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Time for a Harry Potter fanfic. Tis my first. (First written, not first posted) Deamus, as I mentioned earlier.
Warnings: slash, abuse, swearing, attempted suicide, and overdramatic amounts of angst
Actually I’m not sure. I’m just sprinkling around British terms to make it sound authentic; I’m not precisely sure what they all mean. Also, at one point I say something like ‘manners dictate that… yadda yadda’, but I’ve actually no idea what the manners would dictate. I’m just inferring from what I’ve read in the books. You see, I’m not really British. I just wish I were.
Oh, nearly forgot: I don’t own Harry Potter or any related themes, characters, settings, plots, blah blah blah. Just don’t sue me, ‘k? I bought all your books, isn’t that enough money for you?
PLEASE NOTE: I am aware that domestic abuse is a very serious subject. I’m not trying to… damn, I can’t think of good words right now. Point is, I’m sorry if anyone is offended. I know my shitty writing skills do no justice as to how terrible and serious it really is. Please don’t flame me for that.
Actually, one can. And that one specific someone was right in the middle of the ruckus going on in the room. And by “in the middle,” we really mean “encouraging the trouble by doing nothing about it.” Harry Potter sat at one of the small round tables in the middle of the room, reading a book and effectively ignoring the shouting match going on above his head between his best friends, Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger. Harry was the only one with the power to shut the other two up, but he simply couldn’t seem to bother himself tonight. In fact, he looked more at peace with himself than he had in a long time. Not bouncing-up-and-down-happy, per say, but at peace.
Naturally, this agitated Dean more than anything else. He had taken a strong disliking to “the boy who lived” ever since Harry had stolen the one thing that Dean had wanted more than anything else in the world: the sandy-haired Irish boy named Seamus Finnegan.
Not that Dean would ever admit this. He was having problems as it was dealing with his feelings for the other boy. It really wasn’t fair, though. Dean had been right on the verge of confessing everything when Harry had popped up and asked Seamus out. Okay, it didn’t happen quite that fast, but the fact still remained. Harry had, in essence, put his foot down on all of Dean’s wishful thinking and ground it into the dirt.
Now, a braver boy than Dean might have marched right up to them and confessed everything anyway—Dean often fantasized a scenario in which this happened and Seamus immediately dropped Harry in favor of the dark-skinned boy, admitting that he had always loved him more anyway—but Dean was not a braver boy than Dean. Instead, he chose the path of least resistance and agreed to be Ginny’s shoulder-pet (which isn’t really a phrase but should be, meaning a boyfriend who is only there so the girl can gain the social status that comes with having a boyfriend) while continuing to watch his beloved from afar.
Dean groaned when he realized that the only way to get to the haven of the boy’s dormitory, and his secret brooding spot, was to pass right between the bickering teens. Steeling himself so as not to get dragged into this particularly nasty scrap (spells had apparently been fired—Hermione’s hair was florescent green and the wall behind Ron had scorch marks on it), Dean headed towards the spiral staircase to the dormitory. “’Scuse me…” he muttered, forcing his way between Hermione and Ron, who were both trying to get hold of the other’s throat.
“Dean! You’re with me on this one, eh mate?” said Ron loudly, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and preventing his escape.
“I really don’t have an opin—“
“Don’t be stupid, Ron!” Hermione spat, “Dean has a brain—unlike some people I could mention…”
“Look,” said Dean, trying to get away before he was roped in and forced to take a side, “I’m just trying to get upstairs. If I could just—“
“Dean, c’mon,” implored Ron, “just tell Hermione she’s wrong and then you can go upstairs.”
“Blackmail, Ron? And here I thought you couldn’t sink any lower…”
“Oh shut up, you little…” Ron released Dean to lunge at the girl, and Dean took the opportunity to scurry up the stairs to safety. Unfortunately, Harry called out to him before he could escape.
“Oy, Dean! You seen Seamus? Can’t find ‘im anywhere…”
Dean fumed and resisted the urge to run back down the stairs and smack the other boy. He knew that if he was anyone else, Harry would not have asked. Dean was convinced that Harry knew how he felt about Seamus and just loved to torment him about it. Dean just shook his head without looking back and continued up the stairs.
He closed the dormitory door a bit harder than was meant, causing Neville’s exploding-snap card castle to, well, explode. “Oh, hullo Dean,” said Neville pleasantly, gathering up the cards and starting to rebuild.
“Sorry,” muttered Dean, nodding to the cards and the ash on Neville’s face.
“Oh, no bother,” said Neville, “it’s been blowing up every few seconds because of the two downstairs…” The room shook slightly and the card castle exploded again as Hermione shrieked something in Latin.
“What are they even on about?” asked Dean, walking to the window and opening it.
