IN MY ARMS

Genre: romance, humor; Setting: Hogwarts year 5; Coupling: Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnigan; Point of View: Dean Thomas.

It's crazy. It's just plain crazy and I know it. I mean, I'm crazy too, a bit, I'm said to be. Well, it's only said by myself, really. But I do feel crazy now. Just plain nutters as a fruitcake, or worse even.

Why?

Why, well, I'll tell you why. Allow me to explain and while you wait, please sit down and make yourself comfortable. You'll need it. It's going to be long and I'll ramble a lot.

Crazy.

Because I like what I see. Because I shouldn't.

I'm not talking about furniture or nature or something here. Sure, I love nature. I love all seasons; the colours; the smell; the taste; the feelings; how it can change people - okay, there we are: people. I'm talking people.

"And why is that so bad?" you'll say. Don't even try to deny it, it was lying on the tip of your tongue. Just ask it already! Or, maybe, no, you don't need to, I'll answer anyway.

I like to see him.

I like the smell; the touch; the sight; the warmth of him. I like to portray him; I like to listen to him; I like to feel him. I like his energy that always keeps him going and keeps me feeling so alive. He's made of such warm and bright colors - the gold streaks in his hair mixing with that bright sunshine yellow; his skin pinkish with hints of red excitement on his cheeks; off-white teeth framed in a laugh by slightly darker pink lips; warm sparkling brown eyes with gold specks in the right kind of light, always alive with mirth -

I could give you the names of all the colors I'd use to paint him with, name the tools I'd recreate him with.

And at this point, I know I should stop. At this very point, I should start wondering when I first started to think like this and why and I should definitely be breaking my head over how to make it stop.

But what if I don't want it to stop? What if I can't make it stop?

And at that point, I know it: I'm abso-friggin-crazy, no doubts about it.

"Dean, Truth or Dare?" Neville smiles shyly at me, looking a bit nervous. We're playing Truth or Dare with just the five of us up in the boys dormitory and Neville just got a particularly bad Truth pried out of him. Ron asked him if he still sleeps with stuffed animals, like that fuzzy little teddy bear he had back in first year. Since a Wizard's Truth is absolutely nothing but the truth and needs to be answered, the poor kid turned a vibrant fresh-apple shade of red while whispering that he, indeed, did. We all had a good laugh about it, of course, we're at the end of our 5th year for Merlin's sake! Not that I can't relate, but that's another story.

I squirm and they all laugh at me this time. I'm glad neither Ron nor Harry is the one to spin me. They had some rather personal and embarrassing questions to ask that I'd really rather not answer.

"Tic tac, tic tac," Seamus laughs at me, taunting.

"Truth."

"Do you like someone? And if you do, name her best five features." Neville looks around, in search of any appreciative looks for his question. He gets none. Mine's just relieved.

"Well… I do like someone, yes." Damn that charm, I've been trying to hide it for months now. "Best features are, uhm, beautiful eyes, a brilliant laugh, blonde hair, great sense of humor, and -" I pause briefly. Energetic? Or would that be too much of a give away? "Talkative. Very talkative," I end. What happened to the Truth-charm?

I look around the small circle, all 4 seem satisfied with my answer. I pick up the empty butterbeer bottle and give it a spin. It lands on Seamus, grinning Seamus, with his big goofy Seamus-grin plastered on his face. I like that grin. It's a nice focus-point. "Truth or Dare."

"Truth."

Like he has anything to hide. He can't shut up long enough to have any secrets.

"What are you grinning all goofish about now?"

"You," he answers immediately, grin growing a bit wider. I'm surprised it can get any wider, really. I see Ron nudge Harry from the corner of my eye and Neville shifting uncomfortably. Seamus looks at me expectantly, then looks away, then looks back, then picks up the bottle to spin it with that eerie concentration on my person. I feel like I'm being punished.

"Harry!" he calls out, breaking the – a bit awkward now – silence. "Truth or Dare?"

"A Dare."

