Author: NagiLite

Rating: PG-13 (for very minor cursing and slash)

Dsiclaimer: Oh yeah, I'm JK Rowling. *rolls eyes* No. I'm actually a poor High School student. If you sue me, you'll only get a few half- finished fanfics and pillow lint.

Warnings: Slash, of course...Sappy stuff. ^-^v


It hadn't happened all at once; things of great importance never do. It had taken weeks of secret looks and tormented diary entries ("I think I may be loosing my mind"..."I think I'm in love"...) for things to finally fall into place.

Because Dean Thomas was not the type of boy who ran blindly into things. He was inclined to spend long hours considering consequences and possibilities, weighing outcomes like potion ingredients. There were two activities that inevitably calmed him down--drawing, which he did quite well, and writing in a small journal his mother had bought him. Mostly, he would draw, but every once in a while the teenage angst would become too much for him, and he would just have to let the words spill out.

Truth be told, he was frightened by the whole business of romance and love and all of the other hormonal ploys. Why couldn't it be simple, like the lines he sketched down? Why couldn't it just pass him over? The Common Room was hot, due partly to the fact that he was sitting so close to the fireplace, covered in a thick blanket. It made him feel secure to a certain extent. Sweat slicked over his chocolate colored skin, not as dark as his father's, more like his mum's. He wondered where they were now--on one business trip or another, in the office, writing reports...

The simple lines joined and became a complex picture, the laughing eyes of a boy he knew well. It became the smiling lips, the high cheekbones, and the messy hair of his best friend. Strange, he thought, how everything returns to you, Seamus.

Potter, who was bent over a chessboard across from Weasley, glanced up as Dean tore up the picture. He blew a tuft of black hair out of his eyes and said, "Hey, Dean, you alright?"

"Fine, Harry."

And with that, Weasley took one of Potter's bishops.

Dean dropped the pieces onto the red carpet.


Seamus Finnigan ran towards him, hazel eyes alight.

"Dean! Dean, guess what!"

"What?" He asked, hiding his smile.

"They're throwing another Ball--Haven't said why--But they are, and it's supposed to be really cool--Food from all over the country..."

"Is that all you ever think about, Finnigan? Good food?"

"Hey, it's the way to my heart." The sandy haired boy sat in a chair next to Dean and bit his lip. "Dean, I've been thinking--Who shall we take?"


"As a date, I mean? Who'll we go with?"

"Same girls as last time, dolt. Lavender and--"

Seamus waved a hand dismissively.

"Already taken."

Dean's eyes widened. Someone must be really desperate. After all, he and Seamus had been.

"Who else is there?"

"No one," said Seamus miserably. "Except--" He perked up. "Except us. We're the only people in Gryffindor who are without dates."

"How helpful of you, Seamus."

"No, no, don't you get it, Dean? Isn't it obvious?"

Apparently not.

"We'll take each other!"

"Seamus," Dean said warningly. He was all too aware of Seamus' awkward sense of humor.

"I'm serious." Seamus grinned. "Go on, ask me. Really nicely, now. Or I might have to refuse you."

Dean feigned shock.

"How could you? With looks like these?"

And so he asked Seamus Finnigan to accompany his to this Ball, which he later came to find out was the Aphrodite Ball. Dumb name, he thought, dumber purpose. A lovers' ball. He and Seamus weren't lovers. Of course, Seamus must have been joking, right? Right?


He told himself that Seamus was kidding up until the last minute, when Seamus ducked into their closet and came out again wearing nice clothes and dress robes. Dean raised an eyebrow and said, "So you found a date after all?"

Seamus gave him an appraising glare.

"Hellooooo. Where have you been? Don't tell me you've forgotten."

"Forgotten what?"

Seamus twisted a lock of sandy hair around his finger coyly, blinking. "You promised you'd take me, dear Dean. It must have slipped your mind. I'm hurt."

Dean gulped. "You mean--We're really going to..."

"Yes. Now hurry up and get your cute little ass ready. It'll begin soon."

Cute little ass? Swallowing the uneasiness he felt following that comment, Dean reluctantly donned his black dress robes and brushed his teeth, pausing to pinch himself. It was just too surreal to contemplate, he decided.


Dean spotted Potter in the Common room, a faint blush on the suntanned cheeks. A sharp elbow (belonging to none other than Seamus Finnigan) poked itself in Dean's side.

