Half

"Dean Alexander Thomas, you stand accused of the murder of Seamus Frederick Finnigan. How do you plead?"

"Guilty."

*

Last summer had been one of the best of my life. We'd had a heat wave, which for Ireland is rare and in the eyes of its inhabitants, a blessing. Mum had sent me to spend the holidays with the Finnigans as we were having a few problems at home.

It was our estate, really, that had broken out into World War Three. You couldn't walk anywhere without having to shield yourself from bottles, stones, anything they could lay their hands on. The streets were littered with broken glass and we were never without the wailing of a siren from an ambulance, police car or fire engine. When she asked me, I didn't have to think twice about leaving the riots at first. Of course I wanted to go and stay with my best mate! But after a while the guilt set in- how could I leave her and Dad where they weren't safe? What if something happened to them while I was away and I never saw them again?

The Finnigans welcomed me with open arms- all ten of them, that is. Well, nine now... I keep seeing their family photo on the wall with a huge gap in the middle- a black hole where he had once been. He had been so pleased to see me. He acted the host, playing it up for all to see.

"Would Sir like his baggage taken upstairs?"

"Might I recommend the Sauvignon Blanc, Sir?"

Everyone watched him like he was a TV set or something- laughing at the appropriate bits, staring avidly whenever he walked into a room to see what he would do next. Then the applause, naturally and his exaggerated, sweeping bow. Mrs Finnigan always reminded us not to ask for an Encore or we'd never be rid of him.

Occupying ten people, the Finnigan house was a bit cramped so I shared a room with Seamus. I didn't mind- in fact I enjoyed it. In any case, sleeping in the quiet Irish countryside was far better than lying awake in Hackney waiting for some kind of peace.

It was there that I noticed the change in him. We were changing into our pyjamas, chatting about a band I had played to him on my Discman when I realised how much thinner he was looking. At first, I put it down to growing up; losing puppy fat or something. Only Seamus had always been slim, on the verge of skinny. There was no way he could have lost the weight as the boy ate like several starved horses. He called it eating for Ireland, I called it eating for Russia.

His chest seemed a little concave and you could see a few ribs poking through. It was nothing too alarming then, he wasn't skeletal. He was just.. different. I asked him if he was feeling alright on several occasions and he always said the same, "never better". If Seamus truly had been feeling bad, he would have let everybody know. That was simply who he was- a bit of a drama queen.

Seamus slept a lot more than usual. Where he once woke at sunrise to walk along the beach, he now woke past lunch. I hadn't made too much of it at the time, teasing him about his hibernation.

Towards the end of the summer, he became less and less