Harry looks confident. He can, honestly, he's really the bravest of us all. The You-Know-Who-thing and all that, you know. It tends to make you fearless. I know I'd pee myself in his shoes.

"I Dare you to kiss Ron."

Harry frumples like one of those blow-up water-toys when you empty them. He doesn't look so confident anymore. I can understand, I mean, embarrassing Truths are one thing, this is blackmail material. The-boy-who-lived-to-snog-other-boys? Harry wouldn't do that, would he? He probably wouldn't even consider it. Seamus would, maybe, he's unpredictable enough. Dangerously unpredictable, right now.

"What?"

"Kiss. Ron."

Smirking. Seamus is enjoying this, the bastard. I notice Harry is beginning to look faintly green now. Ron's just plain shocked, mouth agape. I don't think he wants to do it either.

"Pass. Seriously."

"Sure." The smirk turns sly. "I double Dare you to kiss Ginny."

There's a hitch to this: surviving Ron's wrath. Harry's facial expression goes from ready-to-retch to relatively relieved, while Ron's seems to have borrowed the green color, mixed with hints of red. He looks like a fruit, no pun intended. He's awfully protective of his little sister, Ron. Good thing he doesn't know about her having already had boyfriends in the double digits, give or take some. I think I lost count last year. She even tried with me, but a girl with that reputation? No thanks. Though she's pretty. Nice smile.

"So, I -"

"You can do it later. But I'll need to be there, you know."

"Obviously."

Nodding, spinning. It's Harry's turn. He looks tense.

"Ron, ehe -"

"Truth."

"Eh, okay - Well - Just asking and all, but do you think I'll still be alive enough to kiss Ginny after I leave this room? You're looking a bit, eh, homicidal? You know -"

"You'll live," Ron mutters back through clenched teeth. "Mom'll kill me if I kill you, you know. But you'd better make it a peck on the cheek or something."

We're all silent. The underlying message is clear: 'one wrong move and I'm hunting you down'. Ron really does seem put out by the double Dare. Not being able to preserve his little sister's (un-existing) innocence seems to be eating him up from inside. I feel sorry for him, really. And for Harry.

"O-kay…" Deep breath. "Point taken."

It's funny to see how easily they went from comradeship to enemies for the moment. Harry moved closer to Neville, who looks terrified to be caught up in this and Ron is practicing murderous glances on all of us. It's unfair, this, it's not like me and Neville had anything to do with it. I bet he knows but doesn't care.

"So, Seamus. Truth or Dare?"

And I bet he hexed that bottle into landing on Seamus next too. He sounds too sickeningly and I don't trust that smile either. Why do I get the feeling something is wrong? And then I mean horribly, terribly wrong.

"Hmm, I think... Dare."

Seamus grins back at Ron, innocently. So. Wrong. Ron must be up to something, must've planned something, his grin scares me slightly and he's all non-fruity again. It's diabolical. Last Dare must've let him snap.

"Dare? How brave of you. But that could be because you know the same Dare can't be used twice."

Seamus just doesn't stops grinning. That big, goofy, happy-go-lucky Seamus-grin. Doesn't he feel any sign of danger? Discomfort? No?

"So I'm thinking up something original," Ron continues. "I'm Daring you to cuddle up with -"

He looks around our little circle, getting three terrified glances and a very curious one. I don't understand why Seamus seems to like where this is going, it's the only explanation as to why he's not shitting himself yet, the stupid little leprechauny -

"Dean."

I knew I had a reason to be afraid.

"Lovers-way."

Before I can really think about what Ron means with the 'lovers-way'-comment, the following events take place in the next ten seconds after he declares his Dare: Seamus doesn't stop grinning and nods; Harry begins cat-calling; Ron looks extremely smug; Neville looks stupefied and I - I freeze.

