A/N: Guess who's late again? Yay for meeting deadlines.

I would love to give a heart-felt 'thank you' to everyone who reviewed. 'RiddlerChic', you made laugh and cry at the same time. Also special thanks to 'wolfish-willow', 'Qwinn' and 'Pessimistic Guardian Angel'. 'DarkHorseLover', you're breaking my heart.

One of the scenes between Seamus and Dean was inspired by 'FlintFyre', one of my favourite authors.

Hello to recent subscribers or first-timers! Welcome to the madness.

There are now over a thousand subscribers. It's wonderful. So thank you.

So, this is the seventh chapter. The magical number seven! I didn't plan for the content of this chapter to wait until the seventh chapter to be published, but I think that it worked out rather… magically.

(Yes, that was awful.)

(I apologise.)

More importantly, I'm not J.K. Rowling, a form of deity, or the Queen. I apologise if I've disappointed you in this revelation.

This fic contains language, sexuality, violence, original species, original characters, and drama.

*By the way, Seamus wasn't a prat last year (fifth year), as he stayed loyal to Harry, and had many arguments with his Daily Prophet reading mother.*

*Translations are in the after-chapter author note.*

All comments and questions are welcome.

Chapter Seven: A rún mo chroí

Seamus' hand flew to the shamrock charm that rested in the hollow of his pale throat. His thumb rubbed the worn gold as his cinnamon-brown eyes darted around the room, the rest of his body frozen with instinctual fear. His gaze landed on Dean, and darkened with jealousy, for Dean had frozen whilst hugging Ginny in greeting, and they had not released each other. His gaze heated to glare at Ginny, whose hands rested on the nape of Dean's smooth neck. The striapach had been practically throwing herself at Dean, and many others including Harry, for the past two years. 'Ever since she grew some cíoch and learned how to use her báltaí,' his mind supplied. His gorge rose at the thought of her báltaí, and his fright-pale skin tinged a little green.

Louder growls and the rustle of movement drew away his attention, and his heart was jumping like a hunted rabbit's as he watched the three men move towards each other, two against one, their growls shaking their shirt-fronts. The glamour had dropped off all three of the dominant creatures, and their attributes were on full display as their sized each other up, and prepared to fight for a higher spot in the hierarchy.

The Twins stood tall at six foot and three inches. They had a slightly lanky swimmer's build, with long arms and legs that ended with strong hands and big feet. Their hair was a halo of dancing flames, radiating an inch and a half from their scalps, a myriad of different shades of red, orange, and yellow. Pale, pointed ears peeked out of the fire, and their strong jaws were shadowed with stubble that shifted like smoke.

Neville was broader, with strong, wide shoulders and muscled arms. His hands were large and rough, and though he stood shorter at six feet his powerful physique and aura made him seem larger than his opponents. His face was that of a man in his late teens or early twenties, not that of the sixteen-year-old he was, and his leaf-green eyes were dark with promise. His before-tanned skin was light brown, with earthy tones and green-tinged veins instead of the human blue.

Eventually they stood inches apart, their fanged teeth bared and their eyes dark. Nostrils were flared, and breaths were deep as they scented the air between them and rumbled in their chests. They stared at each other, trying to get the other to submit to them. Neville's eyes travelled back and forth between those of the Twins, and his gaze was heavy with strength, conviction, and dominance.

Once more under the heavy gaze a traitorous whine escaped from Fred's throat, and the deep rumble in his chest quietened. He shifted his gaze from the more dominant male's, and tilted his head to the side to bare his pale throat, a gesture of submission and acceptance of a place lower than Neville in the social hierarchy.

Neville's growl changed tone momentarily as he accepted the other dominant's submission, before he turned back to George, his growl deepening further than before.