“What are they not on about?” replied Neville, carefully positioning two cards so they wouldn’t topple over.
“Good point,” Dean sniggered. “I’m going to go brood for awhile… if anyone asks, I’m in the library.”
“Library. Right-o,” said Neville distractedly, building a second tier to his castle.
What he found was the edge of the roof, which had a substantial lip for him to hold on to. Interested by this discovery, Dean twisted and repositioned himself until he was standing on the windowsill and facing the roof. The roof was not, in fact, a perfect cone, as it looked from the ground. There was an indent about halfway up that ran all around the roof, as if someone had cut the cone into three pieces and removed the middle piece. The lip on the edge of the roof enabled Dean to pull himself up, and he scrambled up the sloping roof to the indent. It was flat and the perfect width to sit on, like it had been purposely built as a bench.
Dean had spent the rest of the night sitting up there staring at the stars and brooding. He came to refer to it as his “secret brooding spot,” and continued to come up night after night. One time, Neville had caught him climbing back through the window early one morning, and Dean didn’t see the harm of admitting to Neville where he was going. As it turned out, Neville already knew about the roof—he’d discovered it last year when he himself was considering jumping out the window, right after Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had seen his parents in St. Mungo’s. However, Neville had the grace to never ask Dean what he was brooding about, and for that Dean was grateful.
About a month later, Dean had come across a seventh-year boy sitting on the roof. After an hour or so of talking, Dean had found out that the other boy had also discovered the roof while trying to leap out a window. It was quite eerie, actually.
In any case, when Dean emerged onto the roof, the sky was smeared with gold and scarlet as another sunny Saturday came to a close. Dean pulled his legs in until he was sitting crossed-legged on the flat indent of the roof. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the sun-warmed stone shingles, letting the warmth of the setting sun wash over him, easing his tension.
Somebody sniffled.
Dean’s eyes sprang open and he sat up straight, listening. He got onto all fours and crept around the roof, following the curve of the indent/bench. There was someone sitting on the other side. A boy slightly smaller than himself was hiding in the shadow of the roof, his arms wrapped around his knees, which were pulled tight to his chest.
“Hello…?” called Dean softly.
The boy’s head, which had previously been resting on his knees, jerked up and he looked around wildly for the source of the voice. He quickly wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand—possibly to rid them of tears—as Dean drew nearer.
“Hey, kid,” said Dean in what he hoped was a non-threatening voice, “is everything all…Seamus!” The Irish boy jumped at the sound of his name and whipped around to face Dean. Sandy-blonde hair fell in unkempt locks in front of forest green eyes, which had the texture of charcoal pencil marks after you rub them with your finger. They were also red from crying.
“Seamus!” said Dean again. “What’s wrong?” he asked, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“N-nothing,” said the other, “I was just… just…”
“…trying to jump out a window?” Dean finished for him.
“What? No! I mean… why…?”
“…would you do such a thing? I’ve no idea,” said Dean. “Why would I know? Well, you must’ve tried at some point, because everyone else who’s found this roof has.”
Seamus swallowed nervously. Dean said quickly, “I’m not going to make you tell me what’s wrong if you don’t want to talk about it. But, you know, if you need something, I’m here for you.”
“Thanks,” said Seamus softly. They both sat in silence for a long while, watching the shadow over them grow longer as the sun set behind them. Suddenly, Seamus blurted out, “Dean? Do you—do you think I’m pathetic?”
“What? No, of course not! You’re my best mate; why would I think that?”
“Some people do,” said Seamus miserably.
“Well those people are gits. Don’t listen to them. You’re not pathetic. You’re smart and funny and one of the few people around here I can have a competent conversation with…” …and gorgeous and you have that beautiful accent… Dean continued in his head.
“You forgot brave,” said Seamus bitterly.
“Huh?”
“I don’t even know why I was put in Gryffindor,” said Seamus unhappily, resting his chin on his knees. “I can’t stand up to anybody.”
“You stood up to Malfoy pretty well the other day with that brilliant hex,” said Dean with a smirk, “he was walking around with a tail for the rest of the day…”
Seamus smiled too, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I s’pose. But he’s just an idiot. I mean I can’t stand up to anybody who matters.”
Dean was puzzled. “Like who?”
“Like I dunno… people. Like my mother. Or… people,” he finished lamely.
“Everyone has a tough time standing up to their parents,” said Dean. “They’ve been figures of absolute authority since birth. When you think about it logically, I could easily take down my mother in hand-to-hand combat, but I still wouldn’t dare argue with her about who takes out the garbage.”
Seamus snickered. “I s’pose,” he said again. But then he sighed and looked as sad as ever. Dean got the distinct impression that it was these other “people” who were really getting Seamus down, but he felt it would be rude to pry; especially since he’d already promised he wouldn’t.