In slow-motion I see Seamus standing up and crossing our little circle, which really is only 2 or 3 big steps anyway, and - Did he just wink at me? He stops in front of me, kneels down and pokes my legs. I'm still focussed on that annoying, stupid, typically Seamus-grin when he talks to me. I think he talks to me, at least, my hearing is blurry at best. I get poked again in the knees, so I spread them. He sits down and leans back against my chest, which is heaving in a weird sort of way, grabs hold of my arms and lays them on his shoulders to rest so I'm embracing him.

And then everything comes rushing back double speed.

"Wait, can't I - I mean - I'm not the one - I'm not Dared - Ron!"

Oh, I don't feel good, this is not good at all, not good, not good at all.

"You didn't refuse the Dare quick enough Dean, tough luck!" Ron laughs at me. Yeah, he has a reason to laugh. He's gotten his little revenge now, but why do I have to participate in it too? It's not like I asked for it! And as for revenge, it's not like that Irish brat here seems to mind one bit anyway. If that's revenge, I'm a carrot-top.

Seamus is making himself comfy against me, snuggling up like a puppy to its mother. For all I know he's going to look for breastmilk next.

"Dun worry, 'tis not that bad," he whispers.

No, not for him it isn't. He cuddles up with about everyone at regular basis. Except for Slytherins, he tends to avoid Slytherins on his cuddle-sprees. I, on the other hand, never do this kind of stuff. I'm very independent, thank you very much, I like to be solitary. I'm not used to it, all that physical stuff. I'm not Neville's bloody teddy, you know. I don't think I should find this anything special, I mean, I know Seamus, now don't I? I know it's nothing special for him. I know I shouldn't be finding this special in any means. Because it's not, you know. Nothing special about it and it's just giving me headaches. But why do I?

"I don't worry," I whisper back. "But I'm not used to these things like you, you know. I'm not like you."

"You worry. You're tense. You should try to relax, 'tis way more comfortable that way."

"I'm not tense!"

No, I'm rigid.

"You're uncomfy."

"Aren't you then?"

"Nope."

Wha-

"Hey, if you two love-doves are done whispering already, you should give it a spin, Seamus."

Ron grins at us, smug and seemingly still terrible amused by our current position. Prat. Seamus only seems all too happy and content just where he is and innocently smiles back at Ron.

"Do it for me, will you? I don't feel like moving."

"Shay!"

"What?" he answers innocently.

I honestly feel like strangling him right now, he's shameless. Ron's grin falters a little, then it picks up again and he shrugs. I don't think this is how he wanted it to play out. I think we both think Seamus seems to be having way too much of a good time. But in the end, his idea of revenge seems to win from his discomfort with his victim's comfort and he taps the bottle with his wand as asked.

Which, of course, lands on me. For no conceivable reason whatsoever. Either fate is playing cruel tricks on me or Ron hexed the bottle again, and as I'm always quite determined to find out what's happening around and to me, I tried to get up. Tried being the key-word in this scenario, as one bratty leprechaun pulled me back down by the sleeves.

"Are you trying to make things worse?" I mutter darkly in his ear, leaning down.

"Nay." And I can hear him grinning. The innocence! The insolence!

"Trust me," he whispers back. "Take the Dare, 'kay?"

I just nod stupidly, trying to ignore the glances from the others. "Dare," I repeat after him, loud enough for the rest to hear. Harry and Ron exchange more glances, now of the 'fate really hates you'-variety. In normal words: they pity me. And I'm screwed. And someone's up to something I'm very, very probably not going to like. Scratch 'probably'. If they'd at least share, I could prepare for certain doom.

"Dean. I want you to kiss me."

A few things: one, I really should've seen this coming from several miles away; and two, when did trusting Seamus ever turn out okay? Never, of course.

"K-k-kiss...?"

When did I ever stutter? I don't stutter. I don't do stutters, I don't -

"Aye."

I'm think going to either faint or have a heart-attack.

"B-But that Dare's already done? I mean -"

I know, feeble. I don't feel very manly and brave and awesome today or that this moment, actually, thank you very much. I feel his head shaking a 'no'. What, 'no'? What do you mean, 'no'?

