chest as Seamus left sharp, love bites on his chest; the scent of
Dean’s sweat as Seamus buried his face between his muscled thighs; the
whispered, breathless refrain of Seamus’ name off Dean’s lips as their bodies
clung together before that final gasping shudder.
             In the small bed for one, they laid cramped together side-by-side
as they had done most of the school year. Their damp skin stuck to each other
as they lay in silence as their heartbeats lowered to a normal pace. The sweat
dried cool giving them a reprieve from the heatwave in the castle. One of them
turned on their sides, then the other followed to face each other. Neither
could bear to meet the other’s gaze. Not yet. Instead, Seamus trapped one of
Dean’s gazelle-like legs in between his own; Dean wrapped a long arm around
Seamus and his fingers strummed his back like the strings of a guitar.
            “When you go back to London, how long do you think you’ll stay?”
Seamus asked in a hoarse whisper, looking up finally.
            Dean swallowed and cleared his throat stalling. “I dunno. If all’s
quiet, then I’ll be at home with my mum. Visit Anise. The usual. Lupin said it
was just a rumour. Maybe nothing’ll happen, y’know?”
             “Don’t think it’s just a rumour, mate,” said Seamus in a tight
voice.
             “Well, if it ain’t then, maybe I’ll tell her... goodbye for
awhile.”
            Seamus pressed his palm against Dean’s stomach wiggling his fingers
over his navel button but Dean pulled away fully to look at the ceiling. Seamus
closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing. After a moment, he said:
            “I”m coming with you.”
            Dean sat up and rested on his elbow to study him. Seamus stared
back into his brown eyes defiant with his stubborn insistence.
            “Is that so, Mr. Finnigan?” he smiled. “And what will your mum say
about that?”
            Seamus grumbled and pinched Dean’s bum.
            “You let me worry about her, since you think I’ve nothing to worry
about. I’m me own man, in case you didn’t know.”
            Dean laughed and Seamus kicked him in the shin.
            “Actually, I’m yours now.”
            Seamus whispered it so softly that Dean thought it could have been
the summer breeze whooshing through the window. He blinked rapidly, feeling a
new tightness in his chest that went beyond their frantic orgasms. His lips
parted in surprise, but before he replied, Seamus mashed his lips hard against
his quickly.
            “C’mon, we can’t stay here forever,” he said hopping out of the bed
picking up his clothes.
            But Dean would have if he could.
 
 
 
            They stood just a few feet away from the black iron gates flanked
with the hideous gargoyles that lead to the front doors of Hogwarts. Mrs.
Finnigan stood next to Seamus’ trunk even farther away, begrudgingly giving
them space to say goodbye. Dean had a million competing thoughts racing through
his head, but didn’t know which one to say first, or at all. He had no words to
properly explain the gnawing sense of dread and loss they were both feeling.
Neither were ready to say goodbye, not after the months they had spent
together, learning how to be friends, learning how to be lovers, learning how
to love, if that’s what it really was.
            Seamus, never one to mince words, evidently felt there was nothing
else to say given the circumstance and seized Dean in a back-breaking hug as if
trying to fuse their bodies together again as they had only an hour ago. Dean
inhaled the shampoo in Seamus’ hair as blind panic rose within him. He needed
to say something. Anything!
            “Seamus, I—” he gasped.
            Seamus shushed him with kisses: one on each cheek, his nose, and
finally a chaste kiss on the lips. (His mother was behind them after all.)
            “I’ll see you soon, yeah?” he said as his voice cracked.
            Dean nodded, not trusting himself to respond coherently. He gave
his best impression of a confident smile, but his lips trembled, so he just bit
bottom lip. Seamus slowly let his hands travel down the length of Dean’s arms,
finally hooking his pinky around one of his fingers.
            “And write me in a week’s time. Whenever you get home. We- we’ll
figure out when you can visit for a bit,” he said in a stronger, steady voice.
“I can show you that strawberry farm, yeah?”
            “Of course,” Dean whispered.
            He held his gaze, but his vision of Seamus blurred, suddenly out of
focus. Seamus clamped his mouth tight and nodded, then strode over to his
mother. Mrs. Finnigan gave Dean a slight nod of goodbye.
            It was categorically unfair that they should have to say goodbye,
but they were no longer boys in an unfair world. They were men about to go to
war, in a world with no guarantees.
            Dean watched as Seamus inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, and
together he and his mother turned, disapparating with a crack.
            “I love you,” Dean finally whispered to the empty air.
            He bowed his head weeping bitterly.
***** The Unexpected Greeters *****
Chapter Notes
     This is the beginning of Part Two which spans Book 7 and beyond.
Part Two
===============================================================================
 
                                        
                                        
                                CHAPTER FIFTEEN
                            The Unexpected Greeters
                                        
Dean Thomas was a newly licenced wizard of age. He could have disapparated
beyond the iron gates of Hogwarts to the side alley of rubbish bins near his
mother’s house. But he sat on the early-scheduled Hogwarts Express as it
steamed by lightly frosted green pastures, awashed in grief and anxiety. Love-
ridden and too distracted by his parting with Seamus, he didn’t trust himself
to perform complicated magic. Besides, he told his mum to meet him at King’s
Cross Station.
There were no playful dashes outside his train compartment. No whimsical
purchases of sweets from the Trolley Witch. It was a solemn ride except for the
sounds of the gears shifting speed and the wind whistling by rattling against
the windows as the scarlet train sped purposely for its only destination:
Platform 9 ¾.
The train pulled into the station just before sunset. The students rose
grateful to be that much closer to their families and home. Dean nodded at Luna
farther down the platform as they began a hurried exodus to the muggle
platform. He saw his mother before she saw him. Designer black sunglasses held
back her short bob doubling as a headband and her flowing ankle-length khaki
dress flapped around her thin body in the warm gush of air as a train pulled
into Platform 10. Her head was bent over her mobile as her finger scrolled
across the bright screen. She was so absorbed that she nearly dropped it when
Dean set his trunk down at her sandaled feet.
“Oh, love! Dean are you okay?” she gasped tossing her mobile in the oversized
wicker tote on her shoulder. Mrs. Thomas clutched him to her body in a fierce
hug. Dean planted his face in the crook of her neck inhaling the faint scent of
her cocoa butter lotion and flowery perfume. When he finally relaxed against
her (the threat of tears gone), she released her grip, but only to move her
hands up to tickle his two-day old stubble scattered on his lower jaw.
“My little man,” she said with a tight smile as her forehead wrinkled in worry.
It was the longest he’d ever been from home and he stepped back to observe the
small changes on her face as well.
“Hi mum, I—”
A sharp movement to their right caught his eye. Dean turned abruptly to see a
tall broad-shouldered man in navy blue robes approach them. Dean grasped his
trunk handle and stood in front of his mother to shield her from view. The man
wore a shiny silver patch with an ‘M’ in two concentric squares on the left
side of his robe. Dean recognised the symbol from the Daily Prophet photos.
This man was an employee of the Ministry of Magic.
“Good evening. I see you’ve just returned from Hogwarts haven’t you?” he said
in a deep raspy voice.
His white blond hair was tied neatly in a ponytail, but his receding hairline
aged him terribly. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin as he held out a gloved
hand for Dean to shake.
“Don’t be alarmed,” he said when Dean didn’t take his hand. “My name’s Yaxley.
I’m a—”
“Ministry of Magic official. Yeah, I figured,” said Dean in a tight voice.
“Dean!” his mother said poking him in the back embarrassed by his brusque
response.
Yaxley wagged his finger and grinned wider. “Sharp lad, you got there, Mrs...?”
“Is there a problem?” Dean asked cutting across his mum.
This bloke didn’t know who they were and Dean wanted to keep it that way. He
didn’t understand why Ministry officials were publicly addressing students and
parents in front of muggles. Surely, if they needed to further discuss the
status of Hogwarts, they would have communicated by owl post? Yaxley spoke in
vague terms about something Dean thought was rubbish. He took a quick peek at
the crowded platforms full of muggles going on about their lives, lost in the
humdrum of their evening commute. But, scattered about, Dean spied Ministry
officials near the Creevey brothers, Justin Finch Fletchley and his parents and
other... muggleborns? He wanted to believe he was being paranoid, but he
couldn’t deny it.
He clasped his hand around his mother’s wrist firmly and tightened his grip on
the trunk’s handle. He wished he had a third arm to hold his wand, but he had
stuffed it in his back jean pocket and prayed that was enough. As Yaxley
continued to address his mother in cold, polite terms, a brown-haired boy no
older than fifteen screamed, “No!” yanking his arm out of the grip of two
Ministry officials. The boy brandished his wand and shouted a spell. Several
commuters whipped their heads back distracted by the commotion. Yaxley whirled
around, his white-blond ponytail whipping against his shoulder, as the boy’s
spell was deflected in a flash of red and white jets of light. One of the
electronic time table displays suspended above the platform burst into flames
and crashed down onto the grimy platform floor. Electrical sparks showered
bystanders nearby as the severed wires and cables flopped overhead like
beheaded snakes.
Panic erupted across the station. A maelstrom of screaming muggle commuters
scrambled and ducked from the showering sparks. Bodies crashed into each other,
ruthlessly shoving in a frantic attempt to escape what was clearly perceived as
a terrorist attack. It was precisely the distraction Dean desperately needed.
“Close your eyes,” Dean hissed very close to his mother’s face as he yanked her
arm so violently her filigree teardrop earrings nearly fell out of her ears.
And just as Yaxley remembered to turn around, Dean disapparated with his mother
and trunk in tow, with a loud crack.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Mrs. Thomas collapsed to the pavement heaving painfully on her hands and knees.
Dean wobbled slightly against his trunk, overexerted by the suffocating
pressure of apparating with another person. He dropped his trunk and kneeled
down on one knee to assess his mother. She was missing her sunglasses and a
sandal. There was a hole in her bag where a tissue packet, various cosmetic
cases, and a tin case of mints fell out scattered on the ground, but otherwise
she possessed all of her limbs and was still breathing.
“Mum, are you okay?” he asked anyway, glancing around quickly to see if anyone
witnessed them materialise out of thin air. It didn’t seem likely since they
were in between two tall brick buildings that formed a narrow alleyway.
“What-was-that-?” she gasped, shuddering for breath with tears in her eyes.
Dean wiggled out of his sweater, draped it over her bare shoulders, and gently
lifted her into a standing position. He swept strands of her hair off her
trembling, wet face.
“I had to get us out of there. We disapparated,” Dean said picking up her
things off the ground and cradling her totebag.
Mrs. Thomas put her hand to her mouth, then grasped at throat looking at Dean
with a new expression. It was one thing to know he could do magic, and even
witness odd happenings, but to be apart of it unsettled her. Dean swallowed his
guilty feelings disturbed by the expression on her face.
“Oh,” she uttered with a weak smile.
“I got my licence,” he mumbled looking down, not wanting to see her look at him
as if he was contaminated.
She stepped close and grasped his arm with an affectionate squeeze.
“You need a licence for that, huh? Can’t imagine why,” she joked.
Dean looked into her eyes with relief. “Yeah. Guess I should’ve written about
that.”
“Um-hmm,” she said with a playful pinch.
“So where are we? Did you beam us home?” she asked walking ahead with a
steadier gait.
“This is not StarTrek. And no, we’re not at home,” he said with a snort.
Dean grabbed his trunk and followed her out of the alley, around tall, dark
green hedges that led to—
“Your primary school?” she whispered astonished.
They stood in front of a gated, four-storey, red-brick building with dull gray
double doors. Overhead, street lights glowed brighter as nightfall approached.
“Yeah, hey mum, take this,” he said dumping her bag and things in her arms.
Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out his wand glancing behind them. An
elderly couple slowly climbed into a shiny BMW across the street and a small
sedan passed in the other direction. But otherwise the dark, tree-lined street
was quiet and empty. The carpark of the school was empty just as he hoped it
would be: muggle schools should have ended a week ago.
Satisfied he would not breach the International Wizarding Statute of Secrecy,
Dean tapped the lock on the gate. The black circular lock glowed a neon blue
light, clicked open, and the heavy metal chains snaked away from the gate
handle.
“Come on, we don’t have time mum.”
He swung the black iron gate open as she shuffled through speechless. Then, he
flicked his wand at the trunk and it rolled behind him, catching on the cracks
in the pavement. Inside, they stood near the large windows next to the main
doors in front of a vendor machine full of crisps and sweets. Dean’s stomach
grumbled and gurgled in vain; he was too full of adrenaline to feel the hunger
pangs.
“Mum, listen to me. I don’t think it’s safe to go home. Those Ministry
officials might come to the house or someone else, I don’t know, but—”
Mrs. Thomas finger-combed her hair, dusted off her foot, and then pulled out a
pair of flip-flops out of her torn bag she placed on the floor.
“Mum? Are you listening to me?” Dean asked hunched over her bewildered by her
calmness.
“I heard you boy. Are you in some kind of trouble?” she said not looking at him
as she slipped her feet into the worn flip-flops.
Dean leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.
“It’s not like that,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t have time to
explain this to you—”
“Then make time!”
Mrs. Thomas’ voice echoed throughout the shiny-tiled hallway. She paced in
front of Dean clutching her elbows. He hung his head with his hands on his hips
trying to figure out how to explain even a fraction of it all.
“Is it about You-Know-Who? The ‘Dark Lord’” she asked making air quotes with
her fingers.
Dean’s mouth parted open in surprise. He thought he had done a good job of
sheltering her from the villainy in the wizarding world.
“How do you know about that?”
“Boy, they sent us a letter after the headmaster died.”
An image of Dumbledore’s marble tomb in the summer sun flashed unbidden before
Dean’s eyes, but he blinked it away.
“Oh yeah,” he whispered softly. “Okay, so You-Know-Who was behind that. His
people—” and hatred bloomed like a thorny stem in his empty stomach as Snape’s
face loomed before his eyes, “—his people killed Dumbledore. But, you were
right. I am in trouble because I’m a muggleborn. Those people at King’s Cross,
they’re from the Ministry. And I think they want to get rid of us.”
Mrs. Thomas hand flew up to her parted lips horrified.
“Get rid of you? What are on earth...?”
“I don’t know. I’m not— you’re not a witch. Dad’s not a wizard. So, people like
me... shouldn’t exist—”
“Don’t ever say that! Dean, no.” she seized him by the arms. “Never! Is that
what those people are teaching you at that school?”
“Mum, no! Dumbledore died fighting against it. It’s how some wizards feel, the
pure-bloods...” Dean massaged his temple trying to not overwhelm her with
unnecessary details. “Look, I can’t go back home and I don’t think you should
either. Not yet, okay?”
She swayed slightly shaking her head slowly as if underwater.
“What are we going to do?” she said softly to herself.
“You, are going to call Aunt Murray. Go to her house—”        
“But what about the car?” she shrieked.
“Mum! Forget about the car! Take the tube for god sakes. You need to go to her
place alright?”
“And just where do you think you’re going? If you think I’m going to just let
you... “
Her face crumbled and it pained Dean to see tears in her eyes.
“I have friends. A professor who’ll help me.” he said softly. “But if I stay
with you or Anise or Aunt Murray, it’ll put you in danger. The less you know,
the better. If they question you—”
A horrific scene plagued his mind: his mother and sister dragged by their hair—
No! Escorted by dementors into a cold, dirty dungeon cell for questioning at
Azkaban? Did they even put muggles in Azkaban? Worse, what if the Ministry
simply tortured them at home? The image of his mother writhing in pain under
the Cruciatus curse in their sitting room with the telly playing a stupid quiz
show as Yaxley and Snape gleefully prodded his mother with their wands...
“Yes, it’s better I’m gone,” Dean said terrorised by his own imagination.
“Don’t say that! Who are these people? What if something happens to you? Dean?”
A tear slid down Mrs. Thomas’ cheek.
“What if something happens to you! I’m a wizard. Of age. I can defend myself
with magic now.” Dean held his mother by her shoulders gently. “Mum, trust me.
Please.” he begged.
Mrs. Thomas sniffled shaking her head. Slowly, she bent down to grab her purse
out of the tote bag on the floor. She stood in the shaft of the bright white
lawn lights that shone through the large window.
“Here,” she said shoving various banknotes and coins in his hands.
“Mum, I can’t take this,” he protested.
“No? Does your Bank of Magic have an ATM?” she said waspishly.
Dean shut his mouth and stuffed everything deep in his pocket immensely
grateful for her wisdom, but overwhelmed by a sudden surge of sadness. They
looked at each other with their brown eyes open wide as they tried to take in
as much of the light from outside to see each other.
This was the moment. If he wanted to keep her safe, even for a little while, he
couldn’t stay with her. Or any of his family. He knew this now. Even though he
was of age, what if they were still tracking him somehow, or all of them? His
mind wandered back to the scene at King’s Cross and all of the underage witches
and wizards. Did they get away? Were their families safe?
“Mum?” his voice cracked and she rushed forward to hold him tight as his body
shook with fear and grief.
When they broke away, Mrs. Thomas dabbed at the corner of her eyes, while Dean
slid the heel of his palm down both sides of his cheeks.
“I’ll ring you, yeah? As soon as I get there. Promise,” he said with a shaky
voice.
Mrs. Thomas nodded. “As soon as this mess is over, you better hurry home cause
you need a haircut real bad,” she grabbed at his afro smiling with wet eyes.
Dean sniffled with a slight smile at her forced gaiety.
“Yeah, it’s a jungle up there. Probably full of Wrackspurts or something,” he
joked, but it stung to think of Luna... or Seamus.
Mrs. Thomas’ eyebrows shot up. “That’s not some- disease?”
Dean let out a short, earnest laugh and shook his head. “No, mum.”
She took a deep breath, kissed both of his cheeks and picked up her bag.
“Oh, hang on.”
Dean made a circle with his wand and the hole sealed shut.
“Guess that beats my needle and thread,” she said running her hand over it
amazed.
“How are you going to get there? A taxi?” he asked.
“There’s a tube station about three blocks over. But don’t worry about me.”
“It’s all I’ll do, mum”
He cleared his throat again and stood straighter. “I love you mum. Thank you,”
he said with dry eyes.
“Don’t say it like that. Sounds like you’re saying goodbye,” she said slipping
her arm through the tote straps and hugging him again. “I love you too Dean. Be
safe. Call us or, write with a bird or something.”
“Six years on and you still can’t remember it’s an owl,” he quipped.
“Don’t give me none of your cheek boy,” she growled playfully.
Mrs. Thomas ran her hand through his hair once more, over his cheek with the
deeper dimple and tugged on his beard before quickly walking over to the main
doors. He watched her through the tall window as she stepped out of the gate
and down the pavement until she was completely out of sight. Before the tears
could return, Dean flipped open the lid of his trunk and by the light of his
wand, retrieved the envelope Lupin gave him at Dumbledore’s funeral. As he
closed the trunk lid, his eyes fell on the cover of the photo album of him and
Seamus. Knowing that security had to do rounds eventually, Dean pulled out the
box of flowery stationery Parvati gave him for Christmas, a quill and ink. He
didn’t know when he would get a chance to write Seamus, especially after the
fiasco at King’s Cross, so he drafted a short note:
                        Seamus,
                                    They attacked us at the station, but
                                    I got away. I’m ok. I’m going to that
                                    place. Please don’t write back in case
                                    the owl gives me away. But I’ll write
                                    soon as I can.
 
His hand hovered over the parchment as he debated whether he should put in
writing what he had not said in person. He exhaled deeply and signed off:  
“Love, Dean”
***** The Secret Keeper *****
                                        
                                        
                                CHAPTER SIXTEEN
                               The Secret Keeper
                                        
The suffocating sensation didn’t feel any less horrible now that he apparated
alone, but since he was mentally prepared for it, Dean was able to cope with
the pressure on his internal organs and the pressing darkness against his
eyeballs.
He stood in a field, calf-deep in blades of pale green grass under a moonless,
starry black sky. He clutched the cream envelope and matching card tightly
still reciting the address as he looked around wildly for... he wasn’t sure.
Dean didn’t know the success rate of apparating to a place he had never visited
before. For all he knew, he could have been in a Yank farmer’s field in the
States. Before he could panic, a house shimmered before him like a hazy mirage
shielded behind heat waves in a desert. Yellow squares of light hit the grass
from the windows of the two-storey cottage home that fully materialised about
forty feet away.
With a sigh of relief, Dean picked up his trunk and took two paces before two
silhouettes shot out of the front door charging at him armed with wands.
“Identify yourself!” ordered the small witch.
“Stay where you are!” commanded the faster taller wizard.
Dean’s instinct was to pull his wand out of his sleeve to defend himself;
instead, he held up his hand clutching the envelope and card. The wizard
flicked a bright ball of bluish-white light that hovered over Dean’s head. It
reminded him of those cheesy interrogation scenes from those old black and
white films his Aunt Murray made him watch when he was younger. The witch and
wizard stopped well before they were within ten feet of him. Just as they could
see his face clearly, he could see theirs.
“Pr- Lupin! Hey!” Dean said with relief, though confused as to why they
suspected him of being an intruder.
“Wotcher Dean,” said Tonks lowering her wand slightly. Her bubble-gum pink hair
was shockingly bright in the glow of the light above Dean’s head.
“Uh, hi? I needed—”
“What spell did I use against Peeves the first time we met?” Lupin shouted. His
lined face was hardened and menacing in the shadows.
“Er—” Dean shrugged thoroughly confused.
“Remus, is this really necessary? He’s got our address,” Tonks said lowering
wand and putting her hand on her hip.
“But it might not be him,” Lupin said sharply, his eyes ablaze with paranoia.
“Tell me! What was the first spell I ever used,” he shouted with his wand aimed
at Dean’s face.
Dean's brain smashed and tumbled through memories, back three and half years to
that day Lupin led them from their DADA classroom, to the staff room, but on
the way encountering Peeves being rude as usual—
“Waddiwasi! He zoomed away and I said ‘Cool, sir’. You even knew my name then,”
Dean said surprised by the sharp clarity of his own recollection.
Satisfied and relieved, Lupin’s wand arm fell heavily against his side. The
ball of light overhead flickered out. He heaved a great sigh stepping forward
with his hand outstretched.
“Sorry, but we had to be sure,” Lupin said shaking Dean’s hand firmly.
“Understandable. Guess you’d have to be mad not to,” Dean said, not entirely
sure he would remember to ask some obscure question to verify the identity of
every person that came across his path.
“Well, it was a bit obvious if he was able to apparate directly within the
shield Remus,” said Tonks walking over to give Dean a welcoming hug. She
flicked her wand and his trunk rumbled like a car with motor trouble as it
followed behind them over the tips of the grass.
“Anyone ever tell you you’re awfully trusting to be an Auror?” Lupin said
glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Mad-Eye only barks about it every hour of everyday,” she winked at Dean.
“So, you know him well? The real one?” Dean asked as Lupin stood at the red
front door left open with his arm stretched forward for Dean to enter first.
“Of course, he’s my mentor. Wouldn’t know half of what I do if it weren’t for
him. Got me out of a spot of trouble, maybe once or, five times. Who’s
counting, eh?” she grinned.
The door closed shut and locked behind them. Dean’s trunk sputtered to a stop
on the woven purple doormat. Dean walked forward and leaned against a large
sky-blue settee, taking in the tastefully decorated and uncluttered room. The
house was suffused with warm yellow light. Large overflowing bookshelves lined
the walls. Beneath the curtainless windows, were potted plants on small wooden
tables the same wood as the bookshelves. In the middle of the room surrounded
by the couch and two armchairs, was an old-fashioned radio box the size of a
mini-fridge.
“You two have a lovely home,” Dean said grateful.
“Oh no, this is my parent’s home! Among other things,” Tonks said beaming.
“Thank you. I expect you're hungry. We were just starting dinner.”
Lupin gave Dean a strained smile and followed Tonks, who almost knocked over a
pile of magazines near the smaller armchair through the cramped kitchen as she
flipped over an empty frying pan hanging off the edge of the stove and into the
dining room as she tripped on the rug beneath the large oval dinner table.
“Dead clumsy, I am,” Tonks snorted.
Dean grinned not sure if she really was or just trying to cheer him up, but he
like this new cheerful side of hers. He looked down at the four plates of food,
casserole dishes, three glasses and a coffee mug.
“It’s alright, Ted. Andromeda. Just a young visitor of ours,” said Lupin with
his hand grasping the finely-carved wooden backs of one of the chairs.
“Wotcher mum! It’s only us,” bellowed Tonks taking a seat.
A rectangular patch of the back wall opened and a shorter man with a pot-belly
and frizzy brown hair emerged, followed by—
Dean stuttered in alarm stepping backwards.
A tall woman stepped out bearing an uncanny and unfortunate resemblance to the
Death Eater Neville showed him last year— Bellatrix Lestrange. But upon a
second look, Dean realised that instead of hooded black eyes, this one smiled
cautiously with warm aquamarine blue; instead of wild tangles of brown and grey
curls, sleek dark brown hair framed her face like the cozy hood of a beloved
cloak, tucked into a loose bun on the side of her elongated pale neck.
“This is my mum and pa, Andromeda and Ted Tonks,” Tonks said waving at them
half-heartedly as she greedily scooped up a spoonful of butternut squash and
nuts from her full plate. “Mum’s our Secret Keeper by the way.”
Dean smiled and waved at them.
“And this is Dean Thomas, one of my former students—” Lupin said still not
sitting down.
“You’re one of the muggleborns that was at the King’s Cross explosion!” said
Ted sitting down and affixing his discarded napkin into his shirt collar.
Dean’s face dropped as Andromeda conjured a full place setting for Dean next to
Lupin.
“Explosion? What explosion?” he asked filled with dread as he slowly took his
seat.
“Dad!” Tonks whined rolling her eyes. “He just got here. Let him eat first.”
But Dean leaned forward. “No, what happened? I must have left before then.”
Ted put his hands up in mock surrender.
“There wasn’t an actual explosion,” said Lupin taking a seat after Andromeda
sat next to Ted.
“Of course there wasn’t,” said Tonks ripping the flesh from a turkey bone with
her small white teeth.
“It’s just code the Ministries use with the muggle press to cover things up,”
said Lupin not eating.
“The Ministries?” Dean asked a little calmer as he reached absent-mindedly for
his fork.
“Naturally, our Minister meets with the muggle Minister anytime there’s an
‘incident’ involving all of us,” said Andromeda softly as she tucked a napkin
into her blouse collar.
“Oh,” said Dean in a small voice.
He felt most uneasy around her because of her stiffness, but also because he
couldn’t stop seeing Bellatrix Lestrange in her face. Were they related? He
looked down properly and finally grasped his fork. His appetite attacked
mercilessly and soon he had a plate piled with as much food as Tonks. After
several forkfuls of food to quiet down his stomach, he spoke.
“We were... approached by Ministry Officials. This Yardley fellow—”
“Yaxley?” asked Lupin tense. “Do you mean Yaxley?”
“Was he a dodgy bloke? Blond hair? Wears gloves even though it’s summer?” said
Tonks digging into a small mound of jellied cranberries.
Dean gasped and shuddered creeped out.
“Yeah! He said they were there to... well, I sort of tuned him out when I
spotted the rest of them were only stopping muggleborns. Figured something was
up.”
Dean finished his tale of the boy’s poorly deflected spell and his narrow
escape with his mum.
“Didn’t really know what else to do ‘cept come here,” he finished lamely. “Oh,
blimey. I told my mum I’d ring her. Or, can I write her by owl post? Just to
let her know I made it okay?”
“Absolutely. Our owl rests in her nest in the backyard,” smiled Andromeda
again.
“Thank you. For everything,” Dean said looking at her again. How could he have
ever confused her with a Death Eater? She was incredibly generous.
“Damn, it’s already happening,” said Lupin softly. He took a long gulp of his
drink.
Dean nodded, but resumed demolishing the food on his plate as he listened to
them discuss the corruption of the Ministry.
“They won’t hush this up. They can’t! Not this time,” said Ted holding up a
napkin to his face as he burped. “And certainly not if some of you lot managed
to disapparate right under their noses. Mark my words they’ll be looking for
you all right. You did good son, getting your mum out of there.”
 