George's aura was stronger, larger without his brother by his side. The rumble that shook his shirt was almost too low for their heightened range of hearing, and he seemed taller and broader. George closed the few inch distance between them, and when they stood toe-to-toe he towered over the shorter dominant. Neville withstood the heavy, dominant gaze for a respectable time, but eventually the weight became too much to bear, and he indicated his submission in a similar manner to Fred's.

George's growl lightened to a pleased purr, and he gently nipped the bared neck before him, confirming his dominance, and ruffled the head of earthy brown curls with an affectionate hand. Neville relaxed his position as George turned to do the same to his brother, and a happy purr started in his chest.

A wide smile spread over Fred's face after both George and Neville confirmed their dominance over him, and he span around to hug his equally smiling little brother. An embarrassing squeal left Harry's throat as he was lifted and spun around, and when he started laughing some of the humans in the room relaxed, and breathed a sigh of relief. Fred passed him mid-twirl to George, who pressed a kiss to his blushing cheek before setting him down and nudging him towards Neville.

Harry's instincts warned him away from approaching an unmated, non-familial Dominant, but logically he knew that Neville wouldn't hurt him. Neville had always been loyal and gentle, and occasionally in the past he had displayed the same courage and conviction that he had just shown when negotiating the hierarchy. Neville smiled gently as Harry came closer to him and slowly opened his arms in invitation.

Harry jumped forwards into Neville's arms with a joyful laugh, and purr-like noises came from every Creature in the room at the light-hearted sound. Neville laughed deeply, and securely held Harry's waist as the Sub locked wrapped his arms and legs around him. A few moments into their embrace Harry stretched up to rub his soft cheek against the stubble-roughed one of the man holding him. He giggled (something that he would firmly deny), when Neville in turn nuzzled his neck, tickling the sensitive skin. Amongst his Pride and close friends it was not a secret that Harry was extremely ticklish.

Eventually, Harry squirmed about until his brother put him down, and once on the ground his span around smiling happily-

And froze.

They had quite the captive audience. The only two humans with neutral expressions were Seamus and Dean, whose faces were blank with shock. It was quite a surprise to discover that two of the people they had shared a bedroom with for five years were Creatures.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON?" Ron demanded, breaking the silence. His freckles stood out on his anger-paled face as his eyes flashed. The attention of the room shifted to bear down on him, and he seemed to falter momentarily, but his famous temper soon outweighed the threat the room held. His mouth ran, spouting ugly words and opinions, oblivious to anything but his desire to bitch.

"Ickle Ronnikins," Fred interrupted silkily. "We knew that you weren't the fasted broom in the cupboard, but you've surprised us this time." The other dominants nodded silently as they circled the human, growls building in their chest. This angered Ron further. His face flushed to shade of red-purple that caused Harry to flinch away, and to retreat until he was pulled into Remus' embrace. Ron puffed out his slender chest and drew himself up to his full height of just over six foot. His pale hands were clenched tightly into white-knuckled fists.


Oh, the power of the Weasley Matriarch.


The dining room was oddly quiet. The usually rambunctious group was hushed by thought or action, either by their own discipline or that of others. Quiet conversations were scattered around the table, whilst others occupied themselves with the consumption of the Toad-In-A-Hole provided by the resident chef, hostess, and matriarch, Mrs Weasley. The conversations gradually finished until the silence was only broken by the sound of cutlery scraping on plates and the occasional cough.

After the plates and dishes of the main course had been charmed away into the kitchen sink, and supportive nod from Dean, Seamus opened his mouth and addressed the flashing neon pink elephant in the room.

"So… em… what are you? I mean, Harry, Neville and the Twins?" His thumb buffed his worn charm, a subconscious habit. Looks were exchanged across the scrubbed wooden table, and many of the company automatically turned to face Hermione for the explanation. Under their expectant gazes Hermione sat up straighter in her worn chair and spread her ink-stained fingers over the table before her, as if smoothing notes.