"Harry's refused, remember? 'Tis still open."

He turns around - oh for Merlin's sake, Seamus, do you have to touch me everywhere - and he smiles at me. Seamus. He doesn't grin, he actually smiles. A true smile. One of those nice and sweet and girly ones. I'm wondering who I'm holding in my arms at the moment and where they abducted the real Seamus Finnigan to. Though he looks like Seamus. And feels like it. Not that I'd know how Seamus, specifically, would feel. Obviously. I'm not like that. Like, well, you know. That.

Next thing I know is him turning around fully to face me, sitting on his knees between my legs. I notice that his hands come up to my face all slow-motion-like again and that he's closing in to me and it's making me cross-eyed when I try to follow either movement. His breath is warm on my lips and everything gets fuzzy from there. I think I closed my eyes somewhere along the way, since I'm not being cross-eyed anymore and it's dark and I doubt that's the room doing that and there's little sparks in it and it looks amazing - I open my eyes and blink, meeting the shocked faces of the rest. Seamus sits down in his earlier position, drawing my arms around him like nothing's ever happened.

I think he just kissed me.

I think I may have liked it.

The rest of the game goes by me in a faint blur, so excuse me for the lack of detail. I just keep repeating that one thought: I liked this. But if I liked it, what does that make me? What does that say about me? And all throughout the game he just keep on sitting there, my arms still loosely folded around him. I haven't the heart or strength to move them. He's leaning so close that his body warmth is starting to affect me after some time and it's making me feel faint. It's like I can feel his every move and that just brings me back to his move earlier.

He kissed me.

Why?

Seamus nudges me out of my reverie after what seems like ages to give me an update about current events. He whispers in my ear I Truth-ed Ron about the color of his socks (which – turned out – weren't matching, the horror); who on his turn dared Neville into eating a new sort of candy from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, after which Neville had turned blue and fainted and they had all laughed. He whispers on about Neville regaining his consciousness after ten minutes and how they still hadn't stopped laughing and how Harry had poked fun at my catatonic state because I wasn't laughing with them.

I don't care about it all. I don't even care what he's whispering, as long as he just keeps doing it. I don't want to give in to the feeling, the shivers running down my spine, the goose bumps and all that, but I do. I know I really shouldn't be enjoying the way his breath ghosts over my ear, the softness in his voice that's so unusual, the way his mouth moves and how his lips sometimes touch me again while he's whispering… But I can't help it. It's like something changed and well, obviously, it did, but, you know. It's so strange.

I'm not supposed to like this stuff, am I? Poofters like this kind of stuff. Don't get me wrong, nothing against them, but I'm not - I'm, well, maybe I'm... Bollocks this. I think I like the idiot. I think I've always had a weak spot for that leprechaun and now he's gone and made it worse. Now I'm hung up about his smell; his touches; his warmth; his voice… I like it. I think. And I know I should stop now. I know I should stop giving into him, stop thinking about him in this way., but it keeps going on and on and on in my head and I can't. And I don't think I really want to. Yet, at least.

From that point on I decide it's official: I'm crazy. And apparently, I'm crazy for him. Who would've thought?

And if I'm crazy anyway, I'd like a little more of it. It's nice. In a weird, strange sort of way. So when he turns around to check up on me to see if I'm listening, which I'm not, I lean in.

"Bloody hell, Dean! I said cuddle up, not French kiss him!"

"They're not -"

"Yes they bloody well are! Seamus!"

I jump up at the screaming – well, I try – and notice that I'm – again – trying to lip-lock with Seamus. How did that happen? I seem to have a serious self-control issue here. Not that's not the preferable option compared to, eh, who was screaming again?

"Ron!"

Oh, yeah.

"Seamus!" Ron yells right back at him.

What just happened? And why am I asking myself the same 'what?'-question over and over again? What is it with that word anyway? I see Harry switching gazes between the two too and I try to catch his. He shrugs at me, then looks away again. That's not very helpful, now is it, Harry?