 
The next morning over a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs (poached for Ted and
Tonks), fried potatoes and tomatoes, and toast, Ted passed around the Daily
Prophet. Dean almost dropped his fork. He looked at his stationary photo and
two others beneath the front page headline: “WANTED FOR QUESTIONING”.
His stomach lurched violently and he thought he was going to be sick at the
table. He passed the paper over to Tonks without reading the article and shoved
his plate away.
 “This is mental! I can’t believe... they can’t...“ he couldn’t finish his
thought.
“It’s alright, you can stay here as long as you need to,” said Ted patting Dean
gingerly on the shoulder as a charmed pan tipped more eggs onto Ted’s plate.
Dean pushed his chair away from the table standing up slowly.
“No. I need to go home. I have to find my mum and my aunt, they can’t write me
back so—”
“No!”
Everyone turned to look at Andromeda. She spoke firmly from the kitchen
doorway. Ted stopped chewing and Lupin nodded at her in agreement. Dean rounded
on her, but she took a step forward drawn to her full height and stood nose-to-
nose with him. He was reminded of Oksana just then.
“The Ministry has already visited your mother Dean. They may even be following
her. Dora- Tonks- is already at work trying to find out everything she can, but
you will need to remain here and lay low for a few days. Perhaps longer.”
She stepped around Dean to put her hands on the fat shoulders of her husband.
“As Ted stated, we really are more than happy to have you stay for a few days.
You weren’t sure if you needed to, but now I’m sure you know it would put your
mother in even greater danger if you went back home now.”
Dean’s shoulders sagged as the truth sank in.
“Maybe if I turned myself in... “
Ted let out a sigh of impatience. “Son, don’t be thick! You’re of age now. You
performed magic in front of muggles, dodged old Ministry hats. That’s an
Azkaban offence, that is.”
Dean ran a shaky hand over his face and sat back down.
“But how do I know they haven’t just been rounded up or murdered or...?”
“We don’t,” said Lupin saddened by his bluntness.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Several days passed in agony as Dean awaited a scrap of news about his family’s
fate. His anxious mood did not improve after reading another Daily Prophet
article list Seamus and several of his non-muggleborn friends had been visited
for questioning. As much as it turned his stomach, he knew that their half-
blood or pure-blood status would inoculate them from the brunt of harsh
treatment. Finally, as he reached his breaking point by the end of the second
week, Tonks bounded through the door.
“She’s okay! Everyone’s shook up, but no real damage done,” she said swinging
her travelling cloak of her shoulders and draping it over the back of the
armchair closest to the door.
Dean both wanted to know and remain ignorant of what she meant by ‘no real
damage', but left it. His muscles slackened with relief as he slumped down on
the edge of the couch. Ted and Andromeda smiled at Dean from the kitchen
doorway, but he couldn’t celebrate just then.
“Where is she?” he croaked staring at Tonk’s smiling face.
“Dean, she’s fine. Your mum’s at home. She goes to work everyday. She’s always
on that receiver though—”
“Her mobile,” Dean said quickly. “Yeah, it’s kinda addictive.”
Tonks tapped her forehead and rolled her eyes. “I always forget the names.
Anyway, it’s electronic so whoever she’s talking to—”
“—Or texting,”
“Whatever. We can’t track it magically. Electronics always cocks things up,
y’know?”
Dean nodded thinking hard.
“So, I can see her maybe? Not- in person, just—”
“Absolutely not,” said Lupin folding the Evening Prophet. “It’s still too
dangerous.”
“Not if he’s in disguise,” Tonks mumbled out of the corner of her mouth so her
parents couldn’t hear.
Dean leaned forward to hear her better, but Lupin discreetly walked across the
room and stood next to Tonks closely.
“That’s for Harry!” he hissed in her ear.
Dean caught it and his eyes looked between them wildly.
“What’s for Harry?” he said quickly, entering their little huddle as Tonks’
parents headed back to the kitchen.
Lupin widened his eyes and shook his head sharply at Tonks, but she just rolled
her eyes.
“You’re being reckless Nymphadora!” Lupin said as an angry red shade cascaded
over her purple hair. “I need some fresh air,” he said weaving through the
furniture and slamming out the front door.
Dean took a step back at Tonks alarmed and confused.
“He knows I absolute hate it when people call me that!”
“Well, why’d he say it?”
“Because it’s my name silly,” she said shaking out the angry red colour and her
temper. “Here’s the thing. I can’t give you specific details. But, if you can
get the hairs, I can give you a small container of polyjuice in a couple of
weeks. Should get you about two hours to go and come back,” she said in a
serious tone.
“But will it get you in trouble?” Dean’s eyes flicked over at the front window
watching Lupin pace outside.
“Not if you don’t get caught downing a pint at The Leaky Cauldron or Piccadilly
Circus! Your mug and those other wizards are plastered all over the place in
our world, but there’s still plenty of lookouts in the muggle areas as well.
Witches and wizards working undercover. Best to be vigilant.”
Dean immediately thought of the muggle studies course he felt was redundant to
take. Tonks plopped down into the armchair deflated peeking at Lupin outside
and sighed.
“Remus, he’s used to hiding, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to worry.
Everyone he’s...“ she hesitated with an odd expression on her face, “they’re
dead, y’know?”
Dean half-shrugged and then nodded sharply. He understood. With nothing else to
lose, it was hard to remember that not everyone was in the same boat.
“He’s got you though,” Dean said frowning with a quick realisation. “I don’t
think he’s forgot just yet.”
Tonks blushed and exhaled a shaky puff of air.
“ ‘Spect he hasn’t yet,” she whispered gazing at her ringless hand.
 
 
 
The atmosphere at the Tonks’ residence sizzled with a frenetic, but less
anxious energy. Neither Ted nor Andromeda knew of Tonks and Dean’s scheme for
him to visit his mother in a few weeks’ time as they decided that it was for
the best to keep it quiet. Lupin, though he vehemently disapproved, kept his
mouth shut about it and simply stalked out of the room when the topic was
broached.
Freed from the oppressive depression that clung to him as he had waited for
news about his mother, Dean devoted his time and energy to learning a range of
new spells from Tonks’ parents. The three of them treated their time together
like a wizard bootcamp. Ted demonstrated the Episkey spell (designed to fix
minor bone fractures or breaks) one morning when they found an injured duck
near a lake he often fished at. The healed duck flew off before he could
conjure a test splint, but Dean practiced on his own leg as they sat on the
soggy bank beneath the sun. Later, Ted showed him their tiny herbal garden in
the backyard. He stewed and pickled blossoms to create the extract for Essence
of Dittany.
“This’ll come in mighty handy if you’re zipping all over the countryside and
splinch yourself or if you’re grazed by a curse,” Ted informed him as he corked
a small phial of the swirling coffee brown liquid.
“Thanks,” Dean said softly as he held it in his palm grateful. “I- I don’t know
how to pay you for—”
Ted waved him off. “Just don’t get yourself killed. Or my Dora. Yes, I know you
two’re concocting some barmy plan,” said Ted resting his paunch on the wooden
table of their backyard enclosure. “I don’t want to know the details. She’s
part of the Order and they’re always doing something... something for
Dumbledore or to protect Harry. Frankly, as long as you’re up for the fight
against You-Know-Who, then there’s no debt son. None at all,” he tapped the
wooden table with a grin.
“Cheers,” said Dean pocketing the dittany. “You should’ve been Head Healer or
something at St. Mungo’s or something. Seems like they could use all the help
they can get.”
Ted put his hand on his hip with a loud sigh. He gazed westward at the band of
orange sky partly obscured by purple clouds.
“Let’s just say a voluntary early retirement was highly recommended after
Dumbledore’s death. I would’ve loved a promotion, but it wasn’t worth the risk.
And to think, some of them thought because I’m married to Andromeda that would
offer me some ‘protection’!”
Dean frowned. “Why? Because she’s pureblood?”
“As pure as they come,” Ted scoffed shifting his weight to the other leg. “I’m
sure you noticed the resemblance to Bellatrix Lestrange. One of her sisters.”
Dean tactfully composed his face to hide his revulsion and shock.
“Oh,” he said in a unnaturally high voice, “I, er- well, it may have crossed my
mind.”
Ted stared for a moment before throwing back his head in laughter and slapping
the table tickled with delight.
“That’s good! That’s a fine display of tact if I ever did see it,” he wiped a
tear away as he wagged a finger at Dean. “Trust me, she’s been branded as much
as a blood traitor as the Weasleys for marrying me. Which is fine with us. As
if we’d want anything to do with the Lestranges or Malfoys.”
“Malfoy?” Dean scoffed, his bias finally seeping through.
“Yep. Narcissa, her younger sister, married that Lucius Malfoy. Reckon you know
their boy, Draco.”
Dean grumbled an indistinct noise of acknowledgement. Ted shrugged.
“We can’t choose the family we’re born into. Only the ones we choose make. And
even then, you never really know what you’ll get with kids,” he said shaking
his head with a sly smile.
After his conversation with Ted, Dean looked at Andromeda Tonks, the Secret
Keeper, with a newfound respect. She showed Dean a small number of cleaning and
organisation spells and surprised him by testing his Transfiguration spellwork.
“You don’t produce a Metamorphagus without having a natural flair of
Transfiguration,” she said in a rare display of pride.
“I’m a Charms man myself,” said Dean slightly nervous about being put on the
spot, “But here goes.”
They stood at the doorway between the narrow kitchen and dining room. Dean
flourished his wand at the single plate of food on the table, then with a
motion of jiggling keys in a stubborn lock and concentrating on the
incantation, four identical plates of food appeared before the other chairs.
Steam floated up from the roasted chicken and buttered vegetables. The savoury
aroma of buttered mashed potatoes wafted into their nostrils.
“Impressive. Looks like it just came out of the oven,” said Andromeda sniffing
the air.
Dean beamed feeling incredibly proud, but drained. The extensive spell work he
had been performing over the past few days finally caught up with him and he
excused himself to take a short nap. Hours later in the middle of the night,
Tonks woke him sitting on the edge of the bed with her wand lit.
“Wotcher sleepy head. You missed a good dinner. You get those hairs yet?” she
whispered overly cheerful.
“N-n-not yet,” Dean yawned, sitting up slightly.
“What? What’ve you been doing all this time?”
“I’ve been levelling up on spells. You didn’t tell me your dad used to be a
Healer. And your mom’s brilliant,” he said rubbing his eyes and sitting up
fully awake.
“Yeah well, Mum’s always fancied herself a professor. Always told her to go
straightaway to Dumbledore,” Tonks said with a small grin as she shook her
head.
“Really? What, did he say no?”
“Dunno. She never went.”
“Why?” Dean asked hugging his knees as his stomach rumbled with hunger.
“Said I was more than a handful. Teaching me at home was like teaching twenty
kids.”
And she morphed into an elderly Asian man, a tall, Slavic-looking woman with
blonde hair, and a squat, hairy Turkish man before popping back to herself with
yellow duck lips.
Dean gawked in astonishment. “Bloody hell!”
Very much like her father, Tonks’ head was thrown back in laughter, but she
immediately clapped a hand over now human-shaped lips.
“Your mother thinks she’s been making a lot of new friends lately. It’s how
I’ve been keeping an eye on her when I’m off-duty.”
Dean shook his head in disbelief. “Wow. That’s- that’s really cool of you.
Thanks Tonks.”
She winked and waved him off.
“If the Prophet’s got my picture splashed about, how am I supposed to get hairs
for the polyjuice potion in the first place? Not sure if you noticed, but I’m
bound to be pretty conspicuous in this area,” he said with raised eyebrows
rubbing against his cheek to indicate his brown skin.
“Are you a wizard or what? Didn’t you lot start human transfiguration this
year?” Tonks huffed with a light smack on his arm.
“Yeah, but—”
“Oi you never played a spy? Grow out your hair. Make a funny-looking beard.
Maybe dot your face with spots. That’s about as best as you can do for now.
That village over is full of muggles actually. And, since the Ministry did its
best to keep you lot hidden from the muggle news press, most of ‘em won’t
recognise you down there in the pub my pa frequents. Well, he will so lookout!”
Dean rolled his eyes grinning. “Obviously. So what’s got your flowers in
bloom?” he asked noting her exceptionally boisterous mood.
She squealed in delight. “Don’t tell anyone,” she warned reaching into her
pocket.
“Don’t think you’re in any danger there. Unless those ducks out back are really
cousins of yours,” he joked.
“Shut it!”
She pulled out a modest, gold wedding ring embedded with three tiny rubies and
slipped it on her finger. Dean’s eyes bulged in genuine surprise.
“Woah! Congrats,” he whispered.
“Thanks. We snuck in at the local parish council today, but I wanted to
surprise the folks at dinner tomorrow.”
“Lupin’ll be lucky to have you. Really, he will.”
Without meaning to, her wandlight spiked in brightness from her heightened
emotion illuminating the tears in her eyes.
“Honestly, I think I’m the lucky one. He doesn’t believe it, but, well, maybe
we’re both lucky, y’know? When you find someone who gets you, you just gotta
hold on no matter what.”
A painful sensation similar to heartburn flared up in Dean’s chest as the
memory of Seamus tightly hugging him goodbye outside the gates of Hogwarts
resurfaced.
“Alright. I’ll let you get back to sleep. But just remember: I won’t have have
access to the stash of polyjuice potion past the twenty-fifth, so get a move on
with those hairs, yeah?”
Dean sat in the dark with a deep sense of unease long after Tonks cheerfully
departed. He willed his brain to let it go, but try as he might, he couldn’t
ignore the nagging thought poking his consciousness. How ironic that someone
like Tonks, who could flit through identities, didn’t understand how looking
different, specifically being black, would be perceived in a mostly-white
muggle town. He realised that he resented her dismissive attitude with her
ignorant suggestions of adding spots and lengthening his hair. She just didn’t
get it.
But he thought of someone who did.
The scene from over a year ago appeared before his eyes like a projected movie
in the darkness of his room. Regrettably, he revisited that singular day of
Seamus’ visit. Dean remembered how he had all but forgotten to introduced
Seamus to his mates and then allowed himself to be steered away with Ravi
swinging from his neck as they headed into the Sainsbury store. But his mind,
as if to soothe and not haunt him, flashed forward to the then bewildering and
embarrassing moment...
“What’re you looking at?” Seamus shouted at the security guard standing with
his hands in his pocket.
Dean craned his neck and spun out of Ravi’s hold as he and everyone else turned
to stare at Seamus.
“Oi Seamus? The hell are you doing?” he hissed his face heating up with
embarrassment.
Seamus glowered up at the bald corpulent guard. He bristled his thick brown
moustache with a sneer as his eyes skated over Seamus face before returning to
stare down Dean, Ayo, Ravi and Cheese. Seamus jerked his thumb at the guard,
finally looking at Dean.
“This bastard’s been following you lot like a common criminal, that’s what!”
Ayo and Ravi let out high-pitched laughs as a clear taunt. Cheese mumbled
something to them and they exploded in an obnoxious jeer pointing between
Seamus and the guard and making a show of emptying out their pockets, feigning
surprised that it was empty. Dean scurried over to Seamus and yanked his elbow.
“Are you having a fit or something? Let’s go!” he said in a hushed voice
pulling him away from his mates and the onlookers.
The guard put his hands on his belt that painfully cinched his hip bone below
his immense belly, but made no move to follow them any further.
“What is wrong with you?” Dean hissed as they hid in the aisle of oils, spices,
and baking goods.
“You seriously telling me you didn’t notice? He pegged us the minute we walked
in!”
“Seamus, I’m black in case you didn’t notice. Comes with the territory.
Besides, half the town’s full of Asians- brown Muslims and Hindus. We all get
looked at, all the time.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t do anything!”
“Doesn’t matter mate,” Dean said grabbing a large bottle of olive oil without
consulting his mother’s list.
For the first time, it occurred to Dean that Seamus saw his colouring, like,
really saw it and the judgment that came with it, but he simply didn’t care. Of
course, Seamus didn’t get Dean one hundred percent of the time (neither did
Dean get him), but it was enough. No matter what was going to happen, Seamus
was worth fighting for and Dean resolved to not let him go if he could help it.
***** The Other Dean *****
                                        
                                        
                               CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
                                The Other Dean
                                        