"We have identified Harry as one of the Katyarani; a magical creature of three forms- a 'human' form, a 'true' form of a humanoid figure with the attributes of a large feline, and a 'big cat' form, that of a big cat the height of the 'human' form at the feline's shoulder. Katyarani are known for their ferocity whilst defending their Prides, and for their speed and strength.

"I'm quite sure that the twins are some kind of Fire Nymph, as they display the physical attributes that I have read about, though Nymphs are generally female…"

Two muffled growls from the 'generally female' creatures spurred her on to continue in her explanations.

"Neville, I think is something similar to a wood nymph?" She looked to Neville for assistance.

The attention of the room now shifted to him, Neville gave a kind smile and corrected Hermione.

"I am a Wood Elf."

Hermione gasped.

"But Wood Elves are extinct!"

Neville's face darkened at the thought of his hunted kin. He stared pointedly at Hermione, who quickly realised her mistake and apologised.

The company broke up soon after the apple pie had been consumed.


The room was pitch black, and Seamus and Dean could hear Ron snoring from the room across the landing.

"Shay… are you awake?" Dean whispered. The bedsprings of Seamus' cot groaned as he rolled over to face his best friend.

"Aye. Can't you sleep either? It's got to be near midnight." Seamus replied tiredly.

"No- my head's too full." Dean whispered, blinking slowly in the darkness.

"That's a new one!" teased Seamus sleepily. Dean sensed his dopey grin, and replied with a playful shove to what he guessed was Seamus' shoulder. There was silence for a few moments as the boys settled back into the warm, yet slightly scratchy sheets of their respective cots.

Seamus turned over to face Dean's cot, his hand moving to rest inches from the empty space between them. Seconds lazed by in the dusk as the Burrow creaked around them. The Irishman drew a quiet breath.

"What's yer head so full of then?" He asked softly, idly scratching the slight fluff on his jaw, the growth of that day's beard.

Dean was quiet for a few moments, collecting his thoughts as he was prone to do. Seamus waited with the patience of a long-time friend.

"Now that they're Creatures… they're going to be different, aren't they?" He asked, his voice deepened by sleep.

"Yeah, I think so… but they'll still be them, you know. Just… with touchier tempers or somethin'." A slight tone of worry betrayed his blasé reply.

Dead nodded, reassured for the moment, half asleep already as he turned to lie on his back, staring up at the darkness.

The boys were quiet once more; the soft sound of each other's breathing lulling them like the soft rocking of a hammock in a gentle breeze.

Then Dean broke the quiet, and whispered a question, as he had for years.

"Will you say something for me, Seam? In Irish?"

With a not-so-long-suffering sigh, the freckle-dusted Irishman nodded sleepily.

"What d'ya want me ta say?"

"Doesn't matter what you say," Dean replied, following the years-old script. "I'm not going to understand it."


There was a pause, as Seamus gathered his thoughts and courage.

"A rún mo chroí." He whispered into the dusky air. Secret of my heart.

"What did you say?"

"That the stars were out."

There was a moment of soft breathing as both parties fought to keep themselves under control.

"It sounded nice."


Seamus rolled over, turned his back towards his best friend. There was another beat of silence.

"Night, then." Sleep well, my muse.

"G'Night, Dean." I wish I could sleep in your arms.

They fell asleep within seconds of each other.


The scent of blooming flowers and sun-warmed grass filled his nostrils just as the warm embrace of nature filled his heart with the feeling of home. He paused for a moment to bathe in the golden light, to immerse himself in the vibrancy of the garden. The weeds flourished with the blooms and trees, insects of a hundred different colours and species danced in the gentle breeze that carried the sweetness of fallen fruit. As he listened, a gentle smile bloomed across his face, his sensitive eyes veiled from the light by pale, green-tinged eyelids.

A soft, sweet soprano drifted to him on the breeze, gently rousing him from his abstraction. The lyrics had faded in the journey, but the melody held strong like a teardrop of glass. Eerie yet auspicious, the song reminded him of his purpose in the garden.