"We weren't kissing!"

"Yeah, well you two poofters were sucking face like your life depended on it! I do call that kissing!"

Ron's turning all red now, giving him the appearance of a human torch. Or a tomato on fire. Doesn't look good on him and it's not a very safe thing either. I've been brought up with the thought that it's unwise and dangerous to play with fire, but I don't think anyone ever calculated an angry Weasley in. Though I guess, re-thinking that, that playing with an angry Weasley could very well relate in danger to fire.

"Well, 'twasn't tongue!"

"I don't even want to know that!"

"Then shaddup about it!"

And surprisingly to all of us, Ron does. He doesn't stop shooting glares our way though. I've never seen Seamus this angry, jumping up and looking vaguely flammable like that. He's more of a happy-go-lucky-and-peace-dude kind of guy, if you get what I mean. Not that he's a hippie or anything, he's just normally very happy. Smug happy. A very smug-happy-hyper-Irish-lad. Or brat. And not angry. Basically. Yeah. Do I make any sense to you? Because if I'm not, you should tell - Oh, okay then. Well, continuing. Sorry for that bit.

"So." Harry breaths in deeply, ignoring both Seamus's and Ron's glares. "Who's turn was it again?"

Silence and incredulous stares. I told you he was the bravest. What, I have!

Suddenly Neville pipes up, nervously muttering it's his turn to feed someone twin-produce. He's still not over it that they laughed about him, I guess. Ron blanches considerably at his statement and the rest of us all look a bit uncomfortable at the thought of eating prank-candy. I immediately decide that if Neville picks me, it'll be a Truth, no matter what. Even if that means he can ask me about Seamus and me. Which I actually, very truthfully, don't know so much about yet. It's not like we discussed things in detail or planned this all beforehand, it just kind of happened. And it's probably nothing anyway, right?

Okay, well, everything but that then, but I'll take the risk over Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes any time. At least the Truth's not deadly. I hope. And the more I think about it, the more I think that Seamus is just being his normal Seamusy happy flirty self. Actually, I'm quite positive about that fact. I think. Though that doesn't explain everything, but it explains enough.

So, Seamus would happily flirt for kicks with anyone, even if that includes kissing his best friend, his male friend to top that. Little shirt-lifter. Most definitely then, actually. Kicks, you know. Just his normal flirty self. And you're an idiot for thinking it to be more Dean, completely and utterly insane. But we'd established that. But - Oh, I've sank, when exactly did I start fighting with myself?

Neville taps the bottle, almost knocking it of its place, clearing his throat.

"Harry."

Two very relieved faces show themselves. Ron's – the colour is even going back to normal again – and mine. Seamus doesn't seem to care much about what's happening around him, not that I can see his face from the back like this, but he's making himself more comfortable – or am I just imagining things now – while Harry groans softly.

"Truth, of course. Not going to risk any Wizard Wheezes, I'm not a guinea pig."

Harry answers snappily before Neville can even ask something. The round brown-haired boy tries to scowl back, but fails miserably. 'Intimidating glares' and 'Neville' just don't go together. It's like water and oil, or like that one time I was out of acrylics and I tried covering with watercolors and oil paints and - well that ended up horribly anyway. Neville seems to have given up on trying to glare and scare Harry and instead tries to come up with a good Truth. What he ends up asking is another one of those lame how-is-your-love-life-doing?-Truths.

"So, a-are you currently seeing anyone?"

Harry doesn't answer immediately, but looks down to his feet and blushes slightly. Ron is muttering something to him, I can't really hear well. The only words I can pick out are 'better not', Ginny', 'take back', 'alive' and 'one piece'. Judging at Ron's face on thunder, I'm almost afraid of what he just said. I'm assuming it's some kind of dead-threat, I was just hoping he'd be calmed down a bit. Harry shushes him by exclaiming loudly he's never been interested in Ginny, which earns him a glare from Ron anyway. Then he starts to laugh a bit embarrassed. If I didn't know any better, I swear -

"I - erm, am?"