            Dean woke up with a start, his mind spinning its wheels about his
new mission. He experimented with altering his appearance in his room for the
past week and finally decided that he would stick to altering his hair only. He
didn’t fancy being stuck with premature wrinkles or pustules resembling
Spattergroit or Dragonpox (in case anything went awry). His coarse heavy beard
extended down to his collarbone and he fashioned his hair into shoulder-length,
locs that he piled haphazardly into a heavy bun. He found one of his dragonhide
gloves and transfigured it into a pine-green, mug-rimmed glasses he remembered
one of his great-uncles wore in an old photograph from the sixties. The lenses
were tinted a light green shielding his eyes from view.
            He didn’t know when Tonks slipped in, but she left a squat, spade-
shaped, brown glass bottle filled with an odorous, viscous green liquid: the
polyjuice potion. He tucked it inside his jacket pocket for safekeeping, slid
his wand up his sleeve, and mentally prepared himself for the day ahead of him.
By wandlight, he counted fifty-nine pounds and eighty-five pence his mother
wisely stuffed into his hand many weeks ago. It was more than enough to fund
his plan. If all went well, no one need know that he had stepped out of the
house.
            The Tonks’ were still fast asleep upstairs. Dean tiptoed quietly
through the kitchen, grabbed an apple and three slices of bread before sneaking
through the sitting room and out of the front door. A yellow sun climbed over
the horizon peeking through the towering tree limbs as he trekked through the
tunnel of overarching, leafy poplar trees. He walked down the steep, downward
sloping hill and a view of hickory-coloured roofs dotted the green landscape
below; two steeple churches one with a brass cross on the top and the other
with a brass bell tower at the top, split the town in two. In the distance,
juniper-green trees snaked through plotted squares of tawny and mossy green
fields. Waves of valleys rose out of the earth like a slumbering dragon
silhouetted by the rising sun.
            He reached the main road parched and coated with a light film of
sweat on the back of his neck, but was grateful that he arrived as the
residents of Tremlow Green begun their weekday. Shopkeepers propped open doors
and small two-door sedans motored up and down the the two-lane village street.
Dean slowed his pace as he appeared to nonchalantly windowshop for the best
place to steal a small handful of hair. A small crowd of elderly, white-haired
residents shuffled through the maze-like aisles in the chemist shop, but they
huddled so close to one another he couldn’t imagine getting close enough to
trim their hair with the Diffendio charm. He glanced at the unopened real
estate brokerage office and the redhead teenage boy setting out crates for
leafy vegetables for the market.
            Then the aroma of coffee and fried eggs assaulted him from across
the street. A middle-aged woman steered her blonde-haired toddler out of the
cafe. Perfect. He could kill two birds with one stone: eat breakfast and stake
the place out for a viable candidate.
            Mo’s cafe was a small shop. Four round peach tables lined one side
of the wall against a long wooden bench built into the panelled wall. On the
other side of the cafe, a well-lighted domed glass case displayed cakes, pies,
muffins and other breakfast pastries. A black chalkboard with a handwritten
menu and prices hung above the unstaffed cashier counter. Dean heard muffled
rock music blasting behind the dirty swing door leading to the kitchen and prep
area.
            “Er, hello?” he shouted politely.
            The door swung open and out came one of the most beautiful men Dean
ever laid eyes on in person. He wasn’t sure if he was comforted by the fact
that this man looked nothing like Seamus.
            “Mornin there. What can I do you for?” the shop boy greeted said in
a unexpectedly high pitched voice. He smiled broadly with a single gold tooth.
Dark freckles splattered his cheeks beneath his small, light green eyes and
across the bridge of his broad nose. His almond colour skin glowed against the
bleached, white button down and cobalt blue apron around his neck.
            Dean stared slack-jawed and wide-eyed at the counter. What was this
guy doing here? Clearly he belonged on the cover (shirtless) posing for some
men’s fashion magazine. Or a ridiculous, oversized underwear billboard ad in
Charing Cross. Dean wasn’t too fussed really.
            “Sorry,” Dean said blinking away mortified. His eyes darted all
over the counter front: the rusted metal napkin dispenser, the shiny chrome
cylinder of plastic forks and spoons, the lighted pastry case, the chalkboard
menu above. Yes. Food. Food and hair. That’s what he came here for. What an odd
combination, he thought to himself, biting his lip nervously to hold back a
smile.
            “Uh. Yeah, can I get couple of scrambled eggs and a cheesy toast.
With bacon. Actually just a bacon, egg and cheese. Toast. Sandwich,” he
stammered squinting at the menu unnecessarily. Whatever it took not to look at
the guy smirking with tongue lolling out before him.
            “Dunno,” the guy said leaning against his side of the counter.
“Sure that’s all yeh really want?” Bet I could top yeh off wiv sumpin betta’.
In the back.”
            Dean’s eyes (against his will) locked on the young bloke’s face.
Surely he wasn’t saying what Dean thought he was saying. Dean spied the lone
dangling silver earring from one ear, his black painted nails slowly drumming
on the plastic countertop, back to the shop boy’s full, mauve lips parting to
let his pink tongue wet his lips...
            Practically-speaking, it would be highly convenient for Dean to
pick several of his slicked back, cinnamon brown hairs as the stranger sucked
him off in the back of the shop. No magic required. Already, Dean felt himself
getting hard and took an involuntary step backwards with his balled fists
threatening to poke holes in his jacket pocket.
            “Name’s Johnathan, by the way,” he said softly taking a step
backwards towards the swinging door.
            “Um, Michel,” Dean lied not caring where such an un-Dean-like name
came from.
            His brain frantically scrambled for disgusting, boner-murdering
images and thoughts of anything and everything he had ever encountered both in
the muggle and magical world. It nearly worked. He settled for that time their
inept Defence Against the Dark Arts professor magicked all of the bones out of
Harry Potter’s arms after a game of Quidditch in his second year at Hogwarts.
Yup. That was... not enough as Johnathan’s bony hip bumped open the door with
his hand hidden beneath his blue apron moving suggestively. He tilted his head
for Dean to follow.
            And then Dean envisioned a hyper-pigmented scene of him, as
Johnathan, approaching Seamus near his home. The visions of him-as-Johnathan
swimmed before his eyes: his tongue snaking over his lips as he said hello, his
hands running his fingers through the hair of a mesmerized-Seamus; Seamus
blowing Johnathan against a wide oak tree as a perfect shaft of sunshine beamed
down on them making Seamus forget he ever knew a Dean Thomas.
            It was the antidote Dean needed.
            He hightailed it out of the shop and ran into a chatty, fifty-
something man ten minutes later.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
He wasn’t sure if the hairs were enough. Dean felt guilty about nearly shearing
off what little remained on the head of the man he left slumped in his car fast
asleep. They had been driving for an hour to god knows where. Dean invented
some cock-and-bull story about his car tyre just slightly out of town and off
they went. The dashboard clock blinked 9:42 in square digital numbers. It was
too early to apparate to his mum, but he figured it would work out better if he
caught her unaware at work before her lunch break.
Far from the road and the middle-aged man’s car, Dean hid in the shadows of the
trees leading to another field. He dumped the dull grayish brown hairs into the
polyjuice potion and observed it hiss, fizzle and bubble into a peach colour.
“Bottoms up,” he whispered knocking the brown bottle against an imaginary cup
in the air.
The pain was breathtaking. It took all of Dean’s mental focus not to drop the
remainder of the polyjuice potion on the needles, fallen brown leaves and dirt.
His skin bubbled like frothy, boiling milk as his intestines sizzled like bacon
in too much grease. His limbs shrunk by a couple of inches and his scalp itched
mercilessly as all of his hair receded to the rear and sides of his skull. Once
the transformation was complete, he examined his liver-spotted white hands. The
fingertips were yellowed and Dean lurched forward to hack out his lungs.
Fantastic. He was a middle-aged smoker.
He shook his head disapprovingly displeased to feel the wobble of a second chin
and tucked his polyjuice potion up his jacket sleeve which was too long and too
tight. His jeans pinched his hips beneath his potbelly uncomfortably, but he
ignored these minor discomforts. Time was ticking. Dean gripped his wand tight
and turned on the spot with a loud crack.
He landed in the bushes of an out-of-order public loo in the park adjacent the
hospital where his mother worked. Dusting himself off with his thick fingers,
he stepped around the shrubbery unnoticed by anyone and crossed the busy
pavement to enter the massive cream-coloured stone building with its panes of
blue-green windows looking down at him like some multi-eyed, concrete Argos.
Just as he expected, the waiting room was crowded with would-be patients
coughing, moaning or sipping unfulfilling styrofoam cups of watery coffee. Dean
shuffled through unnoticed, exaggerating his gait and coughing loudly as the
winded body he transformed into struggled to cope with Dean’s normal pace. In
the first lift available, he crammed his body in between three nurses, and a
slightly younger woman hobbling on crutches with her foot in a cast. Dean was
alone as he exited onto the eighth floor. Down the puke-inducing pastel green
corridor, he spotted his mum chatting with two other nurses at the main desk.
She flipped through a stack of colour-coded manilla folders. Dean checked
around, flicked his wand (still hidden up his sleeve) and the stack of folders
flew out of his mother’s hands raining down upon her like oversized snowflakes.
“Bloody hell!” she cried out.
“Too much fizzy drink, eh Ronna?” said a petite Asian nurse as she walked
around to help.
Dean jabbed his wand. The phones and computers flashed and beeped ominously.
“Uh-oh. Maybe Old Gerry’s ghost’s a callin” said a tall, overweight redhead.
The other two nurses abandoned Dean’s mum and file mishap to attend to the more
pressing issue of getting their computers back online. Dean hobbled towards
Mrs. Thomas and bent down next to her. He did his best impression to not sound
to gruffy with the old man’s wheezy voice.
“Mum!” he said hoarsely picking up files. “Mum, it’s me!”
Mrs. Thomas froze. The patient files forgotten. “Uh, sir? Are you lost?” she
asked her eyes wide with confusion at the sound of Dean’s voice.
“Mum, it’s—”
“Are you a patient here? Can you tell me your name?” she said in a more
rational tone. Her eyes searched Dean’s pale wrists for an admittance band as
she slowly stood up towering over his squatting form.
Dean flicked his wand at the scattered patient’s file and they flew into a
perfect stack on the nurses counter. He stood up slowly, but decided not to
approach her in case she called for security.
“Mum, it‘s me. Dean. In disguise. The first bit of magic I ever did was
conjuring the turtles—”
Mrs. Thomas’s eyes widened in surprise, but she grabbed Dean’s arm and
announced loudly: “Sure, Mr. Peppercorn. I can help you find your wife! Right
this way.” She waved to the other nurses hunched over their computer terminals
and steered Dean into a custodial closet.
“What in God’s name is this?” she marvelled after she locked the door and
flicked the light switch standing beneath a bright circular beam of fluorescent
light.
“Magic. Surprise! It’s the Other Dean,” Dean quipped as his yellowed teeth
shuffled beneath his gray moustache.
She put her hand to the v-shape of her baby blue scrubs, both horrified and
mystified.
“I just had to see you mum. With my own eyes,” he pleaded. “Tonks, she’s a- a
kind of magic police person. The good kind. She’s been following you. Checking
up on you for me.”
“Has she?” said Mrs. Thomas slumped against the door. Her hand reached out to
touch the flabby jowls of the balding man, her son. “Oh! That explains all of
the... For a moment, I thought I was... “
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a metamorphagus. Can change like that!” He snapped
his fingers smiling. “Cool, huh? She had to stay in disguise in case you were
being followed by her co-workers. Y’know, the people looking for me.” he
finished with a solemn face.
Mrs. Thomas opened her mouth to say something, but closed it just as fast. She
shook her head slowly as if trying to comprehend it all and tucked a strand of
hair behind her ear.
“Boy, you’re gonna drive me to drink,” she said with a half smile.
“Mum, you already do,” he grinned bristling the thick moustache.
She rolled her eyes and swatted his upper arm playfully. “So you get to see me,
but I can’t see you?”
Dean nodded solemnly again and sighed.
“As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters. Those Ministry people stopped
by the minute I got back from your auntie’s with these trumped up charges. Knew
it was rubbish, but I kept my cool!”
“You kept your cool. What’s next? MI5?” Dean snickered but was grateful all the
same.
“Oh shush! I was nervous, but I told them you flew out to visit your father in
Ottawa. I don’t think they believed me, but I told them the minute you return I
would make sure you head down to their offices to clear your name after a fair
trial of course.” She rolled her eyes. “I said what I had to say to get them
out my house. They give me the creeps.”
“Well-played mum!” he said cheerfully, but wondering if they performed some
kind of memory charm on her or something even more devious.
“So, what happens now?” she asked her forehead wrinkled in worry and her lips
pulled tight into a frown.
“I don’t know. We’re in the waiting line now. I’ll have to stay gone as long as
it takes— but not, like, forever.” he said hastily off her look of alarm.
An overhead page for Dean’s mum blared loudly on the floor scaring them both.
“Oh love,” she gushed, “I have to—”
“It’s okay mum.”
Forgetting that he appeared to be a middle-aged, balding white smoker, he
stepped forward to hug her goodbye but she recoiled against the door.
“What?” he asked hurt.
“This is so... odd,” she cringed as she reluctantly shuffled forward to hug
him. “I know it’s you, but it’s not you-you.”
A deep belly-laugh choked Dean up, but his mum held his head by his two chins.
“Just be careful Dean,” she said as she slipped out of the closet with a
worried, doleful glance.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Dean apparated into a small clearing of trees about a mile from
Seamus’ house and farm. His scalp tingled and he ran his hand over a headful of
tiny prickly hairs. He reached inside his jacket pocket and took a swig of the
polyjuice potion, shuddering as it repressed his body’s natural state.
            He saw him from afar. Seamus shoved a goat kid to the side while he
picked up a smaller injured one bleating pitifully. His muscles rippled with
sweat beneath his suntanned skin and his dark blond curls were confined to a
small area on the top of his head as the rest of his head was severely shaved.
Hidden within a copse of trees, Dean cautiously peered around the open field
surrounding the farm. He expelled a gust of air frustrated that there was no
other way to approach Seamus except to declare himself out in the open by
walking up the small hill to the fenced in area.
            The goats announced his arrival with loud, fearful bleatings and
bounded away from the wooden fence. Startled, Seamus whirled around hiding his
wand behind his back in a defensive stance. The healed kid hopped away and
bounced to her mother bleating relieved. Dean watched Seamus watching him— his
sweaty forehead wrinkled in confusion and his dark pink lips shaped in a scowl,
probably wondering how some old geezer muggle could see their magically
protected farm.
            “Seamus, it’s me,” said Dean calmly in the slightly hoarse voice.
            Repulsed, Seamus brandished his wand. Dean held up his liver-
spotted hands in the universal non-threatening gesture. He feared if he pulled
out his wand, they would waste more time duelling than speaking.
            “What the hell? Declare yourself!” Seamus roared taking a step
closer to the wooden fence.
            “Ah, bloody hell Seamus. It’s Dean. Your ‘Mr. Thomas’. Your
boyfriend wanted for ‘questioning’. We used strawberry lube to— look, it’s
Polyjuice you nunce!” he said dropping his tiring arms.
            Dean removed his wand slowly from his jacket sleeve and held his
arm out to his side in a straight line. “Expecto Patronum.”
            An electric bluish-gray, long-haired Irish setter whooshed out of
his wand and galloped around Dean mid-air wagging its transparent tail
excitedly.
            “Okay, but how do I know they didn’t catch you and torture you and
get all of our secrets?” Seamus asked already looking down at Dean’s patronus
fondly.
            “Don’t be ridiculous. As much as Mad-Eye Moody would have admire
your due diligence, patronuses are unfakeable Seamus. Yours by the way is a
fox, your boggart’s a Banshee and you paid Colin Creevey, what? Two Galleons,
fourteen Sickles and three Knuts for those photos?”
            Seamus dropped his arm relieved. “Oh, alright, alright! I believe
you,” he snapped giving Dean’s unsavory appearance a once over. “You rogue
bastard. If you think I’m snogging that ugly old mug, you can forget it.”
            Dean let out a roar of laughter but then he began to cough
violently. His patronus vanished as he clicked his wand down and bent over to
catch his breath.
            “Merlin’s beard, where’d you find this old geezer?” said Seamus
shaking his head with one hand on his hip. The other kid assessing the danger
gone, hopped over to lick the fingers of his other hand.
            “Nearby,” said Dean still wheezing. Seamus stashed his wand in his
back pocket and leaped over the top rung of the fence to join Dean outside the
protective enchantment spells. He whacked Dean’s back with a look of distaste.
            “Couldn’t you have found someone prettier?” Seamus teased.
            Dean stood up straight. “Why? So you could forget about me?”
            “Oh yeah. Cause I’m only stuck at me ma’m’s house practically under
house arrest for consorting with the likes of you, refusing to cooperate with
the Ministry. You know, because you’re so bleedin’ forgetful!” he crossed his
arms with a huff.
            Conflicting emotions battled inside him. Dean felt pleased that
Seamus stuck up for him, but the immense amount of guilt his run-in with the
Ministry caused Seamus and his mother negated everything else.          
           “Yeah. I read about them visiting. Here, I don’t have much time
Seamus,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a long thin envelope. “I
just wanted to see you one last time to give you this.”
            Seamus balked. He flung his arms down and staggered backwards into
the fence.
            “One last time? The hell do you mean?”
            “I don’t know when... I’ll be able to see you again. Not anytime
soon obviously,” he amended quickly shaking the envelope which Seamus refused
to take.
            “So you’re definitely not coming back?”
            “To where? Hogwarts? Are you mental? Of course not! I’m wanted for
‘questioning’ by the Ministry of Magic. I- I’m preparing to go underground for
a bit.”
            Seamus squinted at the sun and then down at the grass blowing at
their ankles at a loss of words.
            “B-but where? With who?” he asked stunned.
            Dean shrugged. “Alone. I guess. Seamus, please take this.”
            Seamus looked at the letter furious and for a moment Dean thought
he was going to knock it to the ground, but he snatched it out of his hand.
            “I don’t understand you!” he roared frightening the goats.
“Voldemort could, he could rule for years! What if Harry Potter isn’t the
Chosen One? What if he doesn’t defeat him? So-so you’re just gonna hide away
until it’s safe to come out while the rest of us fight?”
            Dean knew he shouldn’t rise to the bait, but he felt insulted
beyond reason.
            “Are you fucking kidding me? Scores of muggleborns are going into
hiding right now! Or would you prefer me to bid my time in Azkaban, yeah?
‘Cause, I’ll do so much fighting not trying to lose my mind to the bloody
dementors! Is that good enough for you? That enough penance for you because I
was born a filthy mudblood and not a half-blood like you and Harry fucking
Potter?”
            They glared at each other until Seamus broke away from Dean’s old
angry glare to squint at the three men approaching in the distance. Dean
followed Seamus’ line of sight.
            “Bloody hell, they must’ve been watching you too,” said Dean
gripping his wand and steadying himself for a fight.
            “Nah, they couldn’t have been. I told him I didn’t know anything
and even if I did to bugger off,” said Seamus his eyes tracked the three men as
the closed the distance between them.
            “Dammit Seamus.”
            “I didn’t mean what I said. I know it’s not safe. I—”
            “I know you didn’t Seamus. But, just go. Get inside!”
            Dean spared Seamus a glance as he took slow steps to meet the
approaching Ministry officials.
            “I beg your pardon? I’m a fully grown wizard, I’ll have you know!”
Seamus said keeping pace with Dean.
            Dean rounded on him and seized him by the shoulders.
            “Dammit Seamus! They only want me.”
            “Well they can’t have you, so you better run along and I’ll see to
this!”
            Seamus broke free of his weak grip grinning maniacally. Dean stared
at Seamus briefly wondering if he had been Confunded or was under the Imperius
Curse.
            “No!” Dean said shoving Seamus against the wooden fence. “Don’t
give them a reason to arrest you! What is wrong with you? Go inside and read my
letter. Please.”
            Seamus jumped into Dean’s face snarling. “Why? Is it my parting
gift?”
            Dean took a step back. Sure, Seamus had always been a little hot-
headed and a bit of a joker, but given the precarious situation they were
currently in— under threat of arrest and being sent to Azkaban— he couldn’t
comprehend this recklessness. The Ministry officials in blue robes held their
wands at their side and paused near the edge of the fence’s corner.
            “Let me come with you,” Seamus begged his face contorted in pain.
            Mrs. Finnigan came dashing out of their cottage home.
            “Seamus!” she called panicked.
            Dean shook his head knowing time was up. He looked into Seamus’
reddened eyes, his sweaty freckled nose, and his pink lips whispering “Don’t
go.”
            “Oi! You Ministry twats!” Dean taunted, pivoting away from Seamus
miserable face at last.
            Dean aimed a Stunning Spell straight into the face of an Auror, but
it was deflected by the faster wizard on the Auror’s left. Dean shoved Seamus
back hard and they both dodged red and purple rays of curses fired at them.
Mrs. Finnigan screamed out something unintelligible in the distance. Dean
disapparated on the spot, only to apparate near the edges of the trees where he
first watched Seamus in attempt to lead the Aurors away from Seamus and his
mother.
            A curse exploded over his head snapping a tree in half as if it was
a baby carrot. The canopy of the tree toppled over in front of him dividing the
space between Dean and the Aurors. Dean jogged and wheezed retreating into the
forest as the three charging Aurors slashed and stabbed their wands at him.
Dean turned around to face them, waving his wand, enchanting the limbs of the
trees to bend down and snatch at the Aurors. Thirty-foot leafy claws swiped at
one of them, picked him up, and flung him screaming clear across the sky. Wood
splinters and fallen leaves clouded the air as several other trees leaned
forward to shield Dean from the spells aimed at him while he caught his breath.
Others exploded and toppled over, unfortunate bystanders hit by wayward curses
and hexes. Finally, when he felt his lungs were ready for the journey, he gave
them the finger and turned on the spot with a loud crack.
            Dean barely got his other foot through the window of the small
guest room before Tonks barged in slamming the door. He crashed on to the
hardwood floor, in the midst of his transformation from a balding, overweight,
middle-aged white muggle to a lean, tall, black teenage wizard with a
wonderfully thick curly afro.
***** The Forest Awakes *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
                                        
                                        
                               CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
                               The Forest Awakes
                                        
“You nitwit!”
“Ouch! Gerroff! Tonks I can explain!”
Tonks pummelled Dean in the arms enraged.
“The bloody hell do you think you’re doing visiting Finnigan? I don’t care if
he is your boyfriend! They had Watchers on him.”
Dean staggered out Tonk’s reach as he dusted himself off, never before fully
appreciating a healthy functioning pair of lungs or the strength of his young
athletic body. He held out his arms to hold her off.
 “What’s happened to him? Is he okay?”
“I gave you that potion to see your mother Dean!” Tonks whispered furiously
swiping at his hand.
Dean leaned back out of reach once more and tilted his head at her in
disbelief. Did she really think he would not take the opportunity to see
Seamus? For all she had said the other night about doing what you can when you
find someone special, Tonks had turned a scary shade of purple and her nose and
forehead morphed into hawkish features. Apparently, Dean got it wrong: they
fully anticipated that he would seek out Seamus or other wizards or witches
friends and not his muggle mother. How could she protect him against powerful
wizards? Tonks had been one of many Aurors dispatched to the Finnigan’s
residence when an ‘unknown visitor’ showed up attacking the Aurors on duty.
Instead of providing assistance, she disapparated home to check on Dean.
“... because I knew you wouldn’t possibly be thick enough to go there! Not
after everything’s that’s happened! You’re still listed as person of
‘interest’” she waved her hands around pacing as her features shimmered like a
hologram screen. Tonks halted mid-step and pivoted at Dean.
“It’s my wand on the line too you know!”
She jabbed him in the chest and slammed out of the room leaving Dean stunned
and guilty with more worrisome unanswered questions.
The once jolly atmosphere of the Tonks’ residence dissolved into something
painfully tense. Unspoken thoughts of resentment and bitterness lingered in the
air. Tonks fumed at her parents’ less-than-enthusiastic reception of her and
Lupin’s nuptials. Ted and Andromeda showed nothing less than outright
disapproval. Ted admitted he hoped that it was just a phase, but Andromeda
exploded at Lupin in an uncharacteristic display of vexation accusing him of
corrupting her bloodline. Aghast by her mother’s words, Tonks escorted her
husband out in a blistering silence. For weeks afterwards, with no
communication or word of their whereabouts, Andromeda shut herself up in her
bedroom distraught among other things. Dean caught glimpses of her disheveled,
weepy, and weak with worry on the rare nights Ted convinced her to join them
for dinner.
                                        
*                                                      *                      
                                                    *           
 
One particular balmy August evening, Ted and Dean retired to the sitting room
listening to a fairly dull Quidditch commentary on the Wireless Wizard Network.
Dean rested his head against the headrest of an armchair distracted by thoughts
of Seamus. Tonks never told him if Seamus and his mother were okay after he
disapparated. He scoured the Daily Prophet pages for a blurb or any off-hand
mentioning, but the only Finnigan listed was a muggle family of six that had
been murdered in a caravan.
“Dean, could I see you for a moment?”
Andromeda leaned against the doorway of the sitting room and kitchen. Her red-
rimmed eyes were puffy, but her hair was combed and she wore a clean gown
beneath her robe.
Dean exchanged a worried glance with Ted who looked up in surprise. He nodded
at Dean with a strained smile as Dean got up from his chair and followed
Andromeda all the way to his small room. She turned on a gas lamp and held out
a small wriggling brown pouch. It felt as he was holding something foul like
the kidney of a cow or some poor unfortunate beast. The coarse hair on the
outside poked his skin and reminded him a boar brush his mother used when he
was younger.
“School at Hogwarts will be starting in just a few weeks,” she croaked looking
around the room. “Obviously it would be foolish to return, but whenever you’re
ready to leave...“
His socked foot sketched invisible circles on the floor as he hummed
embarrassed. He had outstayed his welcome.
“Yeah, I should get a move on—” he mumbled unable to meet her eyes.
Andromeda placed a tender hand on his chest.
“You misunderstand me Dean. I’m not rushing you. It’s been wonderful having you
here, but you—” she removed her shaky hand and placed it on her heart, “and my
Ted, need to be prepared.” she finished softly in a stuffy voice as if she was
trying to hold in a sneeze.
“For what?” Dean asked looking into her doleful blue-green eyes anxious.
“Anything.”
She took the creepy hairy pouch out of his hand, unloosed the drawstring and
opened it wide. Then, she pulled her wand out of her waistband and wiggled it
at Dean’s trunk. The lid creaked open and all of Dean’s clothes, his books, his
potion kit, quills, and every miscellaneous item zoomed into the expanded mouth
of the pouch neatly. Slackjawed, Dean leaned against the wall as Seamus’
Christmas gift of their candid photos packed in after the corked bottles of
dittany and other bottles of pickled herbs zoomed in. His trainers by the bed
tapped against the floor eager to be included, but after Andromeda stuck her
wand back into the waistband of her robe and closed the pouch, they sulked
quietly unmoving.
“I want you to keep this pouch on you at all times now. Even in the house.”
“Is it some kind of expansion spell?” Dean guessed in amazement.
“Close. Undetectable Extension charm. It’s tweaked a bit differently than what
Ted’s used for the tent he has. He might show you later,” she said with a weary
smile.
Dean nodded. It was one of the many spells Luna suggested they learned, but no
one ever found time for in Charms Club.
“Wow. Thank you Mrs. Tonks,” he said reaching to take the pouch finally with
some trepidation.
Andromeda held it out as if it weighed nothing more than a handkerchief and
when he grasped it into his own hands, Dean was shocked that it felt as light
considering everything packed within.
“And you say Ted has one too?”
Andromeda nodded stiffly. “We’ve discussed the possibility of him leaving for a
bit. Just in case things... “
Dean grimaced catching on. In case Voldemort took over or worse, the Ministry
moved forward with its anti-muggle/muggleborn stance. Andromeda nodded
knowingly at Dean and teetered out of the room sniffling. He conjured a sturdy
rope braid, attached it to the pouch, and slipped it around his neck beneath
the baggy West Ham jersey. He slipped his wand in his jeans back pocket. If
Andromeda felt it was necessary to keep all of his possessions with him at all
times, there was no way he was leaving his wand unattended anywhere either.
He returned to the sitting room to find Ted dozing, unsuccessful in his fight
against the evening’s early onset sleepiness. Dean studied the room and Ted’s
sleeping form. The corner of Ted’s pouch was visible in his trouser pocket and
the sight of it suddenly enraged Dean. He imagined (and not for the first time)
him and Seamus in the far distance future settled in some middle-age domestic
situation but living under the threat of separation. He exhaled a shaky breath,
reminding himself that there were actually in that situation now, but another
part of his brain objected. This was different. They were teenage wizards of
age who had just started dating. It was hardly comparable to being married with
adult kids. Another off-track thought scuttled in: who’s to say he would end up
with Seamus? What if they ended up with... Dean squeezed his eyelids tight
banishing the idea away. Yes, he had to be realistic, but a large part of him
figured it was futile to worry about a future that hadn’t happened yet.
And then several things happened at once.
Ted jerked awake with a loud snort. Tonks and Lupin burst through front door.
“Pa! Mum!” she shrieked in a panic waving her wand.
“Ted! Where’s Andromeda? They may be coming!” said Lupin frantically clutching
his wand.
Dean hopped off the settee and pulled out his wand as Tonks dashed to her
father’s side on bended knee.
“Dora?” Ted mumbled looking between them unsure if he was dreaming or awake. He
groped for his wand on the small tripod table next to him.
“What happened?” said Dean wondering where they just came from.
Lupin wore dress robes and Tonks was bent down in a tight-fitting satin dress—
the fanciest he had ever seen them in.
Lupin seized Dean by the shoulders.
“There’s not much time. I’m sorry Dean, but this house isn’t safe for you
anymore. For either of you!”
Ted held Tonk’s heart-shaped face. “Dora, darling, what’s happened?”
Andromeda halted at the edge of the room cinching her robe belt tight against
her waist wide awake.
“Nymphadora?”
“Mum!” Tonks cried standing up, but still holding Ted’s hands. “The Ministry’s
fallen. Kingsley said Scrimgeour’s assassinated. These shields aren’t going to
hold!”
“We were at the Weasley’s wedding as they swooped down us—”
A jagged crack splintered the front door with a loud rip. Both Dean and Tonks
shouted spells at the same time.
“Accio trainers!” Dean yelled throwing his wand arm out. The trainers zoomed
through the air into his arms.
“Colloportus!” Tonks shouted aiming her wand at the front door.
Andromeda stepped forward and grasped Tonks and Ted who stood up shakily with
his wand. She reinforced Tonks’ spell transfiguring the windows and door into
gray concrete.
“Go!” Lupin shouted shoving Dean hard in the direction of the kitchen. “We’ll
fight them off!”
Dean stumbled backwards clutching his trainers wondering how they were going to
get out if the house was surrounded. Should he just disapparate in the house?
“Ted! Dean!” Andromeda beckoned them to follow her.
The ran into the kitchen and the door that looked like a wall opened up as Dean
and Ted poured in. The slammed door plunged them into darkness as a deafening
explosion shook the foundation of the house. Dean dug his feet painfully into
his trainers grateful that he decided to wear the pouch Andromeda gave him
straightaway.
“Andi! Dora!” Ted bellowed. He banged on the door, but it glowed red around the
edges as if shielding them from a wall of fire in the kitchen.
Muffled bangs and thumps vibrated against the wall from the sitting room. Loud
metallic reverberations of the clanging of pots and pans filled the room before
them. And then a woman screamed.
“Mum!” Tonks shouted with difficulty as if she was being held back.
“Who else is here?” shouted a gruff wizard’s voice.
“No one!” screamed Andromeda clearly in pain.
“Hominem Revelio!”
Dean and Ted felt a sharp rap against their chest.
“Ted, I think we have to leave. Now. It’ll only make things worse,” said Dean
tugging on Ted’s arm.
“They’re in here!” said the gruff wizard.
“Who are you hiding?” snarled a different voice.
“No one!” Andromeda shouted. “I don’t—”
One of them slapped Andromeda.
“How dare you!” Tonks cried.
Dean and Ted heard a man screamed in pain, a loud thump on the floor behind the
door, a muffled crash of furniture in another room and then—
“Crucio!”
A terrifying scream of unmeasurable pain echoed throughout the room. The door
to the hidden compartment flew open and a scarred face with a singed beard
peered at them maliciously.
Dean hit him with the Stunning Charm, sending him violently crashing into the
other Ministry official or Death Eater? He wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Tonks
doubled over on all fours heaving and writhing in pain. Andromeda looked up at
them, her long brown hair scattered around her head and body like a silky rug
as she lay on the floor, tears streaking her face.
“Andromeda?” Ted moaned horrified at the sight of his wife. He took a step
forward to get her, but Dean restrained him.
“Take him Dean! Take him and go!” she gasped.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
“No!” Ted roared snatching his arm out of Dean’s death grip.
Dean slipped on the wet muddy grass and fell hard on his hip.
“Look, I had to get us—”
“That was my wife on the floor you left back there!” Ted screeched sinking to
his knees in grief. “My wife, my little girl,” he choked cradling his wand,
rocking back and forth.
Dean breathed heavily at a loss of what to do or say to comfort or reason with
Ted.
They stood in the unlit area of the football pitch. Along the perimeter of the
park, black poles with lantern-shaped light fixtures cast small squares of
yellow light on the pavement for late-night joggers and casual strollers.
“Ted, they’ll- I’m sure they’ll be okay. It’s us they’re worried for,” he said
reaching for the hairy pouch beneath his shirt. “You think we should move
somewhere... ? How about we get out of the open, yeah?”
Dean trailed off staring at the twinkling city lights in the nearby distance.
Black silhouettes of the London city skyline jutted up from the horizon. Over
the looming green hedges surrounding the park, Dean watched a small convoy of
red double-decker buses drove by next to unseen zooming cars and the rooftops
of white lorry trucks.
Ted wiped his nose on his trouser leg and stiffly stood up, one leg at a time
with an old man’s grunt.
“Where are we?” he asked not meeting Dean’s eyes.
“Massey Gardens. It’s where my mates and I used to—”
“In London? Near muggles?” Ted shook his head disdainfully. “No Dean. We need
to get away from the familiar and comfortable. Take my arm.”
Dean bit back a critical retort. Seeing as they were practically being hunted
by the wizarding community, as muggleborns they would have a much easier time
blending in with muggles. But Dean decided to let him call the shots. He did
just disapparate the man against his will after witnessing his family mid-
torture. Ted held out his bent elbow and Dean grasped it tightly taking a deep
breath.
Weeks passed in the same manner.
They camped in secluded forests and heavily wooded areas for days at a time
before moving to a new spot. Some days were better than others. On the good
days, they feasted on abundance of food procured from nearby muggle farms and
shops, or fished by the streams. On the nights they were able to stay warm
during rain showers after the early autumnal sunset plunged them into pitch
blackness, it was easy to share pleasantries about the beauty of the deciduous
trees or how Dean’s culinary spellwork improved. But they steered clear of any
mention of Andromeda, Tonks or “Dean’s mate”.
Ted apparated them to a new location: a field of browning grass. The purple
silhouette of a farmhouse and smaller house sat high up on the valley as the
sun set. A chill hung in the air, but not the unnatural cold and weariness of
the last town they visited besieged by dementors unseen by muggles.
Dean walked around their little clearing casting the various protective spells
he remembered from Snape’s DADA classes and a host of new ones Ted taught him
after weeks on the run. Ted arranged two faggots for the fire and set out a
couple of pots wondering for the umpteenth time what was happening in the
wizarding world.
“If only I thought to pack my little pocket radio, we’d at least know if
Voldemort’s dead or not,” he said kneeling awkward on the ground.
Dean grinned with his wand in the air mid-wave.
“Dead already? Talk about wis—”
Loud cracks sizzled in the air. Four skeevy men apparated next to a hairy fifth
man who held a bundle of humans and goblins individually bound and gagged in a
large fishing net. Their bodies wriggled as they choked on muffled screams of
protest.
“Oi! Shut it!” yelled the hairy man.
He was large enough to be Hagrid’s younger brother and gave two of them a kick
to the face. Refusing to be obey, the two persons, now bloody in the face, put
up a bigger fight moaning louder. The handler yanked savagely on his cable
knotted leash. Red sparks from his wand hit everyone indiscriminately and they
each let out high-pitched howls of pain.
Dean and Ted were rooted to the spot looking on in horror and confusion.
“Jancer! The bloody hell’d you bring them for? Told you to take ‘em to
headquarters, didn’t I?” said one of the men with face piercings and Azkaban
tattoos on his arms and exposed chest.
Ted got up to his feet awkwardly and accidentally kicked over a pot.
“Shut it! I hear ‘em! They gotta be near,” said the filthy, bony man with a
streak of white hair down the middle of his brown hair. He snapped his fingers
and tilted his head at the two men behind him. With a nod, they walked around
with their wand ready for attack and their other arm held out as if feeling the
air.
“Ted? Do you think they can hear us?” Dean whispered out of the corner of his
mouth afraid to move lest his movements give them away.
Ted shushed him loudly, but it was too late.
“Over there!” said the skunk-haired leader pointing in their direction.
All five of them aimed their wands shouting “Recludo!”
Ted and Dean were blasted off their feet as Dean’s incomplete shield was
penetrated. Dean was the first to recover his wand and instinctively cast the
Cloud-Gathering spell at the near giant-sized handler and the tattooed guy next
to him. Thunder rumbled in the cloudless sky and a small maelstrom appeared. It
was just the right amount of distracting magic that allowed Ted to get back on
his feet, while the three men paused to watch the other two men spin up and
away in the stormy thunderous clouds.
Ted snapped his wand arm at the skinny, skunk-haired leader with a lasso and
produced ropes and a gag that sent him toppling to the ground. The other man,
taller but slower grunted in confusion and Dean petrified him. The last wizard
standing aimed his wand at Ted. Just as he shouted “Avada Kedavra”, Dean
screamed “Sectumsempra” slashing his wand at him in a panic. Splurts of blood
splattered out of the ribbons of unwashed flesh and fabric that rippled from
the gaping wounds across his neck and chest. His wand dropped to the ground as
he clutched his throat in vain. Bright red blood rapidly gushed out of his neck
and he fell to his knees.
“What the hell was that?” said Ted shocked.
Dean shook his head wide-eyed, horrified by what he had done.
“I didn’t- I didn’t know...” he gasped unable to look away from the dead man.
The wizard rattled his last breath and tumbled onto the crackling brown grass
in a pool of his own blood dead.
“Better him than me, eh?” said Ted clasping a hand on Dean’s shoulder as if he
had captured the snitch in a long-suffering game of Quidditch.
Ted made a series of movements in the air as he rushed over to the human and
goblin cargo. The net was sliced open and their ropes were severed from their
wrists and feet. Three men and a heavy-set woman staggered to their feet,
shaking off the ropes with grunts and mumbled thank-yous at Ted and Dean.
“He’s the one with our wands!” squawked the woman. She had a purple bruise
beneath her eye and cuts on her cheek and lips.
Dean turned mutely to watch the taller stocky man sprint over to the leader
bound on the ground wiggling in fear as his captives had been moments earlier.
The stocky man dangled the leader up off the ground and pummelled him in the
face until bright crimson blood dripped down the front of his dirty jacket and
pooled on the ground beneath his swinging small feet.
“Marcus, don’t muck about. Get our wands!” cried the woman who closely
resembled him.
Dean stumbled over to the two goblins: the older one with frizzy gray and brown
hair sported a cut over his wrinkled cheek; the younger one clutched at his
ankle moaning in pain. At the shrieks of glee, Dean looked over again at the
sister-brother duo as they successfully ripped out a swaddle of cloth
containing a bundle of wands.
“How’s it feel now, eh Snatcher? You tell You-Know-Who his time’s coming up!
Avada Kedavra you bastard!”
A streak of green light blasted out of Marcus’ wand and then a second time at
the petrified Snatcher who had lay face-first in the field.
What are you doing? You didn’t have to kill them, Dean thought. He wanted to
howl or scream or punch the ground beneath their feet with his fists at the
violence before him, done by his own hands, but his mouth was parched, as if he
hadn’t had a sip of water in days. He hadn’t meant to kill anyone. He just
wanted to stop him, to shut him up, to save Ted. He thought back to the night
in the Gryffindor common room as he and Seamus cozied up on the couch when
Harry burst in. Is that what Harry did to Malfoy? How did Malfoy survive? Maybe
the power of the spell had to do with intent, but neither Harry nor Dean had
intended to kill anyone. From his vague memory of Harry’s description (and his
genuine remorse), it didn’t sound nearly as fatal as it had been tonight.
Dean turned his attention to the wounded goblin. He needed to do something.
Anything to negate the dead body, the blood violently spilled by his wand. He
cleared his throat and kneeled down by the goblin.
“I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but I can help. If you want,” he
said in a choked-up, weary voice.
The two goblins exchanged a suspicious, but curious glance between them. The
older one cocked an eyebrow and they spoke in a garbled language of harsh
guttural clicks and hisses. Ted walked back over. He had collected the pots and
firewood and tent they had set up.
“You do know ‘ow they found you, don’t you?” said Marcus’ sister. “You can’t
say You-Know-Who’s name. When you do, those shite-brained bastards pop up. It’s
‘ow they got us.”
“C’mon Asteria, we don’ have time! More could be coming,” Marcus called as the
other man disapparated without them.
“We transfixed their bodies into ferret tails. In case ‘em muggles way yonder
come wanderin’ over,” continued Asteria as if she had all the time in the
world. “That’s some dark magic yer got there. Not many would agree, but I say
fight dark wit dark. Aye, mind yerselves and long live ‘Arry Pottah!” she
declared and pounded her fist against her left breast.
She streaked over to her impatient brother, her dirty blond hair bouncing
behind her jiggling body. They turned and disapparated with two faint pops.
Dean turned his attention to the younger goblin’s ankle eager to forget their
faces, but grateful for the warning.
“Ted, it might be broken. I can’t tell.”
Ted kneeled down and tenderly touched the gnarled, disjointed bone. He asked a
question in Gobbledegook. The goblins, just as surprised as Dean, nodded and
began a long rattling conversation. Ted hovered his wand arm in the air making
small waves over the goblin’s ankle. A faint ball of dull white light expanded
from his wand, there was a sharp crack of bone, a hiccup of pain, and then a
sigh of relief.
“Thank you, thank you,” cawed the younger goblin bowing his disproportionately
large head at Ted, then Dean.
“No problem. What say we get out of here and you two catch us up over supper?
I’m Ted and this young chap is Dean” said Ted standing with his hand
outstretched.
“Griphook,” said the older goblin shaking Ted’s hand. “This is Gornuk.”
Chapter End Notes
     Chapter title taken from the St. Vincent and David Byrne title track:
     https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UvhxlWvVA40
***** The Transport *****
                                        