The sun was all but gone now, and scattered stars were beginning to make themselves known. Dean checked his watch and said, “Hey, time for dinner. Excellent; I’m starving. You coming?”
Seamus sniffled one last time, then said, “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.”
“Good,” Dean repeated. The two boys crawled back around the roof to the window. Dean climbed through first, just as the dormitory door closed.
“Hullo, Dean,” said Neville, putting his pack of cards back in his trunk and getting ready to go down to dinner. “You just missed Harry and Ron.”
“Shame,” said Dean without an ounce of sincerity. He turned to help Seamus clamber through the window. As he pulled him through, the sleeves of Seamus’ robes rode up his arms, revealing his wrists. The pale skin was marred with dark bruises. “Seamus! What…?!”
“Nothing. C’mon, I’m starved,” said Seamus quickly, shaking his sleeves back down and heading swiftly for the door.
“Oh, hullo Seamus! Didn’t know you were up there too…” said Neville. The door closed in his face. Neville just shrugged. “Must’ve had a rough day. You know, the be up on the roof.”
“Er, yeah, I suppose so,” said Dean in a dazed voice. “Shall I wait for you, or…”
“Oh no, I’m ready to go. Come on,” said Neville, leading the way out the door and down the spiral staircase.
After an uncomfortable half-hour, Harry got up and stretched. “I think I’ll take a walk,” he announced, as though everybody else actually cared. “Fancy coming, Seamus?”
The sandy-haired boy looked up, caught off guard. “Oh, well, actually…” his eyes met Dean’s for the first time since they’d first met up on the roof earlier that evening. He looked a lot more anxious than the situation really called for. “I was going to…” he trailed off, looking up at Harry. Then he frowned slightly and said, “Sh-sure Harry. ‘Course I’d fancy a walk.”
The others ignored this entire exchange, but Dean watched warily. Some thing seemed… off. He could have sworn that Harry had thrown him a dirty look. Seamus climbed clumsily off the bench, and as soon as he was upright, Harry wound an arm tightly around his waist in what Dean thought was a slightly overprotective way.
As soon as the double doors had swung closed behind them, Dean stood up and mumbled, “I’m library figuration essay.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m going to go to the library—I have to finish my Transfiguration essay.” This proclamation was met with uninterested nods and a few “whatevers.”
Dean made his way through the castle, trying to pick up Harry and Seamus’ trail. His feet were on autopilot, occasionally taking him through secret passages or up moving staircases without him noticing. The castle had a way of helping you get places if you wanted it badly enough, and that’s why, only scant minutes later, Dean heard voices. He paused in a shadow around the corner from where the voices seemed to be coming from.
“Where’ve you been all evening, eh?” said Harry’s voice, rather sharply. “Hiding from me or something?”
“N-no Harry, I was just…”
“Hanging out with your good buddy Dean again? You two spend an awful lot of time together. Just what are you and Dean doing all the time?” Harry spat the other boy’s name hatefully.
“Nothing Harry, just talking….”
“But you can’t talk to me, can you? No, you have to go talk to Dean…”
“Y-you and Ron always hang out,” Seamus’ voice pointed out softly.
“But Ron’s not gay,” snapped Harry’s voice.
Dean did not like the direction in which this conversation was going.
“D-Dean’s not… I mean, I didn’t think…”
“Yeah, right. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him when you think I’m not looking. What do you think you’re trying to pull, anyway?”
Dean really didn’t like the direction in which this conversation was going.
“No Harry, honest! I would n–never…”
The sound of skin hitting skin drove Dean over the edge. He rushed around the corner, pulling his wand out of his pocket. But there was no one in the hall.
“H-Harry… let go. You’re hurting me,” whimpered Seamus.
“Don’t be so pathetic.”
Dean spun in circles, trying to find where they were. There was a dull thud followed by a muffled little yelp. Dean honed in on the sound and traced it to a tapestry to his left. He ripped the tapestry right off the wall to discover a side-passage that was dimly lit by one lonely torch.
Harry was pressing Seamus up against a wall, their mouths crushed together in a kiss that had nothing to do with love and everything to do with control and possession. Harry’s fingers were wrapped tightly around Seamus’ wrists, fitting exactly to the bruises already there. The sudden burst of light from the other hallway caught both boys’ attention. Harry jerked his head back to see who had come in. The dazed, slightly cross-eyes expression on Seamus’ face suggested that the dull thud had been the back of his head hitting the stone wall. There were tears pouring down his cheeks, and a thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. When Harry realized that it was Dean who had interrupted him, he released one of Seamus’ wrists and his fingers immediately flew towards his pocket.