"You are? Who? Do we know her?"

Neville shoots him a wondered stare. No one really noticed him going on dates with anyone after the Cho-fiasco, as he calls it. Really, he barely goes out alone either. Harry still doesn't answer, but he's turning progressively red now, making him look like an even more weirdly shaped tomato than Ron earlier. I'm beginning to think they spent too much time together.

"You have to tell anyway, mate. The game'll make you."

Harry just mutters something in response, gaze still downcast. Seamus goes at it in his annoying singsong voice: "We don't hear you…" What comes next leaves us all speechless and slack-jawed. I mean, I thought I had it bad.

"Draco."

"Draco Malfoy?"

Neville, really, you had to ask? Ron is now steadily turning into a Human Torch again. I told you they spend too much time together.

"The ferret! How can you - What -" Ron pauses briefly, his eyes dilating and he goes on to sputter, "Wait, you're GAY?"

In all the confusion, Seamus shoots me a quick glance, grins and snuggles up – it's all in my head, all in my head, all in my head – a bit further to me, if that was even possible in the first place.

"So, next?"

"I'm telling you, I don't like boys! Not like that," Harry repeats exasperated, for the millionth time or so. I've not heard them all, but I think I can make a good guess at it. They've been at it for almost an hour after all.

"No, just Malfoy!"

"No - I - He - Not - Just - Hermione!"

"Well, you're dating him!"

"Actually Hermione, I'm not sure Malfoy's even human enough to date. Either way he's still ugly and evil," Ron says, nudging her.

"I really don't think here is -"

"Harry's right, we should really move to somewhere less public."

"And what do you want, the library? We should talk sense into him! I mean, c'mon, Malfoy! It's just not right!"

"Not here," Hermione hisses back at him. I think. I can't really hear, but I try to lip-read my way into the conversation.

Seamus rolls his eyes at me, tilting his head to where Harry, Ron and Hermione are seated. They're sitting at almost the other side of the common room, but I can still all too clearly overhear what the trio is so busily discussing. And so did the rest of the room apparently, for everyone fell silent after Ron's first infuriated calling out of "Malfoy!" Which is probably why Harry's attempting to save face and insisting they'd discuss it elsewhere. Really, it's a pity the dorms are one sex only, else they could just go there instead.

Harry turns a rather brilliant shade of red in his moments of silence and makes a wild run out of the common room, followed by Ron and Hermione and the eyes of about all the room's occupants. Not everyone's though, for Seamus had returned to look at me. I only stare back at him, faintly mesmerized by that warm inviting brown. It's such a nice, sunny color, with shimmer and shadows and little flecks that I'd like to capture on canvas or paper.

And the more I look into them, the more it's like I'm pulled into them.

And he stares back.

And then he blinks.

I look away, blinking too. That was… Weird. No other way to describe it.

I feel the chair moving, he's shifting. Uncomfortable? We're sitting in one of the chairs near the fire, him on the arm seat, talking about Quidditch and homework for the past hour, or hours, who knows. Our only interruption was Harry yelling and bickering a few metres away from us just now.

"They still going on about Malfoy, eh," Seamus speaks softly, on a hushed tone. "I don't know what their problem is, really. So it's a bloke, so what."

He looks down at the ground, dangling his feet a few inches above the floor. He sounds and acts awfully subdued, very un-Seamus-like. It's making me feel queasy and weird inside. If it got Seamus this silent, it must've struck him really hard. I don't like it when he's silent like this.

"I mean," he continues, still not looking up, "it's Malfoy and Malfoy's a right prick, has been a total arse to them and all of us for years and stuff, I get that part, you know." He kicks the chair. "But they're just making it a right mess, you know, trying to talk it out of him. Like he's not good enough to decide upon his own life." Seamus kicks the chair again, a bit harder this time. The monotone sound seems misplaced in the room. "I mean, he must've changed a bit if they're together now, nay? 'Tshouldn't matter if Malfoy's a bloke then, right?"