                                        
                               CHAPTER NINETEEN
                                 The Transport
                                        
After weeks (now months) without any information about the wizarding world,
Griphook and Gornuk filled in the gaps (in English for Dean’s benefit) of the
latest tragedies and upheavals. They already worked out that the Ministry had
been taken over completely by pro-pureblood supporters and Death Eaters.
Neither Dean nor Ted were surprised by the Muggleborn Registry and confirmation
of blood status, since it had been rumoured by Tonks and Lupin months before.
But Dean was furious to learn it was Umbridge spearheading the Muggleborn
Registry. He remembered Lupin told him that she had set up the werewolf
registry two years ago, making it impossible for him to find a job. Lastly,
Dean was shaken by news of the compulsory educational decree requiring all
underage children to attend Hogwarts— upon successful validation of blood
status, of course.
He guesstimated it was early October. His friends— Parvati, Lavender, Oksana,
Neville, Luna, and of course his Seamus— were there now. They had ridden the
Hogwarts Express on the first of September, climbed into the carriages pulled
by thestrals (which he realised with a jolt he could see now) and were under
the regime of Severus Snape, Hogwarts Headmaster. He wondered if they would
play Quidditch or go to Charms Club or distract themselves with Wizard chess to
restore some normalcy to their lives. Bitterly he cursed the thought of it:
normalcy. What a joke! Their entire lives were a joke because nothing prepared
them, nothing prepared him for this life. Hell, it wasn’t a life. It was an
existence of scurrying around like cockroaches, pests, or vermin trying to
avoid detection and extermination by a hateful entity greater than them.
As night turned into day and back again, Dean found it harder to sleep at
night. Guilt suffocated him. It was always the same flashes of imagery: the
Snatcher’s blood splattering his pale surprised face and sprinkling the dry
browned grass... The look on Ted’s confused face after he casted what was
clearly a Dark Arts spell... His mother’s apprehensive face in the alley after
disapparating morphing into disgust as she whispered “Murderer! I didn’t raise
you to be no murderer!” Dean woke up in cold sweats with her accusations
ringing in his ears. Some nights he woke up the entire tent with his mumbling
and crying out for forgiveness that she could never give.
They settled in a new field. Grey cumulus clouds threatened to coat them with
snow or worse. Dean walked around the clearing casting the last of the
protective shield around them. Griphook and Ted set up the small, enchanted
navy blue tent. Gornuk conjured a small fire to roast the rabbits they found
burrowed earlier that day. The darkness of the woods fell quickly smothering
them like a pot on a pan.
Dean dropped his wand hand satisfied by his charms and turned to walk into the
tent when he saw movement in his periphery. He staggered at the edge of the
spell, squinting into the pitch-black darkness. Lumos Maxima, he thought
holding his wand above his head as it emitted a warm golden light. A figure
emerged out of the tunnel of trees. Dean gasped.
“S-Seamus?”
Guilt fogged his brain as he remembered their last two conversations. Seamus
had begged him to join him, had declared that he would be with him, but Dean
never said that he wanted Seamus to come along. Dean’s pride and perhaps, his
resentment at Seamus’ blood status, had always left Seamus’ offer in limbo-
neither rejected nor accepted.
But how could this be? How could Seamus be here? How did he escape the
oppressive regime of Hogwarts and find them in the highlands of Scotland? Or
were they in Wales now? He wanted to extinguish hope that it wasn’t Seamus, but
Dean could recognise him anywhere. Yet, he noticed the odd, stiff gait as
Seamus approached: his legs kicked out at painful angles and he was slightly
hunched over as if he was nursing a back injury. His wild tangle of loose curls
flopped over his face. Dean could hardly believe it and blasted through the
shield bewildered, but relieved.
“Seamus! Are you hurt? How did you find us?” he cried out so happy he could cry
as he sprinted for Seamus.
Dean caught him by the shoulders. His hands shivered from the cold and
excitement. And then his face scrunched in confusion. Seamus’ body felt cold.
Too cold. Dean held his lit wand to Seamus’ face. His eye sockets were gouged
out and all that remained were rotten gray flesh. Hands grasped Dean. Not human
hands. Bony, waterlogged fingers latched onto Dean’s jaw and Seamus’ mouth
revealed the hooded rotten mouth of a dementor unhinged, coming closer as a
rush of green light hurtled towards him—
“No!”
Dean hollered, bolting awake, fighting off the grip of Inferi-Seamus by
slapping at his face. Terrorised by guilt, his chest and arms convulsed as he
choked on the cold air (as cold as the air in his nightmare). Dean inhaled
shallow breaths unable to force his lungs to expand wider.
Ted dashed through the tent flaps with his wand out, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Sorry,” Dean gulped ashamed. “Nightmare.”
He tried to resist blinking, afraid to close his eyes even for a fraction of a
second, but the image of the Inferi persisted haunting him in waking life. Dean
pulled his knees to his chest and mashed his fists into his eye balls, but the
hot tears came and they came hard.
“Hey, hey now. It’s only a bad dream,” said Ted crouching down. In dad-mode, he
clasped an arm around Dean’s shoulders giving him two firm squeezes until
Dean’s whimpers of grief subsided. “Is it still that Snatcher dream?” Ted asked
with no judgment.
Dean shook his head.
“Thanks, but I...” he hiccuped, feeling ashamed suddenly as Ted’s arm fell away
with a final squeeze to the nape of his neck.
“Dean, it’s okay. It’s nothing to feel embarrassed about. I’ll tell Dirk to lay
off the stories, eh? How about I put the kettle on?” he said cheerfully
standing up.
Dean nodded, but the mentioning of Dirk Cresswell made him feel worse.
Cresswell was a muggleborn Ministry official on the run. Knowing he would be
unable to defend himself against the charges of ‘theft of magical knowledge’,
he had been sentenced to Azkaban for outright defiance to submit to a Blood
Status check, refusal to register as a muggleborn, or pledge to search for
Undesirable Number One: Harry Potter. He had joined their party only two days
prior and recounted his tale of escape as they sat on a riverbank roasting
salmon Ted and Dean fished out of a small unfrozen lake.
He also informed them the news of the attempted break-in into Snape’s office by
headed by Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood with other students
as accomplices. Around the campfire, Dean vividly imagined Seamus, Parvati and
maybe Oksana and Wren duelling in the hallways and standing as look out as
Ginny, with her wild red hair, clambered through the headmaster’s window on a
broom or something ridiculously outlandish. The sight of it brought a small
smile to his lips until he equally created a lurid scene of their punishment in
his mind’s eye. If what Cresswell said was true about the use of the Cruciatus
Curse and other abominable forms of Ministry-approved retribution, the
possibility of Seamus pulling a Weasley and flying out to escape Hogwarts had
been fodder for this new nightmare. That and the latest horrific rumours of
muggle family members killed and turned into Inferi to attack muggleborn
witches and wizards in hiding as reported on PotterWatch.
That was Dirk Cresswell’s crowning glory: he had secured a portable radio and
they were able to tune into the elusive, password-protected, broadcasts of
PotterWatch— radio news for the rebellion. For this, Ted and Cresswell got on
like old school chums; but Dean could tell Cresswell looked at him as just a
kid, a liability. Nevermind that Dean was of age and it was his spellwork which
saved Ted’s life and helped free Griphook, Gornuk and the other captives.
So, the last thing Dean needed was for Ted to tell Cresswell to ‘lay off the
stories.’ Yet, instead of saying so, Dean wiped his face with his jumper and
joined him at the small table as Ted set out two mugs for tea.
“Cheers,” Dean smiled weakly fiddling with the handle of one of the empty mugs.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Oh, they’re keeping watch outside,” said Ted. He sat down with a yawn.
“Between you and me, I don’t think our goblin friends think too much in our
wizarding spells,” he whispered with a snort.
Dean shrugged. “Yeah well, between you and me, neither do I sometimes.”
“Ah, rubbish!” Ted waved Dean off. “You remind me so much of my Dora. She’s a
feisty, fiery, little thing. And the way you—” he mimicked Dean’s wand
movements, “—your creativity too! I mean, if we weren’t running for our lives
and all, that would make for some great telly down at the pub!”
Dean burst out laughing, his nose still running.
“D’you know what? I might actually make a good wizard stunt double. All the
muggles’ll be like, ‘Oh! It’s jus’ like magic!’ ”
Ted slapped his knee chuckling hard at the absurdity of it and Dean forced
himself to continue to smile for longer than he wanted to. Really he grimaced
on the inside thinking of how Seamus wouldn’t have just laughed, he probably
would have attempted an actual stunt. It was always in these small unexpected
moments that Dean missed him fiercely.
“That’ll be something, eh?” said Ted softly as he ran a calloused hand over his
long brown hair. “Imagining you on the telly, with Dora, Lupin, and their—” his
voice faltered and Dean recognised the haunted look in his eyes: the pain of
reminiscing over a loved one they may not ever see alive again. Now that they
were kept abreast of news, the unspoken rule of not mentioning Tonks and
Andromeda was void, but it didn’t make it any less painful to talk about them.
The kettle whistled. Ted hopped up, extinguished the stove fire with his wand,
and poured boiling water over their tea bags.
“Did I tell you she’s- Dora’s pregnant?” he said in a hushed voice.
Dean’s chapped mouth clucked open in shock.
“Seriously?”
Ted nodded half-proud, half-worried.
“She was quite farther along than she wanted to show. Y’know, with her
disguises and all.” His beaming smile flared and evaporated off his face. Ted
concentrated on the old scabs on his knuckles and palms. “I just hope she an-
and Andi—” his voice cracked and cut out abruptly.
They sat in silence blowing on their tea and slurping it, ignoring the burn on
their lips, tongues and throat. Nothing was as painful as the unspoken fear
they swallowed down instead.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
       
Winter descended with a frosty hand of indifference. The seemingly random
travels of hiding out didn’t feel as pointless with the sporadic radio
broadcasts hosted by various members of the The Order of the Phoenix. Dean
recognised the voices of the Weasley twins and certainly Lee Jordan who spent
years commentating Quidditch matches before graduation. Ted tried to point out
the voices of Order members Tonks briefly introduced him to, but he could only
recall the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
“You mean that tall Jamaican that guarded the Prime Minister?” Dean said in
astonishment. “Blimey, my sis’ got the most absurd crush on him. Always said it
was between him and this muggle actor Idris Elba,” Dean said shaking his head.
“Wait til I tell her, she was this close to having half-bloods,” he joked.
Ted smiled wistfully as the goblins spoke in the corner quietly. Cresswell (to
Dean’s relief) napped in a hammock on the other side of the room. He despised
“nonsense” talk: what they would say to people or things they would do after
the war. He said that he fancied himself a pragmatist. Dean thought him a
pessimistic pompous arse. He knew that hope for the future— hope that he would
see his mother and sister’s smiling faces again; hope that he would hear
Seamus’ voice, feel his breath against his face, his body tight against his in
a fierce embrace— these hopeful visions were all that was keeping Dean going.
Dean wasn’t alone in his dislike for their newest member. He had seen the
goblins muttering and narrowing their glassy black eyes in Cresswell’s
direction more than once. In fact, Dean was sure they didn’t trust the other
two wizards. While Dean wouldn’t defend Cresswell, he felt it was his duty to
uphold Ted’s character. One grey afternoon, Dean stomped through knee-deep snow
(the goblins, near chest-level) searching for firewood and a source of food.
Griphook and Gornuk shot pointed looks at Dean as they continued a growling,
angry conversation. He looked behind him watching them struggle and then held
up his hand and wand.
“Mind if I?” he asked making a gesture against the snow.
They gazed at him curiously and nodded.
Dean swept his wand at the snow as if he were hoovering and cleared an easy
path from their tiny feet to his own (unaffected by the cold due to the Skin
Protectant Charm) and beyond all of them creating a clearer path over icy grass
and dirt.
“Better yeah? See, I’m alright, ain’t I?” he grinned at their suspicious faces,
though it was hard to read most expressions with their deeply-recessed eyes,
high over-hanging wrinkled brows, and pursed puckered lips.
“You are a strange wizard, Mr. Thomas,” said Gornuk in a gruff, but grateful
voice.
“Dean. Please,” he insisted thinking forlornly of his conversation in bed with
Seamus calling him ‘Mr. Thomas’.
“Strange in what way?” he asked with a hint of a smile on his lips.
“You don’t presume,” said Griphook in a harsh ragged breath. “Not like the
others, so high and mighty wizards. Purebloods are all the same.”
Dean bent down to collect fallen branches but then stood up to look down at
Griphook.
“Now hang on, none of us are pureblood. That’s why we’re running the
countryside. Cresswell’s a pompous bastard, I’ll give you that, but Ted’s
alright. And we’re all muggleborn.”
Griphook rolled his eyes at Gornuk who snorted. He waved a tiny gnarled hand at
Dean and walked off with a grunt. Gornuk gave a tiny smile and waddled close
behind picking up branches.
“You’re a kidling. What do you know of our world?”
“Not much apparently,” Dean said feeling slighted. “But as a wizard of age, I
know this evil affects us all. Yeah, my lot’s treated your kind and, hell the
centaurs, the werewolves, and everyone else with contempt and prejudice, but
it’ll change in the end. When Vol- You-Know-Who’s defeated,” he sighed walking.
“Even wizards don’t respect other wizards! So, yeah I don’t know everything,
but I’m a bloody muggleborn. Trust me. I get it. Some of it anyway.”
Griphook gave Dean a shrewd look.
“You know of any werewolves?” he asked in a condescending tone.
“Yup. My friend and Ted’s son-in-law actually.”
Griphook’s menacing face was transformed by a genuine shock of surprise. He
nodded at Dean and resumed his walk next to Gornuk. Dean wasn’t sure if he
believed himself fully. How could the magical communities fight to defeat
Voldemort if they were disjointed and marred by mistrust and prejudices? The
way Cresswell explained it, at least Voldemort united most of the magical
creatures against the wizards, which as Dean thought about it didn’t make any
sense, since Voldemort and his followers with their pro-pureblood stance were—
wizards. But the conversations did leave him regretting that he hadn’t paid
more attention Binns, the ghost professor who lectured History of Magic.
They gathered as much as they could find of decent firewood. Gornuk managed to
extract a couple of fish beneath the ice of the frozen lake and Griphook found
slugs and mushrooms for them to munch on (Dean respectfully declined) as they
finally returned to their camp.
Before the tent was in view, Dean knew something was wrong. Dark smoke billowed
too high for their campfire through the frozen, black hands of the leafless
tree branches reaching towards the flat gray sky. He dropped the wood and
sprinted for the tent.
“Ted! Ted!”
He slipped on a patch of ice. It saved his life as a green jet of light missed
his cheek. He stared wide-eyed at the scene before him: half a dozen Snatchers
duelled both Ted and Cresswell. The tent hissed to the ground in yellow flames
leaving only the poles erect in the snow. Dean warned Griphook and Gornuk to
stay back as he aimed a Stunning Spell at their would-be captors. He cast a
Shield Charm to protect the goblins and himself, but Gornuk dashed out of range
hurling a neon blue ball of electric fire Dean never saw before, but guessed it
was what they used to forge goblin metal. The ball of fire incinerated two
Snatchers into ash on the spot. Their clothes fluttered to the snowy ground as
if unsecured items on a clothesline. The Snatcher with dark-kohl around his
eyes and ratty-tatty matted hair roared and hit Gornuk with the Killing Curse.
Dean cried out in vain as the tiny goblin fell back into the snow with his eyes
wide open and mouth grinning. He hadn’t seen it coming. Griphook exploded with
fury, but Dean froze him to protect him just as Cresswell called out.
“I just can’t go back to Azkaban!” he shouted disapparating with a pop.
Dean extinguished his shield and flung his body forward to fight with Ted.
Curses and jinxes hurtled, zipped, and sizzled through the air as Snatchers
turned their attention on him. Dean conjured a flock of ravens to swoop down
and peck them, transfigured the heaviest of tree branches to snatch up two of
the Snatchers and petrified another. Then Ted roared in pain. On the ground,
his wand arm lay three feet to the right of his body completely severed by the
vicious Snatcher who killed Gornuk. A crimson puddle of blood glowed
magnificently against the sparkling white snow beneath Ted’s feet.
“—yeh filthy mudblood,” cried out the Snatcher and a jet of green light glowed
around Ted’s defenceless crouched body as he cradled his stump in pain.
Dean, wildly distracted by grief and horror, watched as Ted’s mutilated body
crashed silently into the snow like a heavy log. He opened his mouth to call
out for him, but a sharp pain at the back of his head blinded him.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
Dean lay stiffly on his side numb. His hands and feet were tied painfully
behind his back and a dirty oily cloth was stuffed in his mouth. He couldn’t
open his eyes because the net was cutting odd shapes into his face. The flat,
cold metallic surface he lay on motored uphill, jerking and shuffling forward
as if someone wasn’t sure how to drive. It paused for a moment coming to a
stop. He heard a metal clank, several tiny metal ticks, and then the vehicle
surged forward.
Dean knew they reached their destination when the engine kicked off and the
vehicle vibration ceased. A door slammed. Then another, rocking the vehicle
slightly. Muffled voices travelled from the front, passed him, and then there
was a hoot of laughter behind him. The doors squeaked open and the smallest
light illuminated the empty chamber of the lorry van Dean was transported in.
“Fookin ‘ell, tha’s all Egg?” said a high-pitched male voice.
“Yeah, what of it?” said a deeper, but younger voice. “This one ‘ere is a
youngin’ bout me age an’ I bettah get a nice fat top o’ Gall’on for the elf.”
Dean heard a furious grumble behind him and prayed that by ‘elf’ they meant the
goblin Griphook.
The high-pitched male let out a shriek of laughter. “Yeh nunce! Tha’s a goblin,
tha’ is!”
The two Snatchers argued as they unceremoniously dragged Dean to the gravel
stone road, picked him up, and heaved him over their shoulder. Blood trickled
down the right side of his face, but he panicked slightly as his captor grasped
his ankles. He wondered if the Snatcher could feel his pouch tucked into his
boots, but they were so dim-witted he hoped what little nugget of luck he had,
would go towards him keeping his pouch undetected. Dean gritted his teeth. He
was sure they had his Hawthorn wand.He never felt more naked and vulnerable
without it.
They entered through the doors. Their echoing footsteps tapped and scuffed
against the stone floors as if walking on ice. The Snatcher dumped him on the
cold floor with— to his relief— Griphook. His body jerked from side-to-side as
the restraints were removed. Dean blinked down at Griphook and opened to his
mouth to ask if he was okay, but Griphook signaled him to remain silent. They
kneeled in a majestic, gleaming white marbled hall of a museum? Or small
palace? His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he realised he was in the
lair of Voldemort. But then the fear subsided. Dean couldn’t imagine
Voldemort’s headquarters in such a gaudy monstrosity. Two four-tiered crystal
chandeliers hung from opposite ends of the room casting a sinister bluish
light. Large, ceiling-to-floor frosted windows lined the entire side of the
wall to their left, while several closed white doors and a magnificent marble
staircase spiralled upstairs and out of sight to their right. Directly ahead at
the end of the hall was a gilded, white gold fireplace with a an enormous gold
mirror, nearly as large as the wall.
“Eh, Miss, we ‘ere!” called one of the Snatchers. He seized Griphook by the
tuft of his graying brown hair. The other one secured Dean by the hem of his
coat.
Slow clicks of high-heeled boots echoed down the marble staircase as a witch
approached.
“Aww, what do we have here?” she asked in a mock-curious tone. Her voice was
breathy, girlish, almost as if she was talking in baby-speak.
Bellatrix Lestrange, with her insane hooded brown eyes, haughty high
cheekbones, untamed frizzy brown hair, entered the grand, cold mausoleum-like
hall with her wand tip in between her browned chipped teeth.
Dean gasped and puffed out a small white cloud. He remembered with a jolt that
he had once thought Ted’s wife Andromeda resembled her. No wonder she felt
insulted when people confused them. Perhaps they bore a resemblance when they
were younger, but evil had warped Bellatrix into something terrifying to
behold. Part of him was afraid, but then he remembered this was the bitch that
tortured Neville’s parents and boiling hot hate bubbled inside him.
“Ugh! What is this?” she barked after no one said anything returning to her
normal harsh tone as her wand hand dropped impatiently.
The Snatcher shoved Griphook forward who turned his head slightly to look back
at his handler with a deepest look of loathing, but otherwise held his tongue.
“Well, miss we ain’t got names. But tha’ one’s gotta be school age and this
‘ere’s an elf.”
Bellatrix threw her head back in laughter filling the large hall with a raucous
echo.
“An elf! You dung-pile-shit-for-brains! It’s a goblin. And what do you think I
want with a wretched, thieving, sack of postules shit?” she screamed. Her
echoing voices sounded even more maniacal than her.
The Snatcher stumbled back terrified. “S-s-sorry miss.”
“Sahwee miss! Sorry? Sorry?” she hissed mocking him. She turned her malicious
eye at Griphook and kicked him to the floor with her boot on his short throat.
“What do I need it for? Avada—!”
“No!” Dean roared throwing his body forward.
Before the Snatchers could grab him, Bellatrix slid out of the way and slashed
at the air flinging Dean back twenty feet across the floor. He sputtered
breathless clutching his chest as if a stampede of confused rioters trampled
over him.
“No?” Bellatrix said dangerously calm as she slowly walked towards him. “You
dare tell me no, you filthy half-blood!”
She roared running at him. Dean foolishly put out a hand to protect his face,
but Bellatrix flicked her wand and dangled him upside down. Precisely as Harry
had once done to Ron in their dorm room one morning. Dean crossed his legs
terrified his pouch would slip out of his boot.
“What’s his name!” she bellowed.
“We ‘on’t know miss!”
“Get out! Get out you useless vermin!” she shrieked as they dashed out of the
door. “Draco! Draco!”
Suspended upside down, Dean watched utterly horrified as a pale, nearly
bloodless Draco Malfoy descended the marble staircase and slunk into the room
in a black robe and black clothes. Bellatrix dropped Dean to the floor, but
thanks to his quick reflexes he landed awkwardly on his feet. His left ankle
throbbed dully.
Malfoy’s grey bloodshot eyes widened, not in glee, but in fear. His slicked
back blond hair was the longest it had ever been and in the dim light, Dean
could see the halo of pale blond stubble along his jawline. Malfoy fidgeted
wary of standing close to Bellatrix. A resigned sigh escaped Dean. If Malfoy
knew this woman or had any major roles with the Snatchers, he was done for.
They shared a fearful glance at each before looking away.
“Ah, so you know him, don’t you Draco? You can tell Aunt Bella—”
Dean’s head whipped over unable to hide his revulsion at Malfoy.
“—is this a fellow Slytherin or some nasty half-breed or, even better, a
mudblood you can dispose of?”
She stepped over to Malfoy laying a tender hand on his robe collar. Malfoy
tried to suppress the shudder at her touch looking between the two of them wild
with terror.
“D-dispose? Me?” he recoiled and closed his eyes for a moment trying to steady
himself.
“Yes Draco!” Bellatrix snapped shoving his shoulder hard. “The Dark Lord has no
use for—”
“No. He’s a half-blood. A bleedin’ Hufflepuff. Believe it or not, he’s Blaise’s
brother. Half-brother,” Malfoy spat with a familiar look of contempt on his
face staring at Dean.
Dean couldn’t hide his shock and luckily didn’t need to. Bellatrix tilted her
head at Malfoy with a cocked eyebrow as she stepped closer pressing her body
against his and fingered Malfoy’s ear beneath his silken hair.
“I didn’t know Blaise had a brother?” she snorted.
“Half brother. Y’know what a calculating whore their mother is. Course Blaise’s
too ashamed to admit it. They have different names so it’s not that hard. She
probably forgot about this one the minute his filthy muggle father ran out of
gold or something,” Malfoy sneered with excessive, trumped up hatred.
Bellatrix threw her head back in wild laughter again shoving Malfoy this time
teasingly as her curly brown hair flew everywhere. Malfoy raised his blond
eyebrows and widened his eyes at Dean to play along. Dean scrunched his face,
his head shaking slightly in confusion. Malfoy was actually trying to save his
life? It didn’t make any sense, but there was no time to question anything in
front of his cruel, mercurial aunt. With as much feigned offense taken at his
and Blaise Zabini’s “mother”, Dean said: “Oi! Don’t you have a go at me fahver
or muhver!”
He didn’t know if Bellatrix was convinced, but something about his fake accent
set her off on another gale of laughter. She tossed a handful of curls over her
face and let out a dramatic sigh as if it took concerted effort to catch her
breath.
“So, what’s your name?”
“Mickey,” said Dean thinking of Doctor Who from his childhood.
“Mickey? Urgh! Such a nasty muggle name, isn’t it Draco?” she said gagging. “I
know! Why don’t we teach him some Slytherin pride. Your half brother’s got it
Mickey. Your turn!” she shrieked hopping on her toes clapping her hands as if
cheering at a game.
“Crucio!” she screamed with delight.
Dean’s spine curved arching backwards as if he was trying to dance under a low
level conga line. Bellatrix’s wand and her fingers danced in the air like a
magical puppeteer giggling as Dean wailed in a high-pitched scream. Beneath his
brown skin something hotter than lava boiled threatening to seep out of every
pore on his body. His eyeballs and tongue flopped inside his skull. He didn’t
know where he was, what day it was, or if he was alive. His vocal cords gave
out as he collapsed to the floor, the invisible puppet strings of searing pain
cut.
“Aw, did that hurt? Hmm?” Bellatrix rolled her boot over his cheek, the dirt
from her sole scraped away the tears he hadn’t known he shed. “Well, you know
Mickey, students shouldn’t be out of bed after hours and you’re an awfully
long, long, ways from Hogwarts. But I’ll be nice. How about a night cap? Hmm?”
Bellatrix strolled around his body as if shopping for a particular brand of jam
jelly. The click-clack of her boots stopped at his head and he shuddered
sobbing.
“Oh, is that a no? Well, how about a cuppa?” She bent down, her skirt grazing
his face, to whisper in his ear. “Aww, does Mickey miss his mummy now?”
Then she shot up irrationally enraged stomping the floor. “Or do you miss your
dirty muggle father! Crucio! With your filthy muggle blood Crucio! Crucio!
Crucio!”
The back of Dean’s head banged against the stone floor as his spine curled
sharply skyward. His wretched screams echoed throughout the hall.
***** Outnumbered, But Not Outgunned *****
                                        
