The Wilting Rose

Seamus stretched his toes and felt a warm light on his face. Around his body were crisp linen sheets, and he could smell roses. He felt peaceful lying there, like every care he had ever had was washed away by a gentle hand. Lying back, he vowed never to open his eyes so that he could remain in this perfect world forever.
*
The bay window in the dormitory was open. Dean tilted his face to the wind, eyes shut tight. With white knuckles, his hands gripped the ledge. A cold breeze was forming beads of dew which stung his brow. He let his arms hang limply out of the window as his head drooped on to the windowsill. What had happened to Seamus? He had disappeared four days ago, that day when he had left Seamus on his knees, broken by unrequited love. Dean drew in a shuddering breath as shadowy doubts began to rise up in his mind.

*
They were white roses, Seamus liked to think. Pure white, with a thornless stem. Seamus inhaled their sweet fragrance and smiled to himself. The warm light on his face was flickering, like the tender flames of a fireside. He heard nothing, and yet a sweet song was in his mind. Seamus felt he was in an extended dream and to wake now would be painful. Sinking into a blissful sleep again, a face came into his mind yet whose face he could not remember.
*
Strange scenarios were playing themselves out in Dean's mind. He remembered walking down the path.

"I'm not like you," he had said to Seamus before he left. He had seen Seamus sink to the floor in grief and not felt any sympathy. As he turned and walked away, he saw Seamus shouting after him, rocking in desperation. Then Seamus stood and walked towards the lake. Within seconds, he was gone.

"Mate, what's wrong?" Feeling the weight of somebody else on the window sill, Dean looked up to see Ron, someone he had never come to know after seven years at Hogwarts.

Words failed him. He bit his lip and stared wide-eyed through the window and out to the frosty grounds.

"You're worried about Shay, right?" Dean nodded dumbly.

"Well, he's in good hands, isn't he? Very lucky too.. Could've so easily drowned in there.."

Dean hugged his knees and shut his eyes again, muttering to himself. What had he done?
*
He was just coming out of his sleep. Seamus reminded himself not to open his eyes. He inhaled deeply, waiting for the perfume of the roses. It was not there. He searched for the feeling of that warm light. Nothing. There were no crisp linen sheets, no roses, no gentle hands to rock him to sleep. Tentatively, he opened one eye. The room was white, but not a pure white. A fluorescent light glared harshly at him. He was lying in a low metal bed with a table by the side. Suddenly he wanted to scream- he had come out of his dream and he remembered Dean, he remembered everything. He wanted to run but the bed restricted him. Dean's words screamed at him as blaring colours danced in front of his eyes. A dark figure standing over him held up something sharp, shiny- and thrust it into Seamus's vein. And everything turned to blackness, and then nothing