He looks up to me, mouth twitching. I look back. I don't really know what to say, so I guess.

"'Course. They shouldn't attack Harry for choosing a bloke over a girl." Seamus eyes lit up a bit. "Even if said bloke is Malfoy. Still think he's an arse though," I add in afterthought. Seamus smiles and hits me on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, he's not exactly friendly to us," I defend myself.

"Not extremely hostile either, not anymore. And he's cute." He grins at me while I stare back – I don't do much else nowadays, do I – wide-eyed. Something just literally popped in my head, like a vein or something. "Well, he is."

I keep gaping.

"He is! Ask around! All the girls say so," he mutters defensively. Some of his grin falters. I still can't get a word out. Just for a minute I thought, you know. Things. Maybe I'm just being too hopeful. Or just plain stupid.

"I bet he'll disappoint the lot of them if that's true."

Seamus nods. "That pair will cause crying, sobbing and break-downs through at least half of the school. Girls love the both of them like they did Lockhart, it's crazy." He jumps down on the floor and places his hand against his forehead, as if he's going to faint theatrically in some sort of play. "Oh woe is us, our two favourite bachelors ended up dating each other! Where did we go wrong? What can we do in a world where all the good guys are gay?"

I really can't help but laugh. He flashes a grin back and winks, motioning with his head to his 'crowd of spectators', mainly containing third-years and below. Loves the attention all right, he does. I bet he'd love a stage to stand on. Even a fruit-crate would probably be enough.

"Oh straight men, throw yourself at our feet, for we need solace and comforting after such shock!"

To illustrate his last sentence he falls down in my lap and pulls my arms around him, shooting me a quick glance, but ignoring my bewildered look. The crowd laughs. He always knows what to do.

"Shay…"

"Yeah?"

Innocent voice. If this is going to lead to some kind of mind-game, I'll kill him with my own bare hands. And probably some painting supplies.

"What the heck are you doing?"

"Entertaining our public. And you're straight."

Says who, you?

"If I said I wasn't, would you please get off me."

"Nope."

"Drama queen."

"I know."

"You should start up a Drama Club."

"Thank you."

He looks up, smiles, sweet and fake. I roll my eyes at him. He should really know better.

"That wasn't a compliment, you dork. And where did you get your lines from anyway? Some Ravenclaw's been lending you Shakespeare again?"

"I'm a natural poet," he answers slyly. "You just never noticed."

He quickly leans forward and brushes his lips past my cheek. In the same movement, he falls down again.

"Queer," I snort.

"Love you too, Dean."

The teasing tone is hard to miss, but it still makes me skip a heartbeat or two. By now, I really, honestly, don't know what to think of this all. I'm just confused. For some reason, we've been twirling and dancing around each other for this whole time. He kissed me, twice, or trice if you count the drama in the Common Room just now. Though, granted, that was more of a peck, but still. He hasn't even left my lap yet. And I haven't moved my arms yet. Neither of us has moved, actually, apart from that little stunt just now.

And I know the crowd must be watching, but I don't care. I think he's forgot all about them. It's getting rather unnerving by now.

But I mean, it was his Dare to kiss him, wasn't it? And it was him who kissed me back the second time on his own accord and defended us. And it was him who kissed me the third time. Pecked, I mean. And who said he loved me. Even if it was a joke.

He also said I was straight.

And he said a guy – Malfoy, but let's forget that little detail – was cute. No straight bloke in his right mind would ever use the word 'cute' to describe any other bloke. Even if 'all the girls say so'.

But when was Seamus ever in his right mind?

He's definitely right here, though. Laying here, sprawled over my lap. Acting like nothing special or big or important or mind-blowing happened in the past twenty-four hours. No snogging your best friend for a crazy Dare, for example. He tends to do that more often, acting like everything's normal, even when it clearly isn't. And that casualness is the thing making me wonder whether or not this is all serious and not just one big stupid experiment or joke. I'd be just like him to joke about things like this.