                                        
                                CHAPTER TWENTY
                        Outnumbered, But Not Outgunned
                                        
            Dean’s eyes painfully fluttered open. He inhaled in a ragged, gasp
of breath, his chest stretched beyond the limit. A soft cotton material dabbed
at his face as he lay on his back. Every muscle fibre and bone ached in ways
humanly impossible. He was grateful for the dark where ever he was. He didn’t
know if he could handle light just then.
            He smelled a dank, odour of dried urine and it took him several
moments before he realised it was him. He had pissed himself and been sick;
there was a hideous aftertaste in his mouth. He lifted his head with a groan to
face the soothing cloth motion and a blurred vision of crinkly yellow hair
framed the face of a girl, but he could not make out her face in the dimness.
            “Dean? Are you awake?” she whispered in an airy familiar voice.
            A tear leaked out of his eye and rolled behind his head trickling
into his ear.
            “Luna?” he croaked.
            “You’re okay now. He’s cleaned up most of the mess, but he also
stated emphatically that he didn’t want to be mistaken for a house elf, so he’s
stopped a bit,” Luna flicked her hair out of his face and leaned over to
massage his head gently.
            If Griphook had indeed cleaned up Dean, that meant he was still
alive. But Luna said ‘us’, so there was also someone else there with them. As
much as it would pain him— well, nothing could top the Cruciatus Curse, he
understood and fully acknowledged the horror of that truth— Dean sucked in a
gulp of air and pushed himself into a sitting position using his abs. His mind
tried to recall the sheer agony he had experienced at the hands of that lunatic
Bellatrix Lestrange to put the soreness he felt in perspective, but it still
fucking hurt. Dean thought of Neville’s parents and scores of nameless witches
and wizards who had been tortured mercilessly and with pity the disdained
muggles, muggleborns, half-breeds, and other magical creatures. His mind tuned
into their collective pain all at the hands of Voldemort and a taste of rage-
pure, venomous, wrathful- heated his body. In that moment, he no longer felt
guilty for the death of that Snatcher months back. He didn’t regret the deaths
of any Snatcher...
            And then his mind conjured the vision of Ted. Poor Ted. Ted, who
was looking forward to being reunited with his wife and daughter and becoming a
grandfather. It was Ted who had shown Dean so much on the run, had taken him
under his wing in a fatherly manner. Snapshots flipped through his mind of that
ghastly last scene: Ted’s wand arm cursed off clutching his wand; the
shimmering crimson blood and pink muscles and white bones and sinew in view;
Ted’s crumbled body in the snow as the green glow of the Killing Curse
extinguished his life. And Dean hadn’t saved him. He had done nothing. All of
his magical knowledge rendered useless as he watched Ted’s life snuffed out in
the haze of green light.
            Tears blurred his vision of the dark, dank prison they were trapped
in. Dean was grateful for it as he dabbed his eyes with his palm ignoring the
micro-bursts of pain with every minute movement his muscles made.
            “Luna,” he croaked, his voice raspy and nearly gone from all of the
screaming. “What are you doing here? I thought you were—”
            Luna sat away from Dean to make room as he tenderly stretched out
his long legs.
            “Well, Dad’s got himself in a spot of trouble with the Quibbler I
suppose. Printing everything against You-Know-Who and support for Harry of
course,” she mused in her signature serene voice. ”I suspect they brought me
here to scare me off, but I know he can defend himself. We have this garden,
you see...“
            Dean tuned her out. Panicking thoughts assaulted his mind. If they
yanked Luna, a pureblood, for what her father published in his magazine, what
else would they do to students in open defiance at Hogwarts regardless of their
validated blood status? His mind unfolded gruesome images of Lavender or
Parvati or— his stomach churned painfully— Seamus writhing on a dirty dungeon
floor in the lower levels of Hogwarts, screaming, begging for death. Had it
already happened? Or did they bear the marks of some other form of torture by
the Dark Arts?
            Dean cut Luna off.
            “Luna, um sorry, but can you tell me if... “
            She leaned closer smiling as if they sat on Brighton Pier enjoying
the start of summer holiday.
            “Oh, he’s fine. A bit cut up, but we learned so many healing spells
from Pomfrey and Padma that it didn’t bother us as much. I think they only
Crucio’d him once with the other students,” she spoke casually either unseeing
Dean’s growing horrified look of concern or completely unfazed by it. “Y’know,
us seventh years had to punish outspoken ones by performing the curse on them.
But nearly everyone refused. Except Oksana. She tied up the professors and
cursed them with the Imperius curse instead! They clucked like chickens and
moo’d like cows. Very entertaining.”
            Luna rocked back with a soft chuckle. Dean smiled with her in the
darkness full of pride at the courage everyone showed. He had whistled beyond
impressed, but not surprised about Oksana’s reaction. Of course, he wondered
about her fate. Dean could only imagine the conundrum she presented the Death
Eaters: a muggleborn who was one of the most terrifying Slytherins well-versed
in the Dark Arts.
          “Oh and Neville’s rallied everyone. The Charms club, the old DA. It
was actually quite wonderful being a real group of underground resistance.”
          “Brilliant!” Dean grinned ignoring the pain in his cheeks as Luna
finished cheerfully.
          Griphook grunted in the darkness. Light rumbling snores added to the
strange ambience of the room. Muffled voices and uneven heavy footsteps
followed by a sturdier pair of steps seeped into the room from above. The
voices dimmed, but the footsteps became louder. The metal door squealed opened.
Dean and Luna staggered to their feet. Dean squinted and shielded his eyes from
the two brightly-lit wands at the door obscuring the wand owners’ faces. Malfoy
darted past the squat rat-faced man who hung back afraid to go further. He wore
a shiny metal glove on his hand as if procured directly from a metallurgist.
        “Get over here Wormtail! For fuck’s sake they’re unarmed!” Malfoy’s
voice rang out.
        A large tray holding a small jug and a loaf of bread levitated near
Wormtail.
        “Draco?” Dean asked, his swollen eyes struggling to take in as much
light as possible. “What are you doing here? Is this...“
         He almost asked if Draco was forced to be there, but his brain added
up the facts: Bellatrix addressed herself as ‘Aunt Bella’; his father was
sentenced to Azkaban for being a confirmed Death Eater; and Bellatrix mentioned
that Voldemort would expect him to complete certain tasks, which could only
mean—
          “...Is this your home? Are you a Death Eater?” he asked unable to
hold back the disgust.
         “What if it is?” Malfoy snarled, looking at them with a mixture of
revulsion and embarrassment.
         “What are they going to do with us? Why are we here?”
         “Shut up!” Malfoy hissed jabbing his wand beneath Dean’s beard to
close his mouth. “Unless you want another conversation with—” his grey eyes
flicked upwards at the ceiling above them.
          With full comprehension, Dean lifted his chin off Malfoy’s wand and
took a step back next to Luna who finger-combed the ends of her waist-length
hair patiently.
          “That’s what I thought,” Malfoy huffed, feeling slightly at ease in
his familiar role of the bully.
         “I just don’t understand how you can stand it. These people are
murderers and more,” Dean said shaking his head bewildered.
         “You think I don’t know that you filthy mu—”
         This time he silenced the slur himself, glancing back at Wormtail
hastily. Dean squinted between the two of them: Malfoy clearly didn’t trust
this Wormtail fellow with the truth about Dean’s blood status. He was curious,
but would not push it.
          Malfoy snatched the tray out of the air and dropped it to the floor.
The loaf of bread rolled into the dirt and the contents of the jug emptied
creating an ever-widening puddle.
           “Enjoy breakfast. Or dinner.” he sneered and turned to exit the
room.
          As much as his ingrained habit of thanking people pushed for him to
acknowledge that Malfoy had saved his life, Dean realised that he didn’t save
him. Malfoy merely spared himself the agony of murdering someone unnecessarily.
Deep down he was still an arrogant twat.
          “Yeah, thanks,” muttered Dean restraining himself from saying
anything confrontational at their departing backs.
          But for all the animosity, Malfoy lit a dusty ight fixture on the
wall closest to the door giving them more light. Once the lock clunked in
place, Luna picked up the loaf of bread and dusted it off.
          “It does seem strange, I guess. Usually, he’s a lot more hostile and
quick to hex you,” said Luna softly.
          “Usually, yeah. But last night, I think he’s finally realised the
mess he’s in. He’s not turned a new leaf though. I can tell you that. Poor
bastard’s just trying to save his own ass,” Dean assessed bitterly accepting
the small handful of clean bread.
           Luna hummed in agreement. “I’m sure of that. Daddy says we all have
light and darkness. Isn’t that right, Mr. Ollivander?”
           She extended a hand at the pale hunched figure shuffling out of the
darkness from the back of the room. His unkempt shoulder-length white hair
fluttered behind his frail shivering body.
          “Dean Thomas,” he said in a shaky voice holding out a pale trembling,
wrinkled hand, “Ten inches and three-quarters, Hawthorn wood, Manticore hair.
Yes, yes. Pleased to meet you again. Dreadful circumstances, I’m afraid,” he
wheezed.
           Ollivander’s watery ice-blue eyes locked onto Dean’s with a
benevolent intensity that was as unnerving as it had been the first time he
stepped into Ollivander’s shop nearly seven years ago.
          “Pleasure sir,” said Dean shaking his hand gingerly. He felt the
scabs and burn marks on the elderly wandmaker’s palms that firmly enclosed his
hand. “You remembered?” Dean asked astonished and saddened by whatever
misfortune kept Ollivander imprisoned for over a year in the dark place they
were in.
          “Ah yes, Mr. Thomas, I remember every wand I’ve ever sold,” he beamed
after they let go of hands. “Unfortunately, it’s all at the mercy of... those
above us,” he remarked sadly.
          They all lifted their heads to the ceiling, unable to see the
happenings of their gruesome captors, but able to make out the new echoing
cries of the tormented and the singular voice of the demented tormentor.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Time passed at a hellishly slow pace. Without a wand to provide
more light, cast heat, conjure or simply alter their meager daily rations,
imprisoned in the dungeon of Malfoy Manor was an emotional torturous
experience. Griphook and Ollivander kept their distance, but Luna, incapable of
any prejudices or resentment, struck up a casual (albeit one-sided)
conversation with the lone goblin. Dean wasn’t sure if Griphook’s low-hanging
brow was due to their predicament or specifically of his paranoia of Luna’s
friendliness.
            Instead of wasting time calculating ulterior motives of his fellow
prisoners, Dean wracked his brain for a plausible plan to escape. Luna wasn’t
much help at first, specifically with thinking of concrete tactical plans, but
every now and then she would surprise Dean and Griphook with her knowledge
about the Manor since she had not been captured and hogtied in a net by the
Snatchers.
            “Oh, don’t forget about the gates. I think you can only enter or
exit with the Dark Mark. We waited for a moment for that sniffling chap Peter,”
she said writing Futhorc runes in the dirt with her index finger.
            Dean frowned temporarily setback by this new information. “Who’s
Peter?”
            “They call him Wormtail, but Mr. Ollivander called him Peter
Pettigrew,” she said concentrating on her design. “He’s the one with the silver
hand.”
            Dean’s eyebrows went up in recognition. His stomach grumbled in
vain. He ignored it knowing they probably wouldn’t eat that day given Malfoy’s
tempestuous mood over the past two days.
            “Good to know,” he said earnestly nodding to himself. “But what we
really need is a good distraction. Something to help us overpower them, get
their wands and then... “
            Dean paced in front of them, but was brought up short with a
hideous idea. What if he cut off someone’s arm bearing the Dark Mark to get
through the gates? He imagined them sprinting for the gates with only two wands
and him holding a bloody, severed arm above his head like a torch lighting the
way... Dean shivered with disgust and resumed pacing with a sigh.
            A loud cacophony of voices erupted above them. Everyone froze and
stared at the familiar blackened dungeon ceiling. Bangs and thunderous crashes
punctuated the undeniably angry shouts and screams, the shrillest most likely
belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange. Then, fast heavy footsteps approached and the
door burst open.
            Peter Pettigrew’s silver hand aimed his wand at them trembling. To
Dean’s utter surprise Ron Weasley and a disfigured Harry Potter were shoved in,
still bound together by the same rope he and Griphook had been tied with. The
door slammed shut and locked behind them.
            Harry? Ron?” Luna gasped getting to her feet.
            “Luna?” Harry asked incredulous, cricking his neck to see her.
“Dean! We heard—”
            A girl’s scream, unlike anything Dean had ever heard before in real
life save for cheesy American horror movies, burst through the walls as clear
as if they were only inches apart, mingled with Bellatrix’s voice. Dean was
sure there could be no one more accomplished in the crime of eliciting such a
wretched howl of pain in all of England.
            “Hermione!” Ron bellowed. His mad thrashing threatened to topple
him and Harry over.
            Perturbed by their powerlessness, they were disarmed with the worst
bout of anxiety. Unable to calm Ron, Luna quickly found a shard of glass and
cut him and Harry free. Under the incessant soul-chilling wails and sobs of
Hermione being tortured, Harry and Ron frantically sought a way out.
            “There’s no way out mate. I say we just ambush ‘em and knick their
wands,” suggested Dean.
            “There must be an Anti-Disapparation jinx on the room. Ollivander’s
tried everything and he’s been here the longest,” reasoned Luna looking up
morosely as Hermione’s shrill cries increased in pitch.
            Ron took out a small metal object resembling a lighter and three
dense squares of light no bigger than plaster strips emitted a powerful
radiance illuminating the entire cellar dungeon. They saw each other as clearly
as if they were standing outside on a cloudless summer day. Harry with a
swollen face (Dean guessed he had been hit with a Stinging hex), dug through a
tiny brown pouch, pulled out a shard of mirror and called for help. Before Dean
could ask who he was talking to, Malfoy’s voice hollered from behind the door.
They could hear him in the briefest gaps of silence when Hermione’s screams
abated.
            “Get against the wall or I won’t hesitate to kill all of you!” he
shouted.
            Ron clicked his lighter and the lights zoomed back into it plunging
them into the dimness that had once seemed so bright before. The lock clunked
and the door whined as it slammed against its hinges from the force. Although
no one was remotely afraid of his threat, none of them would put it past him to
hex or curse them if they tried to overpower him. Malfoy was outnumbered, but
not outgunned. He entered the room with his wand lit slightly trembling.
            “Where’s the goblin?” he shouted not wanting to go farther into the
room then necessary.
            Harry stepped out of the line slowly with his hands up and flipped
his long black wavy hair out of his face.
            “He’s over there,” said Harry.
            “He’s still injured,” Dean lied figuring this was part of the
diversion to take Malfoy by force.
            “Shut it!” Malfoy snarled.
            He meant to hit Harry with the jinx, but Luna tripped forward as if
by accident (Dean couldn’t tell) and crumbled to the ground clutching her
stomach. Her blond hair, the brightest thing in the room, fluttered around her
body like a golden cape.
            “Luna!” Dean called out worried as Harry dashed past him to grab
Griphook.
            “Get in line!” Malfoy ordered, more out of fear than rage.
            “Draco!”
Bellatrix’s voice echoed below igniting a ferocious fire of fear in all of
them.
            Dean picked Luna up from the ground and dragged her back against
the wall as Harry hissed urgently at Griphook, “...tell her it’s a fake!”
            Malfoy aimed his wand high at Ron’s face silently daring him to
move. When Griphook finally stood near, he seized the goblin by the hair and
yanked him along out of pure malice. The door slammed shut behind them and Ron
trembled with fury against the wall with his fists balled against his side.
            A loud crack rippled in the air and they all whipped around at the
source. Ron clicked his lighter sending out the sunny squares of light. Behind
them stood a tiny little creature wearing many socks, an odd, oversized shirt,
and two tea cozies on its tiny head held. Its floppy, batwing-like ears flopped
reflexively and it looked up at them with its bulbous wet eyes filled with
fear. So this was a house elf?Dean wondered. He remembered with a lump in his
throat of the weeks Hermione had badgered him and Seamus to join her Save-the-
House-Elves union or whatever she called it in their fourth year. He silently
pledged to give Hermione a hundred Galleons if they all got of this mess alive.
            “Do—” Ron shouted, but Harry clasped his hand over Ron’s red-
bearded mouth.
            “Harry Potter,” the male elf squeaked. “I’ve c-come to save you.”
            “Dobby?” Harry whispered bending down to the elf’s eye level.
            Just then Bellatrix hollered out a question and Hermione answered
with a horrendous scream that filled the air.
            “You can disapparate out of this cellar?” Harry asked quickly.
            Dean thought this was both unnecessary and stupid given that the
elf clearly just apparated into the cellar.
            “Of course!” squeaked Dobby flopping his ears as he nodded
vehemently.
            “Wait, with other humans?”
            Dobby nodded wringing his tiny hands nervously. Clearly he was
anxious to leave even though he had come (or was ordered to come Dean thought
guiltily) to save them. Harry ordered Dobby to disapparate Dean, Luna, and
Ollivander to a location Ron suggested quickly. Naturally, Luna and Dean
protested.
            “Let us help you Harry!” Luna said fiercely.
            “We’re not soft, yeah? We can’t just leave you here—”
            Ron cut in: “You don’t have wands!”
            “Neither do you two!” Dean contested hotly.
            “We’ll follow you, I promise! Go!” Harry commanded ending the
argument.
            Dean and Luna propped up the feeble but relieved Ollivander as
Dobby shuttled over to take Luna’s hand.
            “Take them Dobby and come right back!” shouted Harry.
            Dean inhaled sharply as the compressed darkness hurtled them
through space and time.
***** The Godfather *****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                              CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
                                 The Godfather
                                        
            The sunshine blinded them. Dean’s boots sank into wet firm sand,
which reminded him of the shade of Seamus’ damp hair after he got out of the
shower. Frothy white waves at a low tide rushed at them but sizzled away into a
flat effervescent sheen of salt water just out of reach. He squinted hard as
his eyes adjusted to the abrupt brightness and marvelled at the expansive
pastel blue sky and sparkling oceanic blue water that surrounded them. Dean
tightened his grip on Ollivander who was weakened by the side-along apparition.
He allowed the wandmaker to rest on his body, knowing that he could cope with
the extra bodyweight better than Luna.
            Dobby turned to look at them with his wide, doll-like eyes.
            “There it tis, sirs and miss, friends of Harry Potter,” he said
confidently pointing past the sand dunes and waist-high yellowed beach grass,
to the grey cottage in the distance on a rocky cliff overlooking the rocky
water. “I must go back now,” Dobby squeaked and he disapparated with a loud
crack.
            “Thanks,” Dean said to the empty air.
            “Well, shall we?” said Luna taking stock of the beach and the
squawking seagulls.
            “I would be much obliged,” Ollivander wheezed.
            As they turned to walk, two people came rushing down between the
dunes. A savage-looking redhead wizard and a witch with a sheet of silvery-
white hair who Dean thought looked oddly familiar. They both clutched their
wands, but not in a position of offense. They slowed pace as if expecting them.
Although he didn’t look it with the slash wounds on his face, Dean guessed the
wizard was an older sibling of Ron.
            “Are you with Ron? And Harry,” asked the wizard. His wife rushed
over to Ollivander.
            Behind them, there was a loud crack. Dean turned to see bodies
scatter away from each other in the sand.
            “Dobby? Dobby- No!” Harry cried over the crash of the waves.
            “I ‘ave ‘im” said the witch in a heavy French accent reaching for
Ollivander and levitating him with her wand.
            Both Dean and Luna curious to follow Ron’s brother who was
sprinting towards the newly arrived, let go of Ollivander and raced over,
unprepared for the lamentable sight of the trio’s arrival. A near comatose
Hermione lay in the sand as Ron gently propped her up. Ugly, primitive marks
were carved into the light brown flesh of her inner forearm. Dean swayed
nauseated by the crude jagged letters that spelled out ‘MUDBLOOD’. A trickle of
blood still dripped down her arm from the second ‘O’. Griphook clutched his
ribs in pain. His face was slashed with knife cuts or a wand. Dean couldn’t
tell because he was stunned to see the ornate silver knife sticking out of the
bloodstained chest of Dobby, the house elf. His parted lips and glassy eyes
focused on nothing as Harry cradled him as a child would a large teddy bear.
Harry whispered his name in a tearful lament, begging him not to die.
            “Such a beautiful place to be with friends,” Dobby wheezed.
            With one last breath he whispered Harry’s name and his tiny body
went limp in Harry’s arms. Even though he only met the elf about five minutes
ago, Dean mourned silently shocked by his abrupt and unexpected death. Luna
sighed softly next to him.
             Luna kneeled next to Harry and tenderly closed Dobby’s eyes.
            “There. Now it’s as if he’s asleep,” she said softly.
            “Bill, where’s Fleur?” Ron said hoisting Hermione up.
            Before Bill could answer, Fleur come dashing back. She helped Ron
walk a traumatised Hermione back to the cottage. Knowing there was nothing else
to do for Dobby, Dean walked over to Griphook.
            “May I?” he asked with his arms outstretched.
            Griphook nodded and Dean picked him up as tenderly, but firmly as
he could. He was unsure of any unknown wounds or scars Griphook may have
suffered in the brief moments spent in the presence of Bellatrix.
            “Did she kill Dobby?” he whispered to Griphook who breathed in
shallow breaths with his eyes closed.
            Griphook nodded and winced in pain. Dean spared one last look at
Harry still kneeling in the sand cradling Dobby’s dead body. He clamped his
lips together furious. Not that he could kill Voldemort, but if he could and
someone told him he ultimately had to choose between ridding the world of
Voldemort, Umbridge, and Bellatrix... he shook his head at the imaginary
proposition genuinely unsure of which one he would choose. He detested them all
equally with all of the bile in his gut.
             Fleur directed Dean to Griphook’s room upstairs. He finally
recognised her as one of the TriWizard champions and awkwardly acknowledge it
as he carried the goblin to the bed. Dean settled Griphook in the room facing
west with a view overlooking the shore. Out of the window, in spite of his
pain, Griphook stared down at Harry manually digging a grave without magic for
Dobby. Dean observed Harry only for a few moments before turning to Griphook.
              “I’ve got to help him.”
              “Go,” Griphook said with a terse nod. “You’re both strange
wizards. Burying an elf that wasn’t his.” Griphook shook his head at the
absurdity of it and succumbed to a violent coughing fit.
               Dean moved to pat his back, but Griphook shook his head and Dean
simply waited before nodding grimly and exiting the room. He met Ron at the
foot of the stairs holding two spades. Bill walked over with his hand out
assuming he would help Ron and Harry, but Dean reached for the other spade
first. Surprised, but grateful, Bill shrugged a shoulder in agreement and the
three of them headed out of the front door.
                It didn’t take long to complete the tiny grave since Harry
worked at a maniacal pace, but it felt good to contribute. They sweated
profusely beneath the gleaming March sun. Dean owed his life to Dobby (and
Harry), a debt that would never be paid to the deceased elf swaddled in Harry’s
jacket, lying at the bottom of a child-sized grave.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
              He wasn’t sure if the flurry of meetings over the next few hours
were to dispel the gloom from Dobby’s unanticipated funeral and burial service
(they were immensely grateful for Luna’s impromptu eulogy), but the exchange of
information was like collaborating on a large-scale jigsaw puzzle. Everyone’s
personal experiences coupled with the news from assorted broadcasts of
PotterWatch (no one caught all of them all of the time), fit together like a
hodgepodge. First, Luna wanted to know if anyone heard news of her father and
the Quibbler press. Hermione gently broke the news of his arrest and sentencing
to Azkaban, but Ron more grateful that Hermione was speaking, tactlessly
brought up the unpleasant details of Xenophilius Lovegood turning coat and
offering Harry up in exchange for Luna. Hermione admonished Ron in her weakened
voice, but no one stopped Luna as she calmly strolled out of the front door.
             “My apologies Harry, I-I think I’ll get some fresh air,” she
mumbled. Her drooped, flushed face burned hot with shame.
              Dean was halfway towards the door to follow her before Bill asked
him about his travels with Griphook and the death of Ted Tonks and the goblin
Gornuk, who he knew personally from his days at Gringotts. Dean was surprised
they knew as much from the PotterWatch broadcasts, but immensely relieved that
he would not have to break the news to Tonks himself. Then he chastised himself
for his cowardice. He sighed deeply as he sank into Luna’s recently vacated
seat on the couch next to Harry and recounted from the beginning the
unscrupulous encounter at King’s Cross, the attack at Tonks’ parents home after
(Bill and Fleur’s wedding, he offered a solemn belated congratulations) up to
their various encounters with the Snatchers before witnessing Ted’s murder.
Bill looked down solemnly.
            “I just didn’t understand how they could’ve found us. And that
coward Cresswell…” he trailed off drained by his resurfacing guilt.
            “Maybe he said the The Taboo?” Ron suggested.
            “Nah, he knew. We all knew by then,” Dean whispered in a deadened
voice.
            “Well, you were brave to ‘ave fought so valiantly. And you saved
Griphook and tried to save Gornuk. Oui, very brave, Dean,” said Fleur sitting
on the arm of Bill’s chair with her arm resting around his shoulders regally.
            Dean slumped back against the itchy couch fabric expelling a puff
of air unconsoled. Harry glanced over with dazed eyes of grief and gave him a
supportive knowing look. His nails were still coated in dirt. Dean acknowledged
it with a tilt of his head downward in a half-nod. Suddenly his resentment
earlier at Harry’s refusal to let him and Luna help only hours before in the
cellar of the Malfoy’s manor vanished. He realised that Harry had long
understood the emotional cost and burden of someone suffering and dying for
him. Dean had an all-too-brief glimpse for the second time with the witnessing
the aftermath of Dobby’s murder.
            Bill stood up and announced that finally Ollivander and Griphook
would be moved to a new location, but Harry adamantly objected, demanding to
speak with each of them separately. He, Bill, and Fleur stepped out of the room
to briefly have a hushed conversation. They were out of sight, but the walls
were relatively thin and they heard Bill’s raised exasperated voice demanding
to know what was really going on.
            Dean sat up awkwardly looking at Ron fawning over Hermione who was
recovering quicker than he had after Bellatrix was done with him. But he zeroed
in on the tenderness in Ron’s eyes as he tucked a wet curly strand of
Hermione’s hair behind her ears and Dean felt a stab of longing in his chest.
Unbidden a memory surfaced: Seamus tenderly scratching his scalp one morning as
they lay naked beneath the covers in his bed during that incredibly remarkable
Christmas break, so foolishly ignorant of what was to come. But he also let his
mind wander to the embarrassing scene of being told off by McGonagall for not
using the silence charms. He snorted to himself looking beyond Ron’s intimate
gesture with Hermione, but the two of them looked up startled anyway.
            More than anything to break the awkward silence blooming between
them, he relayed Luna’s info about the rebellious on-goings of the students at
Hogwarts and Ron cheerfully told him about Hagrid’s rallying ‘party’ before
going on the run with his giant, half-brother. The three of them shared a weak
chuckle at their independent visions of Hagrid bounding away while Death Eater-
approved teachers fired curses and hexes in vain.
            And then Harry called Ron and Hermione upstairs to speak with
Griphook as Fleur offered Dean use of the shower and loo before showing him to
a hastily prepared room he, Harry and Ron would share.
            “Don’t worry,” he said cutting off her airy apologies. “Believe it
or not, we’ve actually been dorm mates since year one. We’ll make it work,” he
said appreciatively.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
             