So, with a fond smile on pale pink lips, he searched for the songbird, his quarry.

After a brief tussle with an over-friendly fern and a conversation with a rather superstitious Magpie, whose family were indeed well, he found her.

Bathed in the golden light of summer, her hair shining unbound, dancing softly in the breeze, she sang.

"Wings of silver flutter gently,

Born of flower sweet and friendly,

Bathe in nectar dance in breezes,

Float on happiness"

Before her, on the very silvered wings she sang of, fluttered a member of the Daoine Sidhe.

"Sharp as needles fierce beauty,

Gilded as the Snorkack's horn,

Crimson as drops of ruby,

My gift to you caught by a thorn"

Fierce, fanged and feared, the fae of legend demanded blood-pleasantries. Truth could be tasted in the blood, and the only way to avoid offending the ill-reputed Creatures was to offer a drop of blood.

"Blood protection sweet affection,

With your swarm allegiance lies,

A drop of blood is little payment,

For you may just save our lives"

Once a bond had been formed by blood-truth, legend states that the Daoine Sidhe are one of the most loyal and fiercely protective allies a person a can make. Once accepted, the person becomes a distant member of the swarm.

"So dance my sisters, dance my brothers,

Joyous this alliance be,

Bathe in nectar, dance in breezes,

Forever we will cherish thee."

There was a moment of quiet as the fae gazed into Luna, as if reading her every thought, past and present, and weighing the truths cradled in her soul. Slowly, the fae descended in a masterly controlled hover, his silvery wings a soundless blur, to delicately land on Luna's finger. He knelt, and with a precise wave of an elegant hand, the droplet of red was dispersed into a vaporous arch before him. The being closed his violet eyes and inhaled deeply, his petal-swathed chest swelling as gill-like protrusions fluttered on his throat. The airborne vapour was drawn into his nostril-like orifices, and after a very brief moment a thin, blue mist began to waft out of the gills. As the mist dispersed in the gentle breeze, a quiet trill, too high-pitched for human hearing, sounded from trees and bushes around the trio, led by the regal fae that had fluttered up from Luna's hand. The smell of pollen and nectar in the garden intensified as the air shimmered with half-concealed wings of fae. The trill sounds for some precious moments, before it faded out as the fae dispersed.

Luna remained stationary for a moment, a fond smile on her lips, and the gentle breeze played with the flowers in her hair.

"Hello Neville," she murmured with a smile, before swivelling around on a bare-footed heel, her long tie-dyed skirts swirling and dancing in the scent-filled air. "I was wondering when you'd come down." Their smiling eyes met, dancing green contrasting lovingly with slivered grey.

"Lunch is ready." Neville divulged, a glint in his eyes as he whispered. His reply was a tinkling, bell-like laugh and skirt-swishing twirl. Luna skipped a few paced before halting to look over her shoulder. An answering glint in her eye caused an amused smile to bloom across his hansom face.

"I know!" She sang, the ever-present radish earrings swaying as she tipped back her head to gaze at the few wisps of white cloud that decorated the robin-shell-blue sky.

"I know that you know," he growled teasingly. "Come on, I'm hungry and you are too."

Luna answered after a moment more of cloud-gazing with a giggle and an amused look, to which Neville retaliated by closing the distance between them, lifting her up, spinning her around until she was dizzy, and throwing her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. When she struggled a little he tickled the sensitive soles of her feet until she gave up. He then proceeded to escort his mildly vexatious best friend, and heart-sister, inside the Burrow for lunch.

All in a day's work.


The cheerful sound of tinkling china accompanied by soft footfalls and rustling robes drew Narcissa's attention away from watching her children play in the garden. She turned gracefully, the fond smile that warmed her face brightening in greeting and thanks as Severus set down the silver tray on which the delicately floriated china was balanced. Neither of the long-term friends spoke for peaceful breaths of time, the silence companionable as they seated themselves upon sturdy, wooden chairs that were cushioned for practical comfort. The worn table they sat at was habitually bare; however upon Narcissa's arrival small accessories such as table cloths and delicate china had materialized, often from cobweb-swathed trunks and dust-covered cupboards.