Like the time he touched my lips when I was sleeping, and he didn't notice me waking up until I caught his finger in my mouth and bit on it and he screamed and then we laughed about it.

Or like that time when we found a small stash of butterbeer and got completely smashed together and he looked at me with those big drunk eyes and asked me if I would mind if he kissed me and I said yes and that he was being drunk and silly and he didn't.

Or like that one time when we were wrestling and play-fighting and he ended up on all fours hovering above me, pinning me down kind of like w are now and nuzzling my neck while whispering things I couldn't hear but that made the hairs on my arms stand on end.

Jokes. Experiments. That was his explanation. He always says that. I mean it: sometimes, I can just about strangle him.

'Love', it echoed through my mind. Love. Love.

He just said he loved me.

But I'm stupid and say: "What makes you think I love you back then?"

"Intuition."

Git. I snort at him.

"You?"

"Uhuh."

He nods.

Silence.

"So do you mean it?"

Here goes nothing.

"What makes you think I would lie?"

"Experience."

I gape at him. When have I ever lied to him?

"Sure. Insult the poor lonely bloke 'cause he can't defend himself. Come on people, original insults are worth more points!"

"You're not lonely," I cut him off. "And you're perfectly capable of defending yourself when angered," I snicker, thinking back at the game.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." I pause. "And you've got me, you know. You can't anger me. And I wouldn't want it any other way."

His hand's reaching for mine. My arms tighten around him. He looks up., craning his neck. He smiles. He grins.

"I don't think I've ever met someone so dense," he laughs.

"Ha, what about you! You -"

"Third year," he cut me off, "lip-experiment. When you bit me I started moaning, dead giveaway. I thought I was done for."

"But -"

"Fourth year, butterbeer-experiment. You were right, I was drunk off my arse, liquid courage and all."

"But I -" I'm mumbling, he places a hand on my mouth. He feels soft.

"Fifth, wrestling-experiment."

He crawls up, placing both of his legs on the outer sides of mine, effectively straddling me. I close my eyes. This will either get good or horrible and I'm not sure which I'm counting on.

"You were... whispering against my neck...?"

"Mmhmm," he murmurs. "I was -" nuzzle "- telling you -" a brush of lips "- how amazing -" warm breathing hitting my neck "- you feel -" soft kiss "- against me -" nuzzle "- like this."

I gasp and find myself repeating one single sentence over and over again, like some kind of mantra: please don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, don't -

And he doesn't. He just keeps doing that amazing thing with his lips against the skin of my neck. He's warm, breathing against my face and warm hands tracing my lips. And I know that warmth, I recognize it even before I have to open up my eyes again. I already know what I'm about to see.

"If you want to so badly you can kiss me already, you know."

He jumps up slightly.

"What gave you that impression?"

"Idiot."

"Prick."

"Berk."

"Arse."

"Queer."

"Low shot. That hurt, you poof."

I open my eyes to see Seamus half-hanging over me, smiling wolfishly.

The next part I've only been told:

When Ron stumbled in later that morning with Harry at his side to pick up some books from out of his trunk, he was greeted with an unexpected – and probably very unwanted – sight, featuring Shay and me engaged in some rather private activities. I guess we'd forgotten to draw the curtains. Harry told me he only grinned at us and ran off quickly to catch up with Ron, who was looking fairly green and complaining about nausea. We even made quite the impression: he wouldn't stop mumbling the same sentence all day in several variations: "That was just plain disgusting! Plain gross! Sickening!"

It kind of just make me giggle that I can tease Ron that easily now. Does that make me a bad person?

A/N: And oh, just because I can, I'd like to suggest some Deamus-fics to you:

'Across the Room' by CloverRock (both deamus and my beloved drarry, a double plus! So cute!)

'Gambling, Girls and Risk Taking' by CloverRock (just visit her profile, awesome deamus)