             Cramped in a four-bedroom cottage with an elderly wandmaker on the
mends, a healed but cantankerous goblin, and seven witches and wizards was a
challenge. Dean passed the time becoming reacquainted with his wand. It was by
pure chance that it was scattered on the floor with a bundle of other wands one
of the Snatchers had been hoarding before Bellatrix Lestrange cursed him out of
the manor upon the trio’s arrival. Ron picked up the bundle of wands as he
grabbed Griphook (only after he saw Harry pick up Hermione’s body from the
floor). Of the five them, only Luna had to really practise with a wand whose
allegiance was hard to change.
             Dean remembered the evening they all received their wands after
not being expelled from Hogwarts. Seamus lovingly kissed his wand as they
casually strolled out tentatively friends-on-the-mend before rekindling and
eventually strengthening what had been ambiguous before with their first real
romantic kiss. The memories of their year together, tumultuous yet wonderfully
spent, brought a pin-prick of pain as it did a small grin to his lips. And
falling back on his only coping mechanism he had to distract himself, Dean
threw himself into what little work could actually be done inside and outside
the white-washed walls of Shell’s Cottage.
            On the evening of Ollivander’s departure to Bill and Ron’s great-
aunt Muriel’s house, Dean spent another evening exhausting himself by
practising defensive spells and jinxes. (The trio remained sequestered with
Griphook in his room for their daily meetings.) Later, he collected driftwood
with Luna who filled their silences with descriptions of odd mythological
magical creatures her dad taught her. Knowing more than anything, her
recounting of these beasts allowed her to remember fonder memories, Dean smiled
as she talked, only asking genuine questions of interest. He knew of Luna’s
uncanny ability to spot lies and other bullshit gestures people adopted in
their attempt to mask their derision or disbelief.
            The remaining seven sat at the wooden table for dinner less cramped
as Bill had escorted Ollivander safely to his aunt’s house protected by the
Fidelius charm. Dean noticed Griphook sulked all through dinner after spotting
a goblin-made tiara Fleur and Bill packed up to be returned to their aunt. In
fact, since arriving at Shell’s Cottage, Dean saw a different side to the
goblin that he never noticed during their time on the run. Maybe, in a sense to
build camaraderie, his brain ignored what was now painfully obvious: Griphook’s
prejudice against witches and wizards. He now referred to them with the slur-
like moniker, “wand-carriers” and worse, after watching Dean and Luna place a
conjured bouquet of flowers on Dobby’s makeshift headstone, (Harry carved “Here
Lies Dobby, a Free Elf”), Griphook gave Dean the cold shoulder effectively
ending their acquaintanceship.
            Bill arrived as everyone was midway finished with their meal. Ron
already started on his tartes aux fraises which nearly robbed Dean of his
appetite yet elicited a most unwelcome erection as his mind maddening conjured
up the vivid memories inextricably linked to the scent of fresh strawberries:
flashes of Seamus’s naked body with his hand around his dick jerking him off
roughly but enthusiastically or those rare and cherished fucks they had with
the strawberry lube later in the school year.
            Luckily, a distraction in the form of Remus John Lupin arrived with
what Dean felt was the most monumental announcement of the year: the birth of
his and Tonks’ son, Teddy. A hearty round of applause filled the cramped
kitchen. A couple of uncorked Elderberry wine were passed among them. Lupin
clasped Harry on the shoulder fondly and shocked him with a sincere request to
be Teddy’s godfather. Upon Harry’s surprised but whole-hearted acceptance, more
wine flowed and Dean winked at Harry across the table holding up his glass.
            “To the Godfather!” he cheered, wondering if Harry or Hermione (the
only ones who could) got his reference to the Italian-American cinematic
masterpiece.
            Lupin tapped Dean on the shoulder as he chinked glasses with Luna
slightly tipsy.
            “Hey! Congratulations Remus,” Dean said a bit too loudly but
genuinely grinning with his dimples on full display.
            “Cheers, Dean. Thank you,” Lupin said giving Dean a hug and leaving
him a bit wet around the arms and back from the travelling in the rain. “Tonks
sends her love and many thanks that you fought with him,” Lupin whispered
softly in his ear, his crow’s feet etched even deeper as he smiled at Dean.
            The bubbling sensation of manic joy burst in Dean’s chest replaced
by the unresolved feelings of mourning as he realised Lupin referred to Ted
Tonks. The wide-tooth grin slowly collapsed to a frown and he hung his head
ashamed.
            “I didn’t do enough—”
            “Yes. You. Did.” Lupin said forcefully. He remained incredibly
close with both hands on Dean’s shoulders shaking him with each word as if
willing Dean to forgive himself.
            Dean raised his head seeking absolution in Lupin’s eyes and found
it. He sighed and nodded.
            “Thank you. Tell Tonks congratulations. Ted, he- he told me he
would have love nothing more than to y’know, sit around with his grand-kid and
watch you all as a family.”
            He gave Lupin a meaningful look. Lupin’s eyes watered at the
implication that he was accepted as a member of the family in spite of being a
werewolf. They both sniffled and cleared their throats.
            “You think little Teddy’ll have a flair for colourful hair?”
            “Gods I hope so!” Lupin exclaimed throwing his head back in
laughter at a vision in his own mind. “It appears that I haven’t passed along
my condition, so I don’t care if his hair is as blue as the summer sky. Just
knowing he’s healthy and he has a family, a proper family is enough.” He stole
a quick glance at Harry across the room.
            “Here, here,” said Dean holding up his glass to personally toast
the new father.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            The celebratory toast of the Lupin’s new addition unlocked
something in Dean. His nightmares abated after news of Tonk’s grateful
attitude; knowing that she didn’t personally blame him for her father’s death
alleviated some of his survivor’s guilt. He was also relieved to not disturb
Harry and Ron in the middle of the night. They had been tasked with turning on
the light, shaking him awake, and offering to talk which Dean always refused,
too embarrassed at being viewed as weak. Ron, on a number of occasions tried to
reassure Dean it was normal.
            “The number of nightmares and visions Harry’s had... especially of
You-Know-Who... “ he trailed off one morning as they cleaned the breakfast
dishes to give Fleur a break.
            Dean simply nodded with an utterance of understanding. He
remembered Harry’s wild turns and fits in the middle of their night in their
dorm room once Voldemort came back. Seamus, in their fifth year, reckoned it
was all a publicity stunt, behind Harry’s back. Dean had always disagreed, but
only revealed as much once Seamus finally saw reason and came around on his own
terms in spite of Mrs. Finnigan’s attitude.
            A warm wind blew against the crashing bubbly waves of the beach
below. Dean climbed down part of the cliff side with Luna who was convinced she
spotted a lonely nest of Dirigible Plums near a flattened edge of the cliff.
Dean sat uncomfortably nearby, but immersed himself in his treasured photo
album. It was easier to flip through those happier, random moments now,
especially as he remembered with a shock that their birthdays had passed
uncelebrated. His index finger slid down the side of Seamus’ face longingly.
The Seamus-in-frame feigned a look of disgust, wiping his face and then burst
into silent laughter blowing kisses at the real Dean and resumed flirt-punching
the Dean-in-frame.
            “He’s doing better y’know?” said Luna breathing heavier than normal
as she hiked back to Dean in Fleur’s pink wellies.
             She copped a squat next to him twirling a blackened branch with
swirly orange-mustard yellow bulbs of unripened fruit. Dean looked up startled
wondering how she could possibly know he was thinking of Seamus, but closed the
book shut with a goofy smile spreading over his face.
             “Oh yeah? And how perchance do you know that?” he said in a tone
of jest.
             “I’m sure Neville’s told him you’re here with me by now. Hmm,
let’s check if there’s anything new.”
             Before Dean could construct a coherent question out of the
befuddled thoughts swirling in his brain at her comment, Luna fished out a
polished Galleon. The fake  Galleon they once used as a communication device to
arrange D.A. meetings. Dean sat agog. He couldn’t imagine that after all the
time that passed, including her abduction from the Hogwarts Express over the
past Christmas break, Luna had managed to keep something so seemingly
insignificant. He was sure his lay at the bottom of his trunk, which he left in
the guest room of the Tonks’— now Andromeda’s house. Or, maybe it had been
cleaned up by a house elf off the floor of their dorm room at Hogwarts. Luna
gave Dean an uncharacteristic smirk as she passed him the coin for review.
            “Nothing new yet. I couldn’t send a message until I got this—” she
held up the procured wand “—but I knew, he would want to know you were safe.
Especially after what Bill said about your name on PotterWatch.”
            Dean blew out a gush of air and inhaled a heartful of gratitude at
Luna’s thoughtfulness and consideration.
            “Wow Luna. If you asked me where mine was right now... couldn’t
even tell you,” he said regretfully as he passed it back carefully.
            “Oh that’s alright. I suspect not many people did. Neville and I
and a few others, held onto them. We tweaked the Protean charm Hermione created
to hide the messages. Personally, it always reminded me that it was nice to
have friends,” she said slipping the shiny coin back into her purple corduroy
pocket.
            Dean looked at her slightly offended.
            “Luna, you do have friends. You know that, yeah? And not just from
D.A. or Charms club, but... because you’re cool. You’re a good friend to me,
y’know? I’m happy you’re my friend.”
            He reached over and spread an arm around her small shoulders and
she blushed leaning into his one-armed hug.
            “Even after all my dad’s done?” she asked in an unexpected sullen
tone as she stared ahead into the horizon.
            “Especially,” Dean said fiercely tightening his grip. “He’s your
dad Luna. If it were me, and you were my daughter, I probably would’ve done
whatever it took to get you back too. Our folks... they’re tougher than they
let on.”
            Luna completely relaxed and rested her head against his chest. Her
blond hair piled high into a bun, tickled his beard and cheek. He snuggled
against her warm body, pleased at how comforting it was to comfort someone
else. In companionable silence, they watched the blue-green waves sparkle
magnificently beneath the setting sun, quietly contemplating the lengths their
parents would go for them. Without meaning to, he thought of himself older and
settled years after the war and if he would have children. With Seamus? Or...
but his brain didn’t know how to process the idea of being with someone else.
With another man. Realistically, he reasoned it would make sense if he and
Seamus eventually broke up and dated other people. His older sister Anise
married her twelfth boyfriend.
             A voice called for them in the distance: Fleur. As Dean and Luna
climbed up the small patches of grass and rocks, he wondered how could his
brain be so side-tracked over frivolous, ridiculous ideas of marriage and
children while they were in a state of war. But then he thought of Cresswell’s
“pragmatism” and thought of Teddy Lupin with his happy parents. This war wasn’t
going to stop him from loving his mum or Anise or Seamus. Who cares what was
pragmatic? Or realistic? He stumbled slightly behind Luna overwhelmed with the
truth: he was in love with one man and he only hoped that after everything, the
feeling was still mutual.
                                        
                *                                             
         *                                                          *
 
            He knew something was up, before he opened his eyes. Dean sat up in
the bed Harry had generously offered the night before, claiming that the
mattress was too soft and he preferred the firm floor. Dean had looked at Ron
with raised eyebrows. Of course, it all sounded suspicious, but he was grateful
to sleep in a bed after months of the hard ground or hammocks in the tent he
shared with Ted. The trio had been roughing it about the same time Dean had,
but he certainly wouldn’t have given up a bed except to offer one to the girls.
He listened to the waves below, watching the pale blue light grow brighter as
the sun rose and instinctively knew Harry, Hermione, and Ron were gone for
good.
           At breakfast, a frying pan under Fleur’s spell tipped fried eggs and
sausages onto the three plates (Fleur always had a plate of fruit and coffee
for breakfast) and Dean was not surprised to learn Griphook accompanied the
trio. While gathering wood with Bill, he tried to strike up a speculative
conversation about the next leg of the trio’s journey, but Bill was oddly
quiet, if not disconcerted by whatever their plan was.
           All speculation and silent guesswork was put to rest that evening as
news of their unbelievable breakout from Gringotts was broadcast on the Wizard
Wireless Network. Such an audacious escapade featuring a dragon as the getaway
“car” was impossible to suppress from the wizarding community. The four of them
cheered with the vigour of Quidditch fans. Hardly daring to believe it, Bill
suggested they turned the channels in hopes of catching PotterWatch. Sure
enough, the unexpected broadcast highlighted the ‘undesirable’ details of the
escapade, such as Hermione disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange with Bellatrix’s
wand and the Confunded goblins as well as confirmation that Gringotts had
nearly been reduced to rubble as the dragon gouged its way through the marble
floors of the main hall from the cavernous stone vaults below. Fleur pulled out
their last bottle of wine to toast to the miraculous and insane adventure of
the trio enjoying another rare night of good cheer.
            Dean belly plopped onto his bed victorious and was well on his way
to a wine-induced slumber when Luna shook him awake. He moaned grumpily as he
wished he had a crowbar to prise his eyelids open.
           “ ‘S matter Luna?” he slurred rubbing his eyes and sitting up
halfway.
            A double vision of a freshly-showered and fully dressed Luna
hovered over his bed.
            “It’s time to go Dean,” she whispered excitedly still nudging him
awake.
           “Go where?”
           She held up the gold Galleon. Neville’s urgent message consisted of
the sole instruction: 
                 “Apparate directly into the Hog’s Head Inn.”
***** 30 Minutes to Midnight *****
                                        
                                        
                              CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
                            30 Minutes to Midnight
                                        
            Dean and Luna still held hands as they looked around the dark dusty
room. He vaguely remembered the Hog’s Head Inn, where Hermione and Harry and
Ron held the first ever DA meeting. He could see now how Seamus was able to
procure an illegal bottle of Firewhiskey last year after they passed their
Apparition Licence Exam. They were unable to see out of the grime-coated
windows, which was just as well: Death Eaters heavily patrolled all of
Hogsmeade with a Caterwauling Charm.
           Heavy footsteps rushed down the creaky wooden stairs. The owner of
the bar stared at them with a steely glint in his eye. Dean took in his
appearance with an equally keen interest since reading Hermione’s pilfered copy
of Rita Skeeter’s salacious biography of Albus Dumbledore. He raked his eyes
over the younger brother and was almost disappointed by his ordinary-ness.
Aberforth Dumbledore could have been mistaken for an old goat herder in muted
grey and brown colours. His protruding belly hung over his thick leather belt
and his long, stormy grey beard and hair nearly obscured those familiar blue
eyes behind odd-shaped spectacles. The only non-muggle thing about him was
instead of wellies, he wore frayed dragonhide boots.
           “He told me you two would show up,” he said, barely moving his mouth
so that his beard quivered like a hairy puppet mouth. “C’mon then. We haven’t
got all night,” he said tersely heading back up the stairs at a pace that
belied his age.
            They followed eagerly dropping their hands. A portrait hole,
similar to the entry to the Gryffindor common room, was open leading to an
unlit tunnel in the small upstairs room. Dean and Luna knocked their wands at
the darkness and the wandtip glowed a bright blue light. They bid Aberforth
adieu, climbed through the portrait hole, and up the steep tunnel that would
return them to Hogwarts.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Seamus Finnigan clenched his fake Galleon painfully in his palm
creating welts to distract him from the nauseating anxiety clogging his throat.
Weeks ago he was simply grateful of Luna’s miraculous confirmation that Dean
was alive. There was nothing to suggest they would see each other anytime soon.
How could they, separated by miles of independently enchanted lands? But the
unexpected arrival of Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger (now
almost famous in her own right after their daring break-in and victorious
escape out of Gringotts), set his imagination running. Seamus’ heart inflated
with a renewed sense of commitment to The Cause because here it was: proof
their resistance, what little could be done daily in the corridors of Hogwarts,
had not been in vain. But then Neville informed him that he had sent Luna,
Dean, and others the message to come to Hogwarts. All thoughts of fighting any
real or imaginary battle Neville anticipated within the castle (as implausible
as it seemed) were driven out of Seamus’ mind by the singular thought circling
his brain: Dean was coming. Seamus would finally lay his eyes on him. In the
flesh. Would he be scarred, bruised, maimed or bear any other signs of battle
magic? He was suddenly self-conscious of the bruises on his face and back; his
left eye was still puffy and purple but finally able to open all the way.
            The door leading to the tunnel connecting the Room of Requirement
to the Hog’s Head Inn opened and out tumbled a wide-eyed Luna Lovegood. A tall
bearded Dean Thomas followed. Seamus stood temporarily immobilised by the sight
of him. He didn’t realise he had been holding his breath until Dean fully
clambered out of the tunnel with his head bowed to avoid bumping his head on
the low-level earthy ceiling. Seamus was happy he saw him first. His shaky
breath fluttered out of his reddened, flared nostrils and his lips were clamped
shut unvoicing the hundred thoughts and emotions suppressed and unfelt for over
a year. Relief reigned supreme and he sprinted at Dean with an inarticulate
roar of delight.
            Dean felt the air squeezed out of his lungs as Seamus seized him
around the waist. Dean greedily gulped down the air, inhaling the odd odours
and stench of the room, but his olfactory senses zeroed in on the scent of
Seamus’ hair, now darker since the previous summer and grazing his chin in soft
waves. Dean burrowed his face deeper against Seamus head, resting his nose
against Seamus’ ear utterly incapable of coherent speech. Slowly, wordlessly,
Seamus pulled back to gaze briefly into Dean’s wet eyes and kissed him. Because
to hell with Voldemort and this damn war! Just for this singular moment, they
were together again as they always should have been.
            And so their kiss went on, uninterrupted by the friendly jeers,
claps, and whistles, wholly oblivious to the majority of other students arguing
with Harry to let them help him with whatever brought him back to Hogwarts.
Dean would have gladly joined in that conversation if Seamus had not bit his
bottom lip and sucked on it teasingly and if he himself wasn’t hurriedly
exploring the warm mouth of Seamus’ with his tongue. Dean’s fingers traced
Seamus’ earlobes beneath his hair, down the length of his neck feeling the cord
of muscles and veins jump beneath Seamus’ skin, and finally clutching Seamus’
muscled shoulders. There was so much to explore and rediscover about each
other. But they couldn’t stay intertwined in this embrace. At least not right
then.
           Dean pulled away first, but not too far. Seamus made an indecent
noise of protest. His scarred hands reached up and gently grabbed fistfulls of
Dean’s wild curly afro to hold Dean close a little longer. Breathing heavily,
they rested their sweaty foreheads against each other, letting the tears on
their cheeks and the spit on the corner of their mouths dry on their face.
There were no teasing or glib words between them to lighten the reunion. The
shared warm breaths between them, their flushed relaxed bodies held close,
communicated the multitude of unvoiced gratitude, relief, regret, love, and
desires for the future.
            Finally, with Dean’s calloused sweaty hand firmly clasped in his,
their fingers tightly interlocked, Seamus simply turned to face the crowd watch
Harry leave the room with Luna. Dean grinned so hard his cheeks felt sore and
pressed his lips to the side of Seamus head (a couple inches taller than he
last saw him) once more. He silently prayed that it wasn’t a dream, but thought
if it was, he adamantly wished he wouldn’t wake up. Ever.
           Oksana Temirbek, one year older, tall and wiry with a full head of
unruly black curls, watched the two of them with the disinterest she may have
shown observing two squirrels chasing each other around an old tree in a park.
Beside her Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown bounced on their toes eagerly to
welcome Dean. Wren Liu waited awkwardly next to them smiling sheepishly.
          “So when’s wedding my little Gryffindors? Will it be like this,” she
waved her hands looking up at the four Hogwarts banners and multi-coloured
hammocks hanging from the low ceiling of the adaptive Room of Requirement. Her
folded arms bore angry red and purple welts and scars.
           “Definitely not,” said Seamus disgusted. “Only West Ham colours, o’
course.”
           Dean barked out a laugh partly out of relief that Seamus wasn’t
afraid of cheesy marriage jokes and partly surprised that Seamus remembered
such an insignificant detail— well, not a completely insignificant detail of
his life.
             Lavender, sporting cuts and a scar across her cheek, welts on her
arms, but otherwise alive and cheerful dashed into Dean’s arms with a whimper
of relief. Seamus slackened his grip fully expecting to let go Dean’s hand, but
Dean in a moment of irrational fear, gripped tighter keeping him tethered to
him. He gave one-armed hugs and kisses to Lavender and an equally tearful and
bruised Parvati and a smirking, but cheerful Oksana. Wren slapped his palm and
socked his shoulder with a light punch.
             “Welcome back mate. Thought you were... “ Wren dragged a thumb
across his own neck with a gurgling noise.
            A small eruption of protest and denial burst out of everyone.
Seamus looking particularly murderous at Wren, said with a glare, “Never.
Never.”
           Dean shrugged unoffended and offered truncated details of his close
calls including his encounter with Malfoy at his manor home. After various
remarks of disgust from all around, they each divulged tiny details of their
rebellious year. Everyone showed off a particular bruise or scar from various
punishments and ‘corrective treatments’ sustained throughout the year. Seamus
even dropped Dean’s hand temporarily to show the stripes on his back from a
particularly extended detention with the Carrows.
          The tunnel door swung open again, and the chatter in the room died
out. About twenty remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix, several
Aurors, and nearly all of Ron Weasley’s family members charged through,
followed by several Hogwarts alumni- namely former Quidditch captains Oliver
Wood and Angelina Johnson. Dean and Seamus weaved through the crowd to greet
Tonks and Lupin and congratulate them on baby Teddy.
            Cheers of camaraderie and happy reunions filled the room, but
quickly the talk centered on what was going to happen. Luna dashed through the
official door of the Room of the Requirement with one of many ominous
announcements.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            A cloudless starry black night shone through the enchanted ceiling
of the Great Hall. Every seat was occupied at the four House tables, but the
rebellious students who had been living in the Room of the Requirement for the
past month stood at the back of the hall next to the Order members wholly
unconcerned about House divisions. McGonagall and the remaining staff (Snape
had “done a bunk”) stood in front of the staff tables organising the evacuation
of underage students.
            “Filch will lead all of you through the—”
            A booming voice of macabre cut McGonagall off. It filled the
castle, invading their very skin and minds, casting a non-magic spell of panic,
gloom, and paranoia. The warning was simple: They had until midnight to hand
over Harry Potter or Voldemort and his followers would storm the Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by force.
            Foolishly, Pansy Parkinson pointed at Harry standing behind the
Ravenclaw table leaning against a wall.
            “There he is! There’s Potter!” she shrieked, her bulging eyes
contorted her pug-like face with terror.
            Her fellow Slytherins, like everyone else looked at Harry, but a
swarm of students in pyjamas, the students of the resistance, and all of the
adults shielded Harry with their backs turned to him glaring at Pansy and
anyone fool enough to attempt to apprehend him.
            “Thank you Ms. Parkinson, you and the rest of your house can be the
first to evacuate,” said McGonagall with her wand held high.
            A tumultuous roar of approval echoed throughout the halls as the
Slytherins proceeded out the doors. Except for a dozen who remained behind.
            “What if we want to fight?” shouted the burly blond girl from their
Charms club.
            “Then fight. All of us. Together,” said Oksana breaking away from
the group in front of Harry to welcome her Slytherin housemates as other
students booed.
            “How do we know they won’t let You-Know-Who in?” shouted a fifth-
year Ravenclaw.
            “Because they’re not Death Eater sympathisers you dunghead!” said
Padma rounding on the blond boy in disgust.
            “House division mean nothing now,” said Lavender addressing the
room in a shaky voice. “Either you’re with us or with V-Voldemort.”
            Both she and Parvati broke away from the group to stand with Oksana
and the remaining Slytherin students. Oksana, used to defending herself from
prejudice and distrust held out a hand to shake Lavender’s, but Lavender gave
her an unexpected hug. Luna and Neville clapped. Dean and Seamus whistled and
soon the voices of paranoia morphed into a singular voice united by one common
goal: Defeat Voldemort.
            McGonagall, with her black and silver hair down and her wand out,
beamed at Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra and the remaining staff.
            “Well said Ms. Brown! Now, all underage students please follow your
Head Boy or Head Girl to the passage way out of the castle—”
            “Minerva,” said Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Jamaican former guard to
the muggle Prime Minister. “It’s thirty minutes to midnight. We must construct
a battle plan now.” His sonorous voice boomed throughout the hall.
            A smattering of anxious voices cropped up. Thirty minutes did not
seem like a long time to plan anything. Dean and Seamus exchanged a meaningful
glance and squeezed their hands. It was really happening.
            The fight of their lives.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
            Members of the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors stationed themselves
throughout the castle. McGonagall called to arms every suit of armour, statue,
and gargoyle in the entire castle. Several students watched in awe and
trepidation at the procession of metallic and stone soldiers. Flitwick,
Sinistra, and the remaining staff dashed outside to reinforce the protective
enchantments. A transparent dome, the edges as bright as lightning, descended
over the castle ground. Sprout, Neville and other students reappeared from the
greenhouses scattering various wriggling magical plants with the Levitation
Spell.
Oksana, Wren, and a couple other Charms Club members approached the Weasley
Twins with their remaining stash of fireworks, lumps of Peruvian Instant
Darkness powder, and other products that would be distracting enough to hinder
the Death Eaters approaching the castle. However, Fred objected to the use of
Fiendfyre.
            “That’s Dark Arts—” he said repulsed.
            “We’re fighting most heinous, villainous beast on our own home
ground!” Oksana shouted stomping her foot. Her wand sent out crackling white
sparks. “Do you or don’t you want to defeat him? You do, yes?”
            Dean bit his lip and smiled at Wren as Fred and George rolled their
eyes furious.
            “Of course,” they chorused indignant.
            “Of course they say,” she said rolling her eyes irritated by their
hesitation. “Good! Plant these by the Forbidden Forest and near the Black Lake.
They will have to pass these areas to come, no?”
            And without waiting for an answer, she waved her wand hissing and
spitting out an incantation that Dean guessed was Russian. The bundles of
fireworks glowed a radioactive green and hovered in the air. The radiating heat
made the fireworks impossible to touch. Fred and George raised their wand to
gain control of the enchanted packages.
            “I imbued it. Now, I go to tower to control,” she said running in
the opposite direction leaving everyone speechless.
            “Gotta fight fire with fire, eh?” Seamus grinned at the twins who
shook their heads half amused, half impressed.
            Three minutes to midnight, Seamus took Dean aside. They stood in
the tower near the Ravenclaw common room opposite of the Astronomy Tower with
Padma, Lavender, Parvati, three Order members and six other students waiting at
the windows below and ramparts above as one of many aerial lines of defence.
            “I want to give you something,” Seamus whispered, “It belonged to
me great-great grandad and it’s been passed down to the fellas in me fam. Mum
doesn’t know I pinched it o’ course, but here.”
            He reached into his pocket and pulled out two signet rings. Perhaps
a long ago they were forged with gold or brass, but on Seamus’ palm the rings
were a dusty matte black with blood orange cracks across the surface as if
haunted by some type of magical fire. Dean stared down not reaching for one
right away.
            “This is your family heirloom? What is it?” he asked baffled.
            Seamus squirmed uncomfortably not wanting to say more.
            “I don’t know the name for it exactly. We just call ‘em Coupling
Rings. Charmed to glow warm with heat and gold in colour. Let’s you know
your... the other one wearing it is alive. I figured, maybe you and me... if
you want.”
            Seamus shifted his weight from one leg to another and a faint
peachy glow spread across his cheeks and nose. Dean knew in spite of
everything, this was a big moment for Seamus. He may have been planning to give
Dean a ring for who knows how long. Surely he must have had it since returning
to Hogwarts after Christmas break.
            “How long have you had these?” he asked carefully picking up one to
examine closely.
            “Found it end o’ summer,” Seamus answered tersely, blushing harder.
            Dean put the ring back in his palm already anticipating the
reaction. Seamus snatched the rings away glaring up at him, reacting
predictably.
            “I want to wear it, I do!”
Dean responded as tactfully as if his life depended on it and used his body to
trap Seamus against the wall. It pained him to see the hurt on Seamus’ face. He
grabbed Seamus’ hands into his own and leaned his forehead against Seamus.
            “Look, if we put these on now, we’re gonna be distracted. Half our
mind’s on fighting, half on each other, wondering if- no, when- it’s gonna turn
black and cold on our finger, if one of us...“ Dean took a deep breath as
Seamus relaxed against him. “We can only have one focus if we want to live. And
only one. So I ain’t saying no. I’m not. Just, not right now.”
            Dean stood back looking at Seamus’ bowed head praying for him to
see reason. Seamus chewed his lip and nodded slowly.
            “So this is a proposal to propose, is it?” he said in a strained
voice, but with a hint of a smile.
            Dean snorted and grinned widely.
            “Something like that.”
            He grabbed Seamus and squeezed him tight.
            “I love you,” Dean said as naturally as if he was stating he was
hungry or asking for the time. “I love you,” he repeated firmly pulling back to
gaze into Seamus’ beaming face. Dean’s body glowed as if he stood precisely at
the optimal distance of a bonfire, just close enough to be warmed up
comfortably. Seamus opened his mouth wide:
            “I love you m—”
            A bellow of pain exploded in the air at the edge of the Forbidden
Forest. Airborne dragons, sphinxes, and hippogriffs made of orange, yellow and
white flames engulfed and incinerated the first casualties of war: the Giants.
Oksana’s plan of bewitching the Weasley’s fireworks was a success. Expansive
Catherine Wheels mushroomed across the field raining down galloping flames upon
the Death Eaters and lighting up the sky as bright as if the sun just set. The
flaming roaring Giants stomped around blindly incapable of extinguishing the
Fiendfyre which penetrated the magical defences of their imbued hide. Those
fortunate enough to dodge the beasts were ensnared and suffocated to death by
the anaconda-like, tentacles of Devil’s Snare, Venomous Tentacula and other
magical plants scattered on the grounds. The remaining Death Eaters, Snatchers
and united magical creatures under Voldemort’s regime continued to sprint
recklessly into what they foolishly assumed were defenceless grounds. They
transformed into pillars of salt as they penetrated Flitwick and Sinistra’s
expertly constructed protective shields. She suggested he adjust it to
specifically decimate anyone branded with the Dark Mark. This put a temporary
halt to the ground soldiers attempting to breach the enchanted grounds
surrounding Hogwarts.
            And that’s how the battle began.
            Until Voldemort wiped away the shield with what he thought was the
Elder Wand of the Deathly Hallows. When the forty-foot Acromantula descendants
of Hagrid’s once beloved Aragog scampered over the charred remains of the
boulder-high giants, impervious to any spell from the highest towers of the
castle and other windows, both Voldemort sympathisers and Hogwartians retreated
screaming into the castle.
***** Carnage and Chaos *****
                                        
