The Wilting Rose

Walking down a grey, untwisted path, Dean turned his eyes to the sky. It was blue, the kind of dazzling blue that hurt his eyes. Everything seemed to hurt him these days. The smell of roses made him sick, like a thousand thorns stuck in his mind. And why, he thought.. Why? He listened to his feet drag along the path, a hollow laugh rising up from him. He was such a misery. The park was full of misery: that dusty path; the trees bent with the grief of a hundred lonely years; the sad crying of the doves. Too weary to carry on, he let his legs collapse beneath him. He listened to his breath, it came scarcely, until he was hardly sure if he was breathing at all.

A drop of rain dropped slowly from the sky, landing like a watery ink blot on the milk white flower. Seamus clutched it in his hand, breathing hard. He was back, back at Hogwarts where he belonged. But the grounds seemed so strange and unfamiliar now. His feet thumped along the ground. They had become like brushes, painting thick black lines along that perfect ground. He had to run, couldn't stop running, running from that place. Screwing up his eyes he doubled his pace until he was no longer in charge of his body. Gliding along that path, nothing mattered. Lifting a foot, he made to leap, only he met the ground way before he had intended. Sprawled on his mutilated ground, he glared up at the dark shape in front of him.

"You....", he said, in a voice Dean could hardly recognise. It was slow and slurred, as if the words were drowning in a thick sea. Emotion almost failed the voice, its monotone exposing pain beyond expression.

"I'm not like you...", it stuttered, swaying slightly as it stood. What was left of the moon lit the face, its contours black with shadow. Dean recoiled. The hair was gone, replaced by a harsh stubble. The skin was pale and pasty, sweat grey with filth running down it. The green eyes had no glimmer left to them, and seemed to search for something in the distance.

"Where.. have you.. What did you.. did you..?" Dean couldn't find the words.

"Been ill." Seamus was glad it was still in his veins. To see that face and hear that voice without it would have been dangerous.

Dean's scared eyes filled as he stared up at his friend.

"What have they done to you, Shay?" Dean stood, inspecting his friend closely.

"They gave me stuff... Stuff that made me forget where I was.." Seamus took a step towards Dean, still staggering; eyes madly unfocussed.

"Who I was..." He took another step, now nose to nose with Dean. Dean's skin crept as he felt Seamus breathe.

"And what I was." Now Dean backed away from him. He's going to kill me, he thought.

Tentatively, Dean put a hand on Seamus's arm. It was shaking. "You still aren't well," he said, alarmed at the way the bones jumped through the flesh. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."

"You................ don't care!" Seamus spat.

"I don't care? I've made myself ill wondering what's happened to you. You almost drowned- and then they said you were in hospital.. It's my fault!" Full of frustration, Dean turned away, hands covering his eyes. "When I said I wasn't like you- I knew it would hurt you.. Wanted to. Because.. Because I knew it wasn't true. "

Seamus swayed again, his eyelids drooping. "Shay..?" Dean grabbed his shoulders to steady him. Then, looking into his pitiful face, he felt something inside him awaken.

A dove cried, and Dean took Seamus's hand and closed it around the white flower. He placed Seamus' arm around his neck, letting it hang sleepily like draped satin.

"Come on, you nutter. Home."