When Love Comes To Town

2: Gone. (Sep 29 - Nov 1.)

They used to be inseparable, if for no other reason than because people expected them to be. For four years Seamus would always get asked where Dean was, and other Gryffindors looked at him funny if he didn't know. It wasn't just Gryffindors either; to the entire school, staff and students both, they were one whole and discrete unit, like some funny symbiotic creature Hagrid dug up for them in Care of Magical Creatures. Seamus wasn't especially comfortable with that and, like those creatures, he didn't want to be pointed at, lectured about, and poked with a stick.

Fifth year came, and people were still asking him where Dean was, but it was different this time. Rather than asking as if they actually cared about Dean, or him for that matter, this was a test. Every question was framed by narrowed eyes and the hint of a smirk. Are you still friends, Seamus? Or has he dumped you like everyone else did? That was what they were asking. And so when he stumbled for an answer, they smiled like they were at a funeral, and walked away. Seamus hated that.

Dean was holding him back. Gryffindor was holding him back. They were all holding him back. Oh, it was for the best of reasons, he was sure. After all, they were heroes and he was not; heroes were never wrong, and therefore he had to be. Seamus was tired of waiting for his freedom, for the next smart remark about his mother, for the next time he was asked about Dean. He kept expecting himself to know, and felt wrong when he didn't.

He wanted to be more than just 'Seamus-and-Dean'. He wanted to be Seamus.

Whoever that was.

So Seamus resolutely decided not to fall back into old patterns. Old-Seamus was gone, along with Dean, Harry and all other saving the world and having an appropriate parental viewpoint type things. And, two and a bit weeks after their fight, he thought he was succeeding.

Admittedly, since he didn't have Dean to hang around with, he needed to find some other people. Because, well, he didn't want to look like a complete loser. Whether he actually was or not was entirely immaterial, and as Seamus kept telling himself, rather unquantifiable. It was all a matter of perspective, he decided in the end, and that kept his bundle of neuroses at bay for at least another month.

In Dean's place Seamus had first attached himself to Lavender and Parvati, who were both nice, friendly, strapping girls, the kind that Ron would glance over at in the library and ask very softly if anyone wanted a piece of that action. Of course, if Hermione had heard him Ron probably would have been castrated, but she hadn't, and so his manhood always remained intact. But Ron wasn't asking him that question any more, so at least Seamus didn't have to lie and say he did. See? He was already finding the positives in things. This would go better than he thought.

He was nudged out of his half-daydream by what was, surprisingly, a nudge. From Lavender's elbow.

"You alright, Seamus?" Lavender was looking at him curiously, and if Lavender was looking at him curiously than Parvati was looking at him as if he might spontaneously transfigure into something bizarre and wonderful at any moment - or already had.

"Yeah, yeah," he murmured, running fingers through light brown hair, and shook himself slightly. It was quite warm in the common room, and they'd been nattering on about Trelawney's class. He favoured them with a special grin that was surely destined to melt the heart of any female. Didn't seem to work though. Bugger.

"Were we boring you?" Parvati asked, in that very careful, cautious tone which people use before they're about to perform grievous bodily harm upon someone.

"No, no," Seamus muttered, trying not to sound forced, or hurried, or do anything that might provoke the gleam in her eye. "I'm just er, narcoleptic, that's all."

The two girls looked at each other. "We haven't noticed this before, Seamus," said Lavender, tartly, and Seamus decided it was time to broaden his horizons. Certainly they were fun company and good for a laugh, but they chatted all the time and after two weeks now of hearing them discuss make up, divination and boys, he'd had enough. The first topic bewildered him, the second made him feel left out, and the third made him vaguely uncomfortable.

"Oh, look, here's Professor Trelawney," Seamus said, stretching, and looked over their shoulders at the staircase as if someone was coming down it. Instantly, both girls turned to look, and by the time they'd turned back Seamus had scarpered out the portrait hole.

A month later, and Seamus was still sorting out his options. He'd tried hanging round the male Hufflepuffs, but Ernie seemed to get twitchy any time he came near them, declaiming in a very loud voice that Certain People Were Not To Be Trusted and Clearly Indicative of Having Hidden Agendas. Seamus had politely told him where he could stick his hidden agenda, and turned his attention to Justin Finch-Fletchley, who sadly, had turned his own attention back on Seamus. He'd regaled Seamus with stories of Muggles - which Seamus found as just as unbelievable and just as silly as those told by his father, except now they were being verified - and after a few afternoons of that, he'd invited Seamus to play a game that was apparently, 'all the rage at Eton.'

Ten minutes later, and Seamus had staggered out of the library cubicle doing up his tie, and protesting that really, anatomy wasn't his thing, and the bloody English were obviously far more fucked up than even he'd realised.

The Hufflepuff girls were nice, if a bit bland - although Hannah Abbott was forever prattling on about the brilliance of the House, and how it was so devalued and misunderstood by the staff, the other students, the Hat and everyone who didn't listen to her. Seamus had quickly realised that she had a chip on her shoulder the size of a small island chain, and fled to more hospitable climes. Not that he empathised about bearing a grudge, no, not him. He was sensible and apolitical and nice. And stuff.

His time as a honourary Ravenclaw had lasted just over two weeks as, really, there was only so much eyeliner a guy could wear without making Seamus feel distinctly nauseous, and Kevin Entwhistle crossed that line several bottles ago. That wasn't the straw the broke the blast-ended skrewts shell, either. That was Terry Boot, Mr. Walking Dictionary himself, managing to insert 'antidisestablishmentarianism' into casual conversation, and then challenged Seamus to define it.

Seamus had done so. "'Antidisestablishmentarianism': word the use of which proves whoever used it has never had sex, or any chance of doing so in his lifetime."

Then he'd had to run from that section of the library before Boot thwacked him over the head with a copy of Roget's Thesaurus (Magical Edition). Some people, he reflected, didn't have a sense of humour. Like Madam Pince, for example, who gave him the detention for running in the library.

Now, he'd run out of options. This was his freedom, alright, and it was like a bloody chain around his neck. Freedom. Woo. But he wasn't about to back down, turn tail and admit he was wrong now.

So Seamus took a deep breath, and set off for the corridors around the Slytherin dorms.