Disclaimer: All characters and settings and everything belong to J. K. Rowling.
Warning: Seamus/ Dean slash, though nothing at all explicit.
Author's Note: What can I say, I love these two! And it snowed yesterday. This story is dedicated to Nuwanda, for writing a wonderful review for each one of my stories. My head no longer fits through doorways, thanks to you!
Sorry for the delay in getting this posted. One of my stories got deleted (Fit the Sixth, because it was in the form of a script. Gaa!) and I was forbidden to post anything for about a year as punishment. Well, a week. Anyway, I'm back now!
Silly Seamus, Poufy Snow
Seamus Finnegan skipped down one of the multitudinous corridors of Hogwarts, singing happily,
"I got a 90 on my Transfiguration test! The cow had banana-coloured spots, but it was otherwise completely and undeniably a cow!"
Following behind him at a more sedate pace was his long-suffering boyfriend, Dean Thomas. He wasn't really long-suffering, as he found every one of Seamus' irritating traits utterly endearing. Well, except for the fact that he was so bloody cheerful early in the morning, early being any time before noon. He watched as Seamus stopped by a narrow Gothic-arched window.
"It's snowing! Just when I thought I couldn't be any happier, it starts snowing! And my lovely snoggable boyfriend appears at my side! I love you, Dean, you made it snow!"
Dean looked out of the window, where a few flakes could indeed be seen falling, then back at the hyper Irish boy.
"Silly Seamus. I didn't make it snow."
Seamus reached up, burying both hands in Dean's short afro.
"I bet you did, really. Just for me."
Dean rested his forehead against Seamus'.
"How did you guess?"
Seamus shifted the angle of his head, so that their lips were almost touching.
"Luck o' the Irish," he whispered, in an exaggerated accent, and then kissed him.
Professor McGonagall swept up behind them, having followed the students out of class. She stopped and cleared her throat pointedly, noting as the boys broke apart and turned to face her that while Dean was blushing, Seamus was not. 'Impudent, adorable, scamp,' she thought. Aloud, she said sternly,
"Mr. Thomas, I believe it is one of your duties as a prefect to stop students from indulging in inappropriate displays of affection in the hallways? I hope you are not taking advantage of your status by thinking you are exempt from such rules." She wasn't angry with them—they were two of her favourite students—but she did so enjoy giving these little speeches.
"I'm sorry, professor," Seamus said, "It's my fault. I tempted Mr. Thomas, and led him astray, made him neglect his duties and forget the rules he is bound to uphold. So I apologise for being irresistible."
Professor McGonagall almost smiled, but stopped herself in time. She looked over her glasses at Dean, who was also trying not to smile, with less success. Under her scrutiny, he straightened the prefect badge that Seamus had knocked askew in his enthusiasm, and made his own profuse apologies.
"I won't take any points away this time, boys, but don't let me catch you again."
"Of course not."
"Thank you, professor."
As soon as Professor McGonagall left them, the boy's faces lost their contrite expressions, and they grinned at each other. They had always gotten in and out of trouble together, since first year. Friends passing notes in class, stealing food from the kitchens, staying up late whispering, and now boyfriends caught kissing in the hallway. Nothing much had changed.
"That's an advantage of being her star pupil," Seamus said, "90 on a test, can't beat that."
"And that's a disadvantage of being a prefect," Dean added.
"Well, maybe we should take advantage of one of the benefits, right now instead of going to study hall."
"That benefit being…?"
"That lovely great bathtub at your disposal."
"Thought you'd like it."