"Did you hear? Harry's got a date with a Slytherin!" Seamus looked positively delighted at the prospect.


"Draco Malfoy..."

"Wha--Really? You're not pulling my leg, Seamus?"

The sandy-haired boy rolled his eyes. Then he locked his arm in Dean's, leading them passed a red-faced Potter and an arguing Granger and Weasley.

"Do I EVER lie to you?"

Does he really want me to answer that?, Dean wondered. He spared a last glance longingly at the Common Room, knowing very well that it was probably his last hope for sanity and safety. The warmth of Seamus' body pressed so closely to his own wasn't bad, either.


People stared. Of course, people almost always stared at Seamus for some reason or another (his magnetic personality? no, maybe his weirdness) but Dean generally kept to himself and his art. He wasn't used to it, and he didn't like it. The arm entwined in his slid down to grasp his hand, and a wide smile broke out on his friend's face as the energetic boy waved.

He just loves the spotlight, Dean thought ruefully.

Actually, Dean had been expecting something more devastating than plain surprise. Something along the lines of hate and fear. Well, surprise was good.

All attention, however, was torn off of them when Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter walked hand in hand into the Great Hall.

Dean knew when to be thankful, and he knew now was one of those times.

Pouting a little, Seamus tugged Dean onto the darkened dance-floor and immediately began what he obviously thought was an appropriate dance.

"Seamus," Dean said, pulling the boy's hands from his hips, "what on Earth are you doing?"

"Dancing. Isn't that what you do at a ball?"

Dean glanced around. The lights were low, and sweet music filled the air, sickeningly sweet. Lovers' music. Girls were dressed in low-cut robes, all in shades of red and pink. Boys were nervously holding onto the girls, uncomfortable in the dress robes. But it was unquestionably formal, a concept Seamus always found hard to grasp.

"Not...YOUR dancing. Slow dancing. We obviously won't be SLOW dancing, so let's explore the buffet--"

"What? Dean. Of course we're dancing!"


"But what?" Seamus was disappointed. "Don't you want to dance?"

Dean sputtered. It was all he could do. He wasn't sure if he could ensure the intelligence of any comment that went by his lips at that moment.


"...If you're sure."

"Why else would we come to a freakin' ball?" the Irish boy said, his accent thickening in sarcasm. "No, no, I thought we'd just, you know, stuff our faces--" he wrapped slender arms around Dean's waist, "--maybe pull a few juvenile pranks. Idiot." He snorted, and stepped closer.

Dean reflexively stepped back, gasping. He NEEDED his personal space.

Seamus punched his arm and pulled their chests together until they touched, sending tingles down Dean's spine.

"Don't run away! It's easy. See, put your hands here--" he placed Deans arms around his shoulders, shrugging a little to get comfortable. "--and move."

My God, Dean realized after a few minutes, I'm dancing with Seamus. I'm romantically dancing with SEAMUS!

He gulped nervously.

"C'mon, Dean," said a softly lilting voice. Seamus' voice. "Let's give 'em something to talk about."

Later Dean could never be sure exactly how and why it happened. The mechanics of it were unclear, but he wasn't complaining. Seamus' lips were soft over his own, insisting and strong like no girl's had ever been.

They parted for a moment, Dean in shock. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I've kissed my best friend! That thought kept running through his mind. What would people say? What would Seamus--? Seamus stared at him uncertainly. Then a square hand come to rest on Dean's cheek. Warmth.



"Did we just--?"

"Why, yes, we did."

"And you're okay with that?"

He thought about it. Rather, he tasted the idea in his mind, savoring for a moment before smiling. After all, how long had he dreamed of this very thing happening? Maybe not quite like this, but close enough.

A very, very long time. Because he wasn't one to rush blindly into things. He had to be sure. And he was.

And the other people didn't matter anyway.

"Yeah, if you are."

Their lips rejoined and Dean decided he liked it better than even his art.


Author's Notes: Okay. I try never to put the AN at the top of the page, because it might influence the reader's opinion before the story's even read. ^-^ But this is the first slightly serious Harry Potter fic I've ever let anyone read...So PLEASE review! I shall be eternally grateful if you do! (Oh, and the title doesn't really have anything to do with the fic except that it's a cool line in a song I was listening to.)