                                        
                             CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
                               Carnage and Chaos
                                        
Together they shot five Stunning spells. Dean, Seamus, the Patil twins and
Lavender knocked down two gargantuan Acromantulas clambering up the tower wall
before dashing back inside as the castle shook. Other giants scampered past the
initial defences and smashed walls and corners of the castle. Dust blanketed
students and adults clouding their vision as they dodged the falling debris of
the castle walls. The hairy eight legs of the Acromantula continued to scale
the castle walls with their ivory white pinchers clicking in anticipation.
Repulsive cloaked Dementors swooped and darted through doors and shattered
windows administering The Kiss indiscriminately. Death Eaters apparated inside
and ruthlessly duelled students with an arsenal of Dark Arts spells. Wails of
pain and cries of fury reverberated through the pandemonium.
Dean and Parvati were the first to be separated from the group. Two Death
Eaters cornered them, but Peeves wheeled through the air hurling Snargaluffs at
the Death Eaters. The short, bald Travers and his companion the tall stocky
Dolohov ducked from the combative plants, their Killing Curses exploded against
the walls sending shards flying everywhere. Taking advantage of their
distraction, Parvati hit Travers with the Full Body Bind curse and Dean stunned
Dolohov.
“Still letting them live, eh?” shouted Oksana from the top of a staircase. Her
arms contorted into a crossbow expertly aiming the Killing curse at several
Death Eaters battling two small blond boys who were definitely not of age. Dean
watched the Death Eaters’ bodies awashed in the glow of green light sink to the
ground like stones tossed in water. Parvati moaned horrified and shook Dean’s
elbow urging him to move.
“Dean, we’ve got to find the others!” she shouted.
They dashed through the corridors, ducking around streaks of red, green, white
curses or jinxes. They made it to the moving staircases. Younger kids sprinted
down the stairs colliding into each other in a wild panic. Older students
shouted spells against their collective enemies as the subjects of the moving
portraits lining the shaft of staircases shouted words of encouragement or
warnings. The Headless Horsemen obscured the view of the Death Eaters with an
obscure ghostly magic allowing students to aim curses and jinxes through them.
Dean and Parvati battled a trio of hooded Death Eaters up a set of stairs. Once
the two of them reached the landing, the stairs violently swung in the opposite
direction, flattened into a stone slide, and plunged the three Death Eaters to
their deaths as they fell to the unfathomable depths of the castle.
“Ohmygods!” Parvati cried afraid to move.
“The castle’s fighting back with us. Look!”
Dean tapped a foot to the stone slide and it magically shifted back into stairs
with stone banisters looking deceptively harmless once again. Astonished,
Parvati followed Dean running down a corridor covered in shattered glass. The
corner was caved in exposing them to elements like a precarious rocky cliff.
Dean saw the herds of Thestrals flying towards the castle dive bombing the
enemies of Hogwarts.
“Padma!” Parvati cried dashing toward her twin and hugged her tight. She was
covered in someone else’s blood and dust. “Isn’t Lavender with you?” she cried
smoothing back Padma’s hair tearfully.
“No, I don’t know? Where are you going?” Padma shouted as Parvati sprinted down
the hall.
Dean spotted Seamus, Luna, and Ernie McMillan tumbling through a tapestry.
Instinctively, he aimed his wand behind them screaming “Duro!” and transfigured
the burgundy tapestry into stone.
“Good thinking Dean!” cheered Ernie giving Dean a thumbs-up as he bent over
clutching a sitch in his side.
Bodies crunched against the stone tapestry and screams of pain were drowned out
by the shrieks and cries all around them in the darkness of the night.
“Dean, you would’na believe it! Our patronuses saved Harry and them!” said
Seamus bounding up to him proudly.
Instantaneously, six Death Eaters surrounded them shooting curses they either
deflected or ducked.
Fenrir Greyback, the reprehensible, but untransformed werewolf, charged at Dean
as Seamus gleefully duelled with two others less than thirty feet away. Dean
heard the first syllable of the Killing curse. What choice did he have between
being savagely mauled by a werewolf or watching Seamus’ lifeless body collapse
to the ground in a flash of green light? He aimed his wand at a cracked pillar
severing it in half to purposely land directly in front of Seamus. Before the
boulder of stone hit the ground, the green jet of the Killing curse exploded
the stone spraying shards of flint everywhere.
The werewolf was on him before Dean turned his head to face straight ahead.
They crashed sliding across the floor in dust, glass, and blood. Fenrir’s claws
hooked into Dean’s shoulders beneath his collarbones as he pinned Dean with his
body.
“Ah, so much fresh meat tonight,” Fenrir said in a lecherous raspy voice.
Dean gulped but couldn’t hold back the howl of pain as he inhaled the sickening
stench of pink human flesh stuck between the werewolf’s bloody gums and fangs.
Dean screamed louder as Fenrir dug his claws deeper and pressed his erection
into Dean’s thigh. Fenrir threw his head back with a savage snarl.
“That’s right! Howl for me little cub, Howl!”
A flash of green light struck Fenrir Greyback directly at the back of his
throat as he unhinged his filthy bearded jaw to bite Dean. It took Dean a full
ten seconds to realise what happened before he heaved the werewolf’s corpse off
himself. His friends continued to duel around them. Dean knew he did not have
the luxury of time to search for his saviour, but he tilted his head up in the
direction of the curse. High above, Oksana aimed at another Death Eater below.
She was hidden beneath an arch of rubble, picking them off one-by-one, like a
sniper. Dean breathed a ragged sigh of gratitude and crawled over to Seamus who
lay motionless on the stone floor. Blood trickled down the left side of Seamus
face from a gash on his forehead. A chunk of the splintered pillar that
absorbed the Killing curse crushed his right leg.
“Ennervate,” Dean whispered, still tasting the lingering stench of Fenrir in
his mouth.
Seamus blinked slowly, his eyes rolled around unfocused. Another Death Eater
fell to the ground tightly bound by ropes. Ernie nodded at Dean running to help
someone, anyone else. Dean sat up no longer weary of being hit by a rebounding
curse.
“Seamus! Wake up! C’mon!” he pleaded using a Levitating Charm to lift the stone
off Seamus’ leg.
Seamus’ head lolled as he mumbled incoherently. Panicked, Dean’s brain blanked.
He simply couldn’t recall the spell to conjure a splint that Ted had taught him
nearly a year ago in his backyard. Terror clouded his mind compounding his
feelings of helplessness, but he knew he needed to get Seamus out of the line
of fire.
A baby Acromantula the size of Shetland pony crawled over an upturned burning
wardrobe. Padma and Luna shouted “Impedimenta!” at the underside of its body.
The combined force of their spells rocketed the hairy eight-legged beast
backwards and it tumbled out of the nearby window with a screech.
“Dean! What’s happened to Seamus? Are you okay?” she cried aghast at his blood-
soaked shirt.
She knelt down beside them sounding no less calm than he felt. Luna, sporting a
black eye with congealed blood tangled on the right side of her blonde head,
created a temporary splint for Seamus’ injured leg before Dean could respond.
“We really ought to move him Dean,” she urged.
“Let’s go!” he said as the shock and panic abated.
Forgetting about magic, Dean heaved Seamus over his shoulder clutching both of
their wands. The three of them— Luna and Padma provided cover— sprinted through
the carnage and chaos reigning through the corridors of Hogwarts.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
Voldemort’s voice boomed throughout the castle once more. He offered useless
compliments about their valiant efforts and gave them an hour to collect their
dead and injured.
Seamus came around mended by Madam Pomfrey and another seventh year would-be
healer.
“Where’s Parvati? Lavender? Why are you covered in blood?” he asked sitting up.
Dean winced slightly as a Hufflepuff girl dabbed ointment on his werewolf
scratches. He hadn’t stated how he got them afraid of everyone’s reaction. The
only person who could answer all of his questions was Lupin. But until he could
speak to him, he tampered down the shameful revulsive feelings of
contamination.
A few feet away the Weasley family and Hermione sat tearful over Fred Weasley’s
dead body. Several kids huddled over the bodies of friends weeping
inconsolably. Once Dean’s wounds were dressed, he used the Tergeo charm to
siphon some of the dried blood from his shirt before putting it back on. He was
on the third button from the bottom when Seamus ran his fingers over the
bandages and beneath the curve of his hard pecs.
“What did this to you? Who did it to you?” he asked, his brow wrinkled with
worry. “The stone fell and I don’t remember anything.”
“I know, but not here,” Dean said roughly angling his chest from Seamus’ touch
as he finished buttoning up shirt. “We need to find Parvati and Lavender.”
He stood up and strolled out of the Great Hall. Anger and paranoia crawled from
his gut to his throat suffocating him. Dean hoped he would have run into Lupin
on his way out, but he didn’t see the grey-haired werewolf or his metamorphus
wife. Weary, Seamus followed quietly in spite of the instructions to remain
seated.
A familiar wail of pain— not by a spell, but of a physical and emotional
nature— ripped through the air.
“Parvati!” they shouted and looked at each other confused before running down
the corridor and turning to their left.
Parvati kneeled on the ground cradling the disfigured and mauled body of
Lavender Brown. Padma stood against the wall, clutching her mouth and nose,
unable to muffle her own cries. Parvati rocked back and forth with her head
thrown back, surrendering her body and spirit in unmitigated grief. Her hands
and the ends of her hair were wet with Lavender’s blood that gushed out of the
vicious slashes and bite marks on her neck and breasts.
Dean and Seamus gawked helplessly. His anger evaporated as he spared Seamus the
briefest of glances, remembering to be grateful that they were both alive, that
Seamus actually loved him.
But will he still love you if you’re a werewolf?
Dean tried to stay in the moment of mourning. The selfish part of him didn’t
want to know, but he knew it would be borderline criminal to not disclose the
source of his wounds to Seamus...
“Parvati” Dean called softly dragging his mind back to the present morbid,
haunting scene before him.
Seamus walked over to Parvati. She heaved silent sobs now. Mucus and tears
mingled on her face as her shoulders violently shivered. At Seamus’ touch, she
took two last shuddering breaths. Parvati wiped her nose with the inside of her
shirt collar.
           
“Parvati, let’s m-move her to the G-Great Hall,” said Padma dabbing at the
tears streaking her face.
Parvati sat by Lavender’s body in a stupor. Then, as if freed from the spell of
woe, she smoothed down her waist-length black hair, gathered it into a ponytail
with one hand and picked up her wand. With a ferocious wave, she severed her
hair at the nape of her neck and transfigured her ponytail into a long-stem,
fragrant, white orchid bouquet. Padma stooped down to clean off the blood off
Lavender’s dead brown face. Dean stepped over to repair her shredded shirt,
before Parvati laid the bouquet on her chest, and folded Lavender’s arms across
her chest. With a gasp, Parvati’s trembling hand collected their severed
friendship charm bracelets out of the puddle of Lavender’s blood on the floor
and slipped them into the pockets of her shorts.
“Isn’t it ironic, she’s actually allergic to lavender?” Parvati whispered in a
hoarse shaky voice.
“What?” Padma asked smoothing down Parvati’s chin-length hair lovingly.
“She... was allergic,” Parvati gasped. Her voice broke as she corrected
herself.
Dean stepped back to stand next to Seamus. Parvati stood up shakily and wiped
her bloody hands on her shorts. She used her shirt to clean off her wand. The
four of them silently raised their wands to lift Lavender’s body and take it to
the Great Hall with the other fallen fighters.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
           
They sat side by side numb with grief.
Parvati clung to Padma bawling her eyes out. The laying to rest of Lavender’s
corpse next to the always small body of Colin Creevey unleashed a fresh wave of
grief. Padma conjured a white cloth to cover their bodies as many others had
done in the Great Hall, which was precisely when Parvati nearly fell to the
floor forced to say her final goodbye.
It was by chance that Dean looked over just as Kingsley Shacklebolt and Bill
Weasley covered the unmarked bodies of Lupin and Tonks. Dean staggered over his
throat tight and shook his head. He knelt down and pulled back the covers with
disbelief. In a flurry of panic, his brain searched for someone else to talk
about the implication of his werewolf wounds, and then he remembered Little
Teddy Lupin. With tears in his eyes he thought of Andromeda alone with only her
grandson, an orphaned child who would never know his parents except through
photographs and tales told by others.
Seamus stood between Kingsley and Bill speechless.
“Dean, why don’t you sit down? Come on,” Seamus urged gently.
Dean stood up and staggered blindly led by Seamus to a pair of seats where they
watched without seeing or listening to the moans and wails of crying children.
He rocked slightly back and forth, thinking that if he never heard the sound of
children screaming in pain, it would be too soon. Seamus slipped a dry warm
hand into his and he swallowed down the dread with a shaky breath.
“Seamus?”
“Yeah?”
“You know those slashes on Lavender’s body? They were made by that insane
werewolf Greyback. Y’know, the one that got Lupin and killed the Montgomery’s
brother?”
Seamus turned his entire body to face Dean horrified.
“What? How do you know?” He gushed softly.
Dean looked up at the sliver of the waxing moon just barely visible on the
enchanted ceiling wondering if that was a sign or if he should focus on a
secret message in the constellations displayed. He could never remember them
after all those years of Astronomy and Divination...
“Dean?” Seamus yanked on their hands.
“He got me too.”
Seamus drew a sharp breath. Dean relaxed his fingers making it easier for
Seamus to pull his hand away.
“When?” Seamus asked in a rough tone, gripping Dean’s slack hand tighter,
refusing to let go.
Dean explained in a hollow voice what happened during their last duel with the
Death Eaters.
“But he’s not actually transformed, so it’s not as if you’ll...“
“And what if I am?” Dean said in a hard, bitter tone. He finally looked at
Seamus as he tried to snatch his hand away.
“Then it won’t matter—”
“Oh, don’t give me that rubbish Seamus!”
Seamus threw Dean’s hand into his lap, stood up, and bent down slightly so that
he was in Dean’s face.
“You telling me my love for you’s rubbish, eh? Eh?” he said in a loud voice
furious. His light brown hair swung like curtains of curls around his face.
“Now you listen, real good. I don’t care. If bloody Tonks can marry Lupin- may
they rest in peace- and have a kid, then what the bloody hell are you fightin’
me for?”
Seamus’ was shouting now, distracting the mourners from their all-too brief
period of grieving. Dean stared into Seamus reddening face holding back tears
of relief.
“You’re barking mad,” Dean whispered.
“Positively howling.”
Seamus scowled and leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Dean’s lips.
 
 
 
No one saw Harry Potter slip out of the castle, voluntarily on his way to meet
his own death at the hands of Voldemort. Like Ginny Weasley, they were
thoroughly devastated by the sight of a weeping Hagrid, bound at the neck like
a dog on a leash, as he carried Harry’s limp body to the castle front doors. It
was a terrible shock to hear Voldemort boasting victoriously as he performed
the Cruciatus curse on Harry’s corpse in front of them for fun.
But the battle wasn’t over. Not when Neville pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out
of the burning Sorting hat (which Voldemort set on fire as he forced Neville to
wear it minutes earlier) and chopped off the head of the great diamond-
patterned companion snake of Voldemort. It certainly wasn’t lost. Not when
Harry leaped from the blood stained-ground alive to duel the confounded and
vulnerable Voldemort. Kids cheered tearfully with relief. Half of Voldemort’s
ranks disapparated jumping ship, but his most loyal (and insane) Death Eaters
duelled to the death at close range.
The time for stunning or disarming or petrifying was over. A ruthless Parvati
Patil channelled her grief and transformed it into righteous wrath. She flipped
her short hair away out of her face and her blood-stained hand gripped her wand
carefully aimed Killing curses one after another as if checking off imaginary
tick boxes in the air. Oksana hid behind a wall looking out over the front
steps; weakened by the amount of magic she had produced throughout the night,
she resorted to blinding Death Eaters or transfiguring them into rats before
succumbing to exhaustion and being hauled off by Pomfrey and other students who
remained inside. Side by side, Dean and Seamus fought viciously. One of many
recipients of Dean’s Sectumsempra Curse, a blond Death Eater clutched at his
slashed neck at the unstoppable blood flow. Dean watched him crumble to the
ground dying painfully and blasted the Death Eater’s wand to splinters of wood
for good measure. He looked over to see Ron Weasley’s mother finally rid the
world of Bellatrix Lestrange: her cursed blackened ashes floated to the ground
as insignificantly as fallen dead leaves on a dirty ground.
***** A Decision Made *****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                              CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
                                A Decision Made
                                        
They sat on the edge of the Black Lake. Scorch marks and splattered drops of
dried blood belonging to witches, wizards and other magical beings and
creatures coloured the green grass spread before the ruins of Hogwarts castle.
But looking out at the western horizon, over the glistening algae blue-green
water of the Black Lake, with the summer high-noon sun beaming down on their
heads, it was just enough to pretend they were simply on holiday.
Seamus laid back on the prickly verdant grass with his jeans rolled up to his
calves. His better leg dangled in the water; his scarred leg was propped up in
Dean’s lap. Their wands lay to the side, within arm’s reach, blessfully
unneeded.
“Know what happens now?” Seamus asked peeking over. His toes wiggled excitedly
and his hand pulled something out of his front pocket.
Dean scratched at the bandages on his shoulders feigning ignorance.
“Nope. What?”
Seamus held out the black matte rings in his palm.
“Now? Here? Don’t you want to wait a bit?” Dean asked unable to keep out the
hesitancy in his voice.
Seamus sat up fully removing his legs out of the water and off Dean’s lap.
“I love you,” he said beaming, his teeth nearly sparkling in the sunshine.
Dean smiled and collected both rings. He got on both knees resting on his
barefoot heels. Seamus held out one hand, wiggling his fingers as he squinted
up at Dean shielding his eyes with the other.
“Tosser,” Dean mumbled jokingly as he cleared out the nervousness in his
throat.
“Seamus Callum Finnigan, will you—”
“Yes!”
Dean broke out laughing. He tugged Seamus’ hand to slip on one of the rings.
The ring in Dean’s palm glowed a bright orange as Seamus threw his head back in
matrimonial delight.
“You dope! You’re supposed to let me fi—”
A jet of green light hit Seamus in the face.
In slow motion his head arched backwards, the rest of his body fell into the
cushion of the grass. The golden ring turned black once again as his pale thin
fingers slipped out of Dean’s brown hand. Dean’s mouth hung open in shock. He
turned around and howled with rage.
An unkempt, decrepit-looking Umbridge stumbled at him with her wand out. Her
tweed pink cloak flew behind her.
“Filthy half-breeds are not permitted to marry!” she shrieked with the voice of
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Her swollen, frog-like face was disfigured by the gouged out eye sockets.
Duplicate roving blue eyes (similar to Mad-Eye Moody) spun in graying pus and
blood. Dean opened his mouth to defend the murdered Seamus, but his spiky fangs
made it nearly impossible to talk. He glanced down at his hairy claws, his
hairy arms and body and howled in fury at the monstrous blood red moon shining
down on them. His wolf body launched at her on all fours, all traces of
humanity gone. He only sniffed her putrid flesh in the air, his fangs bared to
rip her apart.
“Avada—”
 
 
 