Their attention was drawn to the garden by muffled shrieks and giggles. Draco and Blaise were play-fighting, which traditionally ended with Blaise on his back in the grass, pinned down by Draco's superior bulk as the latter tickled him into submission. Ever the wily and upstart opponent, Blaise fought dirty, often flicking sparks at Draco's sensitive ears and tugging on Draco's tail with his own.

Entertained by the childish delight showcased before them, Narcissa and Severus drank their Earl Grey, nibbled biscuits, and gradually migrated together, until finally Narcissa's head came to rest upon Severus' dark-robed shoulder. It was one of her favourite pillows.

When the tea had been drunk, the biscuits diminished to crumbs, and the entertainment concluded for the hour, Severus pressed a kiss to the silken blond strands that haloed Narcissa.

"I have missed this," he murmured softly, slightly uncomfortable in revealing the emotion he would habitually restrain. "How long has it been, since we last enjoyed one another's company in this way?" There was no urgency in the conversation, a diamond in the rough of many years of strife.

"It must have been a decade, at least." She replied quietly. She breathed a long sigh, a bitter-sweet combination of exhaustion and contentment.

They remained together, isolated in a private bubble of tranquillity, for unmeasured moments of peace.

After all the time that had passed, Severus and Narcissa had learned to enjoy the little things.


They hadn't avoided the subject. Honestly. They had just been busy. Busy with the shop, busy with visiting home. Busy with testing, marketing, inventing. They hadn't avoided it at all.

But they hadn't discussed it.

After they had woken on the twelfth of July, their magic thrumming, pulsing like a beating heart around them, they had known that their Mate had Awakened. As of yet, they had not discussed this development.

Of course they weren't avoiding it.

It wasn't as though the longing of their hearts and souls, reaching out for their Mate had faded. No, if anything the ache in their chests had strengthened.

But for some reason, neither of them had felt the urge to discuss the matter. Something was yet to come, an action, an occurrence that would break the ice, the dam, and allow them to freely question and revel in the recent epiphany.

Their Mate had Awakened!

Their Mate was now of the mating age, ready to be courted, claimed, bred…


A cheerful chorus of birdsong sang through the air, accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of hundreds of bees. Sunlight glinted off blades of vibrant grass, heating the land with golden warmth. The flicking of a black tail in their peripheral vision caught the attention of the two Dominant males.

A soft, tinkling laugh rang through the glade, which caused the twins to rotate on their bare heels, amber eyes searching for the amused party. All they could find was the blur of the tail, which seemed to slip into and out of tangibility like smoke. The laughter faded, accompanied by the rustle of bare feet running on grass.

The Doms made chase.

The lush woodland that cradled the glade both absorbed and reflected sound, rendering the act of chase by sound almost impossible.

However, they would not be defeated.

They focussed instinctually on the bond, the tugging in their chest that had become a constant, aching presence that had scattered minds and occupied thoughts. Under the intense scrutiny the bond bloomed in their chests, opening up a connection that offered up the position of their prey like a mother offering a child a treat.

The hunt was on.

Ethereal wings of flame materialised on the muscled backs of the hunters, streamlining and accelerating movement. Footsteps lightened until their soles barely kissed the ground as they sped after their quarry. Their eyes and minds wide open, their nostrils flared, their eyes fierce and determined, their whole beings focused one singular thing; they made chase.

They leaped over fallen trunks, dove through slaloms of saplings, twisted away from curling vines, and fought needled brambles, only increasing the speed and fervour of their pursuit with every obstacle they encountered.

The hunt continued for unmeasured time, counted only by harsh breaths, stubborn heartbeats, and the frenzied exchange of sensory information through the bond.

They were close.