“Go for the wand and I’ll hex you into next week,” snarled Dean, raising his own wand higher and taking a step forward.
“Get lost, Dean. This doesn’t concern you,” Harry retorted, though he eyed Dean’s wand warily.
“To hell it does! Just what do you think you’re doing, Potter?!” This in and of itself was a major denouncement— manners dictated that friends don’t refer to each other by surname. “Leave him alone!”
Harry moved so he was standing between Seamus and Dean. “You leave him alone, Dean. Stop lusting after my boyfriend.”
Dean was incensed. “Me, lust?! No, Potter, you lust. I love. There’s a huge difference. When you love someone, you want to make them happy. You take care of them and protect them—and you certainly never mistreat them.”
“I do not mistreat—“
“Oh?” Dean said, taking a step forward ”Then tell me why he’s bleeding. Tell me why he’s crying and bruised and afraid of you. You’re a monster, Potter,” he spat.
Now it was Harry’s turn to get angry. “I’m not a monster! I’ve saved everybody from Voldemort more times than I can count! I’ve suffered more than you can possibly imag—“
“Oh don’t start,” snapped Dean. “If you’ve suffered so much, then I’d think you’d want to do everything in your power to prevent other people from suffering. Instead, you’re taking your frustrations out on other people. Does it make you happy to hurt him?” Dean glanced at Seamus, who was crying even harder—albeit silently—and trying to twist his arm out of Harry’s grip. “Does it make you feel better to transfer your pain to other people? Because you know, if you’re getting pleasure from other people’s pain then you’re no better than you-know-who himself!”
There he struck a nerve. Harry finally released Seamus, who slid down the wall behind him. Then he marched right up to Dean and hissed in his face, “I am nothing like Voldemort.”
Dean didn’t even flinch. “Tell that to Seamus,” he retorted coldly. “Now get lost, or I’ll report you to Professor Dumbledore for beating up other students.” Now here was a threat with real teeth. Harry wanted more than anything to look worthy in the Headmaster’s eyes. He threw the two other boys one last filthy look before stepping over the fallen tapestry and taking off down the hall.
As soon as he was out of sight, Dean shoved his wand into his pocket and half ran, half slid over to where Seamus was huddled on the floor against the wall. “Seamus,” he said consolingly, getting down onto his knees, “Shay, mate, are you all right?”
Seamus choked back a sob, staring at his feet. “I’m so st-stupid…” he muttered, trembling. Dean made a noise of protest, but Seamus ignored him and continued. “I n-knew he wasn’t treating me right, but I was s-so afraid he’d break up with me… Me mom and I always argue, and me dad is n-never home… but Harry said he l-loved me, and I didn’t want to b-be without him… I don’t want to feel alone anymore…”
“Seamus,” said Dean softly, lifting the other boy’s chin so they were looking eye-to-eye, “you are never alone. I’ll always be here for you.” As he said this, he used his thumb to gently wipe away the blood from the corner of Seamus’ mouth. He continued the motion and wiped the tears from his cheek with the back of his hand. Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Seamus, prompting the blonde to rest his head on Dean’s chest and weep quietly into his sweater.
They sat like that for a long time, until the blonde had cried himself dry. “Dean…?” he whispered tentatively.
“Hmm?” said the other drowsily, not bothering to open his eyes.
“Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” mumbled Dean.
“What you said before, when you were yelling at Harry. You said…” he trailed off.
Dean open his eyes and found himself looking into Seamus’ dark green ones yet again. From this distance, he could clearly see each freckle sprinkled across his nose and cheeks. “What did I say?” breathed Dean.
“You said… you loved. You weren’t referring to…”
“…you?” Dean smiled as Seamus turned bright pink. “Yes, I did. I love you, Seamus.”
Harry had said these same words dozens of times, but all of them combined didn’t hold as much actual love as one syllable of Dean’s declaration.
Something flickered in the shorter boy’s eyes; a shadow of pain and doubt suddenly being lifted as the bubbly boy he used to be came bouncing to the surface once again. He smiled, and for the first time in a long time, the happiness reached his eyes. “That’s good,” he said, in a voice not weighted with sorrow or dulled by pain. “Because I was afraid it had all just been wishful thinking.”
Interestingly enough, after that day, whenever either boy attempted to get onto the Gryffindor tower roof, they found it just barely out of their reach.
Me? Hate Harry? What would give you that idea…?
You know, I find it so interesting how lots of people who’ve never met and never spoken can all come together and decide upon something. Dean and Seamus are never really given any serious character development in the books. However, I’ve been studying all the Deamus fics I could get my paws on and all the authors seem to have unanimously decided on personalities for them. I don’t think I played into those personalities enough, but I’m still a fledgling writer.