Dean bolted up screaming. His fingers clawed at his face, his arms, the air
around him, shaking violently all over. Arms, familiar arms, freckled arms,
warm arms grabbed him from behind and held him tight.
“ ‘S alright. Just a dream love.”
Seamus’ low soothing voice crooned reassurances in Dean’s ear, shushing him.
His lips brushed against Dean’s scarred shoulder, the nape of his long brown
neck, his ear, his cheek with the bigger dimple. Seamus squeezed Dean firmly
until his breathing evened out and he blinked away the last tear that plopped
on Seamus’ forearms.
Dean smelled the faint odour of Firewhiskey on Seamus’ breath as he rested his
forehead against Dean’s ear still holding him from behind. Disgusted and
disgruntled, he wiggled his body out of Seamus’ embrace and glared into his
bloodshot brown eyes.
“How can you stand this? How can you stand me?” Dean croaked edging away in
their bed.
In the dimmed light of their gas lantern, Dean’s eyes swept across the
disheveled tent they had been camping in for the past month. Seamus’ discarded
clothes were scattered from the closet to the unlit small room that doubled as
a sitting room and kitchen. Empty wine bottles littered the floor among other
rubbish. Seamus sighed heavily running both hands over his shaved head.
“Dean, I don’t stand anything. I’m here because I love you—“
“Don’t say that!”
He let out a grunt of frustration, haunted by the ‘I love you’ from the slain
Seamus of his nightmare. Dean leapt out of bed and knocked against the spindly
bedside table with their wands on it. Their wands clattered to the floor, the
frail tripod table tilted over, but Dean’s clenched fists pounded at his
temples trying to banish the bright image of Seamus wide-eyed and dead on the
Hogwarts lawn. His chest ached and his legs trembled as if he had just ran ten
miles non-stop.
“ ‘S all true mate. Can’t really stop now,” said Seamus wearily as he scratched
his red beard.
Dean paced in front of Seamus. His fingers clawed at the side of his hair
painfully.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he panted. “I’m...different. We don’t really
know that I’m not infected...”
Seamus swung his legs over Dean’s side of the bed and rested his elbows on his
knees as he massaged his temples. They had had a variant of this conversation
at least two or three times a week for the past month since they reunited
again. He felt like he had aged about ten years. But it was only a year and a
quarter since their sixth year abruptly ended with the death of Dumbledore,
punctuated with the deaths of so many others, too many they knew personally.
After Voldemort was finally defeated by Harry, they went home to their
families. Much to Mrs. Thomas’ and Mrs. Finnigan’s dismay, their lovestruck
sons remained at home for exactly thirty-four days before declaring their plan
to venture out together. Dean found a second-hand tent and gear; Seamus
procured a number of furnishings. They took turns apparating to favorite spots
from their childhood or Top Ten visiting lists in an attempt to get
reacquainted. But it spiraled into days of drunken sex: fucking to forget the
horrors and frustrated by their inability to escape the nightly nightmares and
daily fights fought hungover.
Dean felt contaminated, plagued by grief and survivor’s guilt. He found it a
monumental task to love Seamus when he could barely muster up love for himself.
Seamus, ill-equipped for the dizzying mood swings and feelings of inadequacy,
was overwhelmed by his own existential crisis of seeking the holy grail that
would lead him to figure out what to do with his life. The one sure thing he
knew was Dean. Together, he believed they could and would survive anything.
They already had. Unfortunately, Seamus hadn’t figured out what being together
looked like anymore.
Seamus slapped his hairy thighs resolved in his decision. In spite of
everything, hell because of everything, he absolutely refused to give up on
them.
“Dean, sit down. C’mere,” he said drowsy.
Dean ignored him. Seamus stood up and blocked the small strip of floor Dean
paced on. He held out both of his hands, his eyes irresistibly drawn to the
warm golden ring on his pale finger, and spread all of his fingers wide in a
non-threatening gesture. Dean stopped, but shook his head backing away.
“Why? I know you don’t really wanna be here,” he said bitterly. “You’re pissed
drunk, what- everyday now?” he crossed his arms.
Seamus put his hands down, sobering up to the truth, but furious Dean brought
it up.
“Aw yeah. I just loathe being here, even though I could leave anytime I want! I
could y’know! I could take this stupid ring—“ he held up his hand again and
gazed at it sadly. “I could just pack me things and have a great fucking life
because it’s so fucking easy for me to just leave, huh?” he hollered flailing
his arms as the anger seeped out of his pores faster than the alcohol.
“Well why don’t you? Just go then—“
Straightaway, Dean regretted those words, but could no more stop them from
tumbling out than he could stop blinking. Seamus raised his eyebrows.
“What’s that? You want me to pack it in?”
No answer.
“Go’n then. Tell me you don’t love me. Say it!” he spat not baiting Dean. “Say
it, Thomas and you’ll never see so much of a hair on me fuckin’ head ‘cause I
won’t keep fighting you on this!”
They stared unseeing each other in the dimness. Fully alert, only the harsh
ragged breaths filled the room. Dean shrugged, the fight already gone out of
him; Seamus, unable to gauge Dean’s reaction, braced himself for the worst.
“I just don’t know how to fix this,” Dean admitted flicking a finger up and
down his chest.
“Fix what?” Seamus asked inhaling a lungful of relief. “There’s nothin’ wrong
with you! You’re not gonna turn into a wolf. That St. Mungo witch said so and
we’ve seen it ourselves on the full moon! Just look at Bill Weasley, eh? So
you’ve got to stop this. Please. I told ya’ a hundred times, I’m not afraid of
you and I’m not going anywhere.”
Seamus marched out of the bedroom into the small dinette area to the rickety
table where they ate their meals and picked up the newly-opened bottle of
Firewhiskey. Dean watched wearily as Seamus uncorked it with his teeth walking
into the loo and poured the bottle down the toilet. He sat the empty red glass
bottle on the floor next to the small wicker bin outside the loo door, then
foraged for something in the pocket of his jeans on the floor. He marched back
over to Dean, tossed him the folded up note, and crossed his arms defiant. It
was too dark to read. Dean turned the rickety table right side up, picked up
their wands, and with his own wand enlarged the flame of the lantern nailed to
the wall.
The ink was smudged by large splotches of tears and tiny blood droplets were
sprinkled in some areas. Dean noticed the dirty fingerprints held the open
letter just as he did. He began to read confused until Seamus spoke again.
“Seamus, as you know they are hunting us now,” Seamus recited softly, “It’s a
criminal act for someone like me to do magic. Although you can’t see my real
face, this will be the last time I see yours. But only for awhile. Just until
we defeat Voldemort. Sorry it took me so long to come round, but I swear that I
will make it up to you tenfold when it’s all over. But if you can’t wait for
me, know that I’ll always love you. Always. I’ll never stop. I’ll love you til
the day I die— hopefully not before I get to see you again. Don’t be mad. I
have to do this to keep everyone I love safe. My only regret is that I never
said it to your face, but I love you—“ and Seamus took a step forward, “I love
you—“, he took another step forward, “I love you. Yours forever, Mr. Thomas.”
Seamus took one last step forward and gently held Dean’s shaking hand clutching
the letter into his own.
“You remember writin’ all them words, Mr. Thomas?”
Dean nodded bewildered, flattered, and astonished. His mind flew back to the
summer he was on the run. It was the note he recklessly delivered to Seamus
under the guise of the Polyjuice potion as the balding middle-aged man.
“I told you to get rid of this,” he whispered.
“Yeah, and five minutes ago you told me to leave. Kindly notice I don’t do
every little thing you say,” Seamus said snatching the recited letter out of
Dean’s warm hands.
Dean bowed his head admonished, but Seamus stepped against his body folding the
letter carefully.
“These words kept me goin’. Everyday. In detention with them bastard Carrows.
At night, praying I wouldn’t hear your name on Potterwatch after Neville
sneaked in a wireless. Or read it splashed across the front of that rubbish
Daily Prophet,” Seamus whispered as Dean put his arms around him massaging his
back. “Y’know, at one point I thought I lost it, but just before I found it, I
realised I knew the ruddy thing by heart. When they Crucio’d me, I tried to
imagine your voice saying something, anything...”
Dean recalled blacking out from the unrelenting pain of Bellatrix torturing him
and thought it wholly remarkable that Seamus could think of anything in the
world, but chose to focus on him during such a merciless, torturous moment.
“Well, I waited. Sounds like you got a whole lotta making up to do,” Seamus
said earnestly tapping the folded letter against Dean’s bare chest.
“So we’re really gonna do this then?” Dean asked unnecessarily.
“You really want me to go?” Seamus asked looking fiercely into his face.
“I didn’t mean it. I swear,” Dean said shaking his head vigourously. They had
seen too much of death to be so glib and rash.
“Alright. So you really love me then.”
“Of course I love you.”
“ ‘Kay then. That settles it,” said Seamus breaking away shaking the note in
the air as he picked up his wand.
He tapped his wand in the air arranging all of the bottles in the entire tent.
They clinked and cracked against each other as a plastic white bin bag zoomed
into the room with its mouth open wide and gobbled the bottles away.
“I’ll lay off the bottle. You’ll keep having your night terrors. I’ll give you
backrubs when you wake. And you can give me foot rubs before I sleep. See? It
all works out.”
Dean let out a bark of laughter and rolled his eyes as Seamus continued to tidy
the room with a lazy flourish of his wand.
“Sounds like a fucked up life if you ask me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Seamus flopping onto their bed crooking his
finger. “Foot rubs for life sounds like a spanking good deal to me.”
***** EPILOGUE *****
                                        
                                        
                                        
                                   Epilogue:
                             A Tale of Two Misters
 
The two old men sat on the glossy pine-green park bench, bundled in an
assortment of layered clothing even though it was unusually warm at the time of
the year. The taller one said something to the shorter one, who threw his head
of wispy white hair back in laughter, but then doubled over wheezing and
hacking away. His companion quickly whipped out a bright green handkerchief and
patted the back of the coughing man, albeit a bit too harshly.
Dean smiled at the two old men as he waited for the orange pedestrian countdown
at the crosswalk. With one arm, he clutched a large brown paper bag. He had
popped over to the butcher’s shop closest to the Ministry of Magic employee’s
entrance for fresh lamb meat and herbs he knew Seamus preferred to season his
Shepherd’s Pie with.
Of course, he could have disapparated to their home, but Dean liked the slow
walk to enjoy the good weather, the sights, and sounds of the bustling muggle
life. The narrow two-lane street was coated with fallen leaves the shade of
pumpkin orange and merrigold yellow. A warm November wind shimmied the
remaining hanging tree leaves creating a deafening rustling whisper on the
unusually quiet street. They lived in a two-storey flat with noisy, but not
nosy neighbours.
Muffled music featuring rumbling drums, clanging sitar strings and a triad of
soprano voices drifted out of the kitchen as Dean entered the front door.
“Seamus?” he called out, still occasionally cautious.
“In here!” Seamus yelled back.
Dean’s lips quirked up in a smile. He kicked off his oxfords, locked the door
with his wand, and walked through the sunlit sitting room into the kitchen,
which was in its usual state of chaos on Seamus’ nights to cook. Potato
peelings curled against the bin, steam billowed from a boiling pot, and two
knives roughly chopped up a medley of seasonal vegetables on both sides of the
counter. A levitated cookbook hovered in front of Seamus as he leaned back
against the counter opposite the stove. Wearing only boxers and socks beneath
his orange apron, he lazily waved his wand at the knives as he flipped through
the cookbook with a frown. His wet hair was slicked back behind his ears.
Dean placed the small brown bag of groceries near the fridge and lowered the
volume on the radio.
“Having a good evening chef?” he greeted Seamus with a kiss. Their scruffy
beards scratched each other.
“It’d be better if I hadn’t burned the first pot of tubers,” Seamus muttered
grumpy.
Dean snickered not even bothering to ask.
“Hmm, here’s a curious thought. Would you be able to hear anyone break in with
the music blasting?” he joked removing his navy blue work robes and rolling up
the sleeves of his button down shirt to wash his hands.
Seamus flicked the chopped vegetables into the pot as Dean unpacked the lamb
and herbs on the counter.
“Ah, but who do you think is waiting out there to attack wizards such as
ourselves?” said Seamus in a disturbingly accurate falsetto imitation of the
long-dead Umbridge.
“I’ll attack you in a minute,” Dean smirked with a shudder.
Seamus wiggled his hips with no discernible rhythm as he stepped up to the
stove.
“I wish you would,” he quipped looking over his shoulder with a wink.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
After nearly sixteen years together, the sex was less acrobatic and frantic and
more creative, but full of surprising compromises.
Dean liked to fuck slowly.
Rested on his back, he closed his eyes as Seamus teased him with a game they
like to play, ‘Tip? What tip?’ before sliding his red cock in just barely. His
eager fingers, still slick with lube, playfully pinched Dean’s arse until Dean
relented and lifted his hips ready to let Seamus in. Dean moaned softly with an
amused sigh, willing his body to relax completely, but relishing the inevitable
acute jab of pain as Seamus (always tired of teasing and waiting), pushed past
his hole eagerly. Dean stiffened, his thighs squeezed against Seamus’ hips as
his skin broke out in a sweat. His dick bounced wildly as Seamus developed an
ever increasingly fast rhythm. Dean exhaled nearly breathless and wrapped his
arms around Seamus’ extended arms next to his head, digging his short nails
into Seamus’ triceps.
Ultimately, Dean feels at peace. For him, it’s incredibly comforting and
gratifying knowing it’s Seamus, and only Seamus, patiently thrusting a little
deeper inside him with each push.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me again,” Seamus growled, red-faced and coated with
a thin sheen of sweat as he held up Dean’s slackened thigh— a tell-tale sign.
Dean opened his eyes wide looking up at Seamus expertly balanced above him.
“It happened—“ he gasped as Seamus snapped his hips, “Just. Once.” He said in
measured breaths tugging on his dick trying to match Seamus’ rhythm during the
odd balancing act.
Seamus grunted in disagreement and pushed Dean’s bent leg against his chest to
sneakily quicken the pace. Of course, Dean caught him and clenched, stilling
his body with a Zen-like (if not magical) focus. Seamus groaned sexually
frustrated, but there was nothing he could do except wait for Dean to resume
the rocking, dizzying, hypnotic motion. Seamus may have topped for the night,
but he was at Dean’s mercy. Always.
What a fucking power bottom, he thought.
But Seamus had his go-to-move. He draped his body over Dean’s chest, dropping
to his elbows and rested his forehead against Dean in submission as sweat
trickled forward down his nose. He kissed Dean hard, thrusting the only thing
he could— his tongue— into Dean’s mouth wrestling then teasing in slow breathy
kisses until Dean wrapped an arm over his red, sweaty neck wanting to hold him
closer. It was precisely when Seamus broke away from the kiss completely to
bite the bottom of Dean’s ear, dragging his rows of teeth and gently tugging on
the tight thick flesh of his earlobe. Dean gasped, muttered loudly and
incoherently, and arched his neck as Seamus reached down wrestling Dean’s dick
out of his own hand. Furiously pumping, he chuckled into Dean’s stretched neck
finding a spot to leave the biggest, darkest lovebite he could manage as his
own thighs trembled and his knees ached from the strain of waiting. Finally!
Seamus declared himself victorious as Dean acquiesced, relaxing fully allowing
him to thrust harder, faster, wilder.
Because that’s how Seamus liked to fuck.
And if it were up to him, they would come, wipe themselves clean in about two
minutes and spend the rest of the evening lying about. They either bitched
about the absurd oddities of their co-workers (Dean in the Office of Goblins
Liaison, Seamus in the Department of Magical Transportation) while listening to
Quidditch commentary on the Wizard Wireless Network, or played a game of Wizard
chess, or if Dean was feeling particularly antsy, they headed down to the
muggle pub and watched a football match on the flat screen television. Then,
they would retire and end the night with perhaps another bout of (shower) sex
after a nightcap.
Luckily, on the nights when Dean hovered over Seamus body holding him down, he
slowly spread Seamus stocky hairy legs apart, and licked millimeters of his
flesh at a maddening, sloth-like pace. And what could Seamus do? When he
bottomed, Dean made him wait until he begged and nearly threatened to smash the
headboard with his fist... but, if Seamus were honest, he wouldn't want it any
other way. He loved how Dean centered him and slowed him down because when he
finally exploded like a can of fizzy drink, nothing could beat the sight of his
milky white cum trickling down Dean’s hand, or even better, out of the corner
of Dean’s mouth and into his beard. Not after he spent an obscene amount of
time teasingly sucking Seamus off.
Ultimately it’s gratifying for Seamus when Dean fucks him so slow, lying back-
to-chest on their sides, because it’s only out of pure spite that Seamus will
shoot his spunk across the bed, always aiming for the his youthful distances,
like the bedroom door on the other side of the room.
That night, they finished at a decent comfortable time. Long enough to feel
worn out out, guaranteeing a restful night of sleep, but short enough that
neither of them had muscle cramps. As fit as they were catching weekend matches
of football with some their muggle neighbours or monthly Quidditch games at the
homes of their wizard co-workers, middle age crept upon them slowly, but
surely.
“Thank you sir,” Seamus panted falling onto his back shaking the bed one last
time. “Evanesco,” he said with a lazy wave of his wand before carelessly
tossing it on the floor.
He tapped Dean who flopped over breathless onto his stomach, wincing slightly
as he stretched out his lean hairy thighs and fluffed up his pillow beneath his
head. He wiggled his toes happily.
“You mocking me you ungrateful bastard,” Dean smirked kicking Seamus as he
snuggled on his side against Dean. “You know we have the kids this weekend?”
“Course I remembered. Why do you think I was so keen, eh?”
Seamus was now properly bundled under the covers. One of his legs were thrown
across Dean’s thighs and he flung an arm around Dean’s slowly expanding
waistline. The nightmares made irregular visits and Seamus always like to be
prepared.
“Please, like we’re not gonna in the shower in the morning,” said Dean letting
his eyelids close shut.
“Shh! Some of us are trying to sleep here,” Seamus hissed with his eyes wide
awake as he turned off the lights.
Dean chuckled and fell fast asleep thoroughly knackered.
                                        
                *                                             
               *                                              *
 
Dinner with Dean’s nieces and nephews was always messy. The oldest, Niklaus, Jr
was only eleven; the youngest, Tommy (short for Thomas) was four and a half;
and their sisters Veronika and Nicola were nine and six years old respectively.
Dean always did the cooking the muggle way since Seamus couldn’t be bothered
with it.
Seamus thought it was ridiculous that they deliberately hid their magic from
the children. Their owl Lavender always flapped her wings indignant at being
sent away for the weekend with the same instruction to hold their mail until
the kids were gone. Their Quidditch brooms were stowed away in their bedroom;
they hid Dean’s portrait which could travel from their home to the portrait in
his mother’s house (he placed one there to keep an eye on her after her last
round of chemo); and stashed any copies of the revamped Daily Prophet with its
moving flashing photos beneath Luna’s quirky bolded headlines.
“And don’t give me that nonsense about the Statute of Secrecy rubbish!” Seamus
always countered in the age-old disagreement.
Truth be told, Dean thought the Statute of Secrecy was utter rubbish also after
taking into account all of the muggle families who had witches or wizards in
their family. Was it even possible to keep it all hidden or even prudent? He
didn’t actually believe so, but since Anise’s Greek husband Niklaus, Sr had
only just overcame the fact that they were “pervert bent bastards” and allowed
unsupervised weekend visits once a month for the past year, Dean wasn’t too
keen to muck it up with news that they were gay wizards just yet.
The six of them sat around the circular mahogany table filled with plates and
bowls of pear walnut salad, slightly burnt garlic breadsticks, and a heaping
pile of steaming spaghetti bolognese. The three older kids bickered, while
Tommy, who looked most like his mum and Dean with their colouring and hair,
neatly slurped his spaghetti noodles.
“Thomas-Finnigan? No! That’s too long. Can’t I just call you Mr. Thomigan?”
asked Nicola with bright inquisitive hazel eyes.
Dean was about to answer until he spotted the dollop of spaghetti sauce
clinging to her frizzy brown hair dumbstruck as to how it got there.
“ ‘Course you can,” said Seamus munching enthusiastically.
“But why?” asked Dean, wiping the sauce out of her head as she swatted his hand
away.
“Ugh! That’s so naff. Gods you’re so utterly dim-witted Nikka,” snorted
Veronika, palest of them all, stabbing her meatballs with disgust.
“No name calling,” Dean chided.
“It’s not! Why use two names when one will do?” Nicola reasoned waving her tiny
palms in the air as she rolled her eyes.
Dean and Seamus burst out laughing.
“You already call them ‘Uncle D’ and ‘Uncle Shay’, now you want to butcher
their last names? Show some respect,” said Niklaus, Jr, too tall and sullen for
his age.
“It’s okay, Nikka. We have two names because when we got married, we couldn’t
decide which one to use—”
“—So, we used ‘em both,” Seamus finished with a wink.
Nicola sighed dramatically.
“I know, but if I introduced you to my friends—”
“Nicola you’re too old for imaginary friends,” said Niklaus cutting her off.
“You’re six and a half. Grow up.”
Nicola banged her tiny fist on the table enraged.
“They’re not imaginary and I’m six years and six months!”
The table paused their chewing to check her math.
“That’s still six and a half,” scoffed Niklaus reaching for the salad bowl.
“No it’s not!” she screamed.
A faint pop resounded around the table. Niklaus cried out and shot back from
the table knocking over his chair. Veronika spit out her food gasping in
horror. Startled by the raucous, Tommy the youngest, began to cry. The two
misters sprung into action.
Dean immediately scooped up Tommy and soothed him with a hug. Seamus snatched
up Niklaus bowl and whisked it out of the room. Instead of a half-eaten bowl of
noodles and meatballs, thick gray earthworms and maggots writhed and wriggled.
In the kitchen, Seamus reversed her spell with a barely concealed grin. They
had a new witch in the family!
Dean sat Tommy back in his chair as Seamus set down the bowl of spaghetti.
Niklaus and Veronika peered at the bowl in trepidation. Nicola lifted her head
to look at it curious, but guilty.
Dean spoke in a loud voice once everyone (except Niklaus) was seated: “Nikka
love, you can introduce us as Mr. and Mr. Thomigan to all of your friends. It’s
fine by me.”
She smiled already forgetting her outburst of magic.
Seamus piped up. “I love it. ‘S almost like them celebrity names, eh Veronika?”
Veronika’s pink mouth still gaped open as she slowly turned her dark blonde
curly head befuddled by Dean and Seamus’ outright refusal to acknowledge the
odd happening at the table.
“Uncle Shay, if you guys had a ‘celebrity’ name, it’d probably be something
daft like, ‘Deamus’ or something,” she said rolling her eyes in perfect
preparation for adolescence.
“But- didn’t you- I saw... “ Niklaus remained standing far from the table
gaping at his siblings and uncles all eating and chatting as if he didn’t just
have a bowl of worms and wriggling bits for food.
“Niklaus, sit down, unless you’re done mate,” said Dean casually, but feeling
about a thousand degrees guilty for gaslighting his nephew.
Seamus met his eyes with a sly grin.
 
 
Later that night once the kids were crammed, but asleep in the second room,
Dean and Seamus climbed into bed positively giddy.
“Oi! Can you imagine the look on that git’s face when she gets her letter?”
Seamus gushed.
“Welp, there goes the Statute of Secrecy,” Dean said raising the covers for
Seamus to snuggle close to him comfortably.
“Unless they Confund the bastard twelve times a day,” Seamus snickered and Dean
muffled his giggles into Seamus’ hairy chest.
As Seamus fingers teased through his afro, Dean thought of the battle. It was
worth it if in five years (well, four years and six months) Nicola got her
letter and pamphlets and Ministry visits, and rode the scarlet Hogwarts Express
on September first, proud to be a muggleborn like himself and so many others.
But Dean didn’t have to wonder. He and Seamus were to witness her magical
educational adventures and more. Their warm golden Coupling Rings would burn
bright for decades to come.
 
 
 
                                      Fin
***** Author Notes and Table of Contents *****
Chapter Notes
     I don't own any of these characters! Don't sue! It all belongs to
     J.K. Rowling, blah blah blah.
     Also, I did not read any long Deamus fics, so if there are any
     likenesses in characters or plots, well great minds think alike! Just
     a coincidence.
     Of course, this isn't supposed to be at the end, but I couldn't
     number this first without messing up my other chapter numberings, so
     well.
     Enjoy and thanks for reading.
 
 
                               Table of Contents
                                        
Part One
 
Chapter One: Meet the Parents (Part Deux)
Chapter Two: The Early Departure
Chapter Three: Remember, Remember the First of September
Chapter Four: Wands at the Ready
Chapter Five: The Wandless Breakfast Club
Chapter Six: Socks and Boxers Be Damned
Chapter Seven: Karma and Hindsight are a Bitch
Chapter Eight: Imago Animatus
Chapter Nine: Password Reset
Chapter Ten: Spoken Like a True Hufflepuff (or Gryffindor or Ravenclaw or
Slytherin)
Chapter Eleven: Quidditch (Just Because)
Chapter Twelve: Destination, Determination, Deliberation
Chapter Thirteen: P. D. A.
Chapter Fourteen: Decisions Unmade
 
Part Two
 
Chapter Fifteen: The Unexpected Greeters
Chapter Sixteen: The Secret Keeper
Chapter Seventeen: The Other Dean
Chapter Eighteen: The Forest Awakes
Chapter Nineteen: The Transport
Chapter Twenty: Outnumbered, But Not Outgunned
Chapter Twenty-One: The Godfather
Chapter Twenty-Two: 30 Minutes to Midnight
Chapter Twenty-Three: Carnage and Chaos
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Decision Made
 
Epilogue: A Tale of Two Misters
 
 
 
 
 
 
                          Author’s Note to the Reader
Howdy guys!
What lies before you is a tale of two boys who fall in love. But make no
mistake, this is not a lovely crafted tale of smut. It’s a messy, slow burn of
boys growing into men.
It’s a coming-of-age story.
It’s a love story.
It’s a war story.
It’s a wacky, hijinks, boarding school story.
Oh, and there’s a bit of magic in there too.
The timeline of the story spans from the end of HP-OOTP (Book 5) through the
end of HP-DH (Book 7) and beyond. It mostly follows canonical events from HP
series (canon relationships, deaths, etc.). Of course, seeing as this is
fanfic, the story also includes my head canon, scenes or details from the
movies, the video games and more. Characters may have different ethnicities or
personalities and character traits, but I honestly tried to stay as close to
the canon book materials as possible.
Please note this is not a triple-X smutty tale. I love to read those (gods know
I do) but I freeze up when I try to write it. So I’ve spared you all from it.
I’m all about the fluffy romantic stuff anyway. Beware: There are a lot of
sexual situations and dialogue, so it’s not a “clean” story.
Finally, a thousand thanks to everyone in advance who have decided to embark on
this journey and read my story! I have never completed a tale (fanfic or
original) of this length. EVER. Any and all comments are welcome. Any
constructive criticism is DEFINITELY welcome. I wrote this to get me out a dark
period of my life, but this was also a free Master Class on how to (not?) write
a novel(la?).
Cheers and a tip o’ my wand to ya!
                                                                                   
-31 October 2016
 
UPDATE: Okay, I've added the smuttiest scene I could bear to write in the
epilogue. You've been warned! Enjoy!
Also, I didn't have a beta, so if I've missed anything or any outrageous typos,
please let me know. After reading it five times my brain's officially done!
                                                                                        
-18 December 2016
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their work!