The footsteps of their quarry were fast, yet weakened, for the flight had tired the prey. As they burst through a copse of young oak trees they finally caught sight of the one that had haunted the back their minds.

Leaves and cobwebs were caught in dark, wavy hair that was damp with exertion. Lean muscles strained under darkly tanned skin.

When they entered the very clearing that had hosted the beginning of the hunt their prey stumbled over a small clump of grass, and was off-balanced by the great weight of their leathery wings. The small form tottered and began to fall, only to be caught at the last moment by two pairs of pale, muscled arms.

The bond seemed to explode in a cacophony of emotions, hormones, and sensations. All three Creatures gasped, shocked by the bombardment of feeling.

Moments passed uncounted, the bondmates isolated in a sphere of sensation until finally, the bond settled with the abruptness of an elastic band snapping into place.

Scents flooded the embracing triad; cinnamon, hot ginger, baked apples, warm cotton, gunpowder, warm rain, tiramisu, and spiced hot chocolate.

Air around them began to flicker, the dream fading away.

The final exchange through the bond before they were torn apart was hurried, but ultimately what they desired.




"We will find you, little one."



A rustling of sheets and the quickening of breaths first alerted Draco to his brother's disquiet. The exhausted sub had climbed into bed with him and fallen asleep on his chest after a long, entertaining day of playing in the hidden garden of Spinner's End. Blaise very rarely slept alone, for without the presence of a more dominant pride member he felt vulnerable and he was plagued by flashbacks and nightmares that were triggered by the anxiety that solitude evoked.

Over the course of the warm night Blaise had wriggled and writhed out for under the light linens of Draco's bed, sporadically emitting soft growls and whines that were often accompanied by twitches of his tail and wings. A soft sheen of sweat now shrouded his body, and his breaths came quick, often catching in his chest.

The growls and whines increased in volume, and were joined by yips of excitement and grunts of exertion. The volume rose accompanied by the twitches, until Blaise's body vibrated with tension.

He suddenly went still, and began to mutter.

Suddenly, a clear word broke through.



"He never fails to amaze me. Every day I realise how far we can to losing him, and how many times we dodged the hex." He chuckled wetly, his throat catching.

"He's so precious, Siri. So bloody precious. I'd be lost without him; I'd be with you now, wherever you are." His throat constricted as his amber eyes welled with guilt and sorrow.

"Every day he heals. He grows silent less and less, eats more, relaxes more, laughs more. He barely flinches anymore when someone makes a particularly loud noise." He smiled wryly as a tear escaped the confines of his eyelashes.

"I wish you were here."

A tear fell onto the faded picture he held gently between callused fingers; a droplet of old sorrows on a youthful, smiling face.

Sirius grinned cheerfully and winked at the camera, a glimpse of the man he would soon become gleaming in his intelligent eyes. The captured image was oblivious to the torment of his soon-to-be-mate, so contained he was in his snapshot of joy.

"We miss you, Siri."

"So much."


He'd made up his mind. He knew what he wanted, what he had wanted for a long time, and he was going to get it. Hermione.

He wanted Hermione. He wanted to bury his hands in her frizzy hair and push her face into his crotch. He wanted to fondle the perky breasts that she so teasingly hid behind frumpy shirts and jumpers. He wanted to drag her attention away from Harry, the little shit, and her books, and have her only focus be him. The King.

He was so sick of being the side-kick, the younger brother, the poor, gangly ginger in the corner.

He would have Hermione.

He would be a man.

He would be her king.


"Cub, calm down!" Remus chided gently. Harry had been bouncing off the proverbial walls for the last hour or so, as the nerves of the morning had morphed into the exhilarating anticipation of his first full moon run with Moony. Harry was currently rolling around in the long grass at the edge of The Burrow's garden, a no-mans-land of a breadth of twenty feet between the woodland and the gnome-infested garden. Occasionally Harry would pause to bat at a moth that fluttered by his furred face, or to leap upon a cricket that sounded in the grass. In response to his instruction, Remus received only the flick of a velveteen black ear.

The moon was currently shrouded by cloud and mist, as it had been for quite a while.

Though it was somewhat tiresome, Harry's exuberance calmed Remus' nerves. He had never before ran with Harry during the full moon, and though he knew Moony saw him as their cub, he couldn't help but worry that something would go wrong.

As the night proved, however, Remus' fears were unfounded.

When the moon was finally released from its molecular cage, Remus transformed smoothly and somewhat painlessly into Moody, encouraged by the cub-like yips and grunts that Harry emitted. The two sentient animals nuzzled and scent-marked each other with the glands on their cheeks, revelling in the familiar bond they shared. They soon set off to play in the woods.

Bats were chased, the moon was greeted by yowls and howls, and the occasional snack was found rustling in the undergrowth.

By call of the lark at dawn, the two were covered in the debris of the undergrowth, flecked with mud and water from the occasional puddle, and thoroughly exhausted.

With a final melodious call of farewell to the moon that had enabled the night's excitement, the enervated pair retired to their bedding.


They woke snuggled together, cocooned in mud-smudged, leaf-strewn nest of old sheets and blankets. They were both exhausted after their long night of excitement, yet they were content. Thought their muscles aches, their hearts and minds were at rest- they felt happy and safe.

They hadn't felt so in a very long time.

They spent the rest of the day sharing cuddles, reading to each other, and playing around sleepily.


A hand on his shoulder jolted Dean from his artistic focus, causing him to jolt the pencil across the page, ruining the sketch he had been working on. He gave a frustrated sigh, flipped the sketchpad closed, and turned to berate whoever had ruined his work.

"Oi, could you not-"

"Hiya, Dean!" Ginny interrupted, smiling brightly as she flipped her long, red hair over her practically bare shoulder.

"Hi Ginny." He replied, his frustration ebbing a little- she hadn't ruined his work on purpose. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, I just wanted to have a chat." She stated idly, playing with her necklace as she looked at him through her magically darkened and thickened lashes. Dean swivelled on his wooden stool so that he could face her properly. He rubbed a charcoal-smeared hand over his curls in an effort to lift away the vision that had forced his pencil to paper.

"Alright…" He replied confusedly.

"I wanted you to know that I've see the way you've been looking at me." She told him, her eyes sparking with mischief. Dean furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Looking at you?" He asked. Ginny giggled prettily, and hit him gently on the arm. Her hand lingered after the action.

"Shush, silly, you don't need to act shy- I know what you want." She stepped even closer to him, moving her pushed-up breasts onto his eye-level. "I know what that look in your eye meant, Dean."

She leant forward to whisper into his ear, her glossed lips but millimetres from his flesh.

"You want me, baby. And I might just let you have me."

Before he had a chance to react, she swooped in and placed her lips on his.

A gasp from the doorway caused Ginny to pull away.

All they saw were the last wisps of Seamus' hair.


"Shay-" He called, catching Seamus by his arm.

"What?" Seamus shook him off and continued to stomp his way through the house.

"It wasn't- It wasn't what it looked like." He called at Seamus' back.

"I don't care."

"Really, I had nothing to- what?"

Seamus stopped, and turned around the face Dean, stony-faced.

"I said that I don't care. What you do with her is none of my business."

"Seamus, I didn't do anything with her." Dean pleaded, Seamus had to understand.

"As I said, I don't care! Whether or not you're meetin' with her is none of my business!"

"Seamus, really-"

"Oh go hifreann leat! Leave me alone."

With that he turned on his heel, and disappeared into the furrows of the Burrow.


To be continued…


Striapach- Whore

Cíoch- Slang for breasts

Báltaí- Slang for female genitalia

A rún mo chroí- Literally "Secret of my heart"

meetin'- Slang for French kissing

go hifreann leat- To hell with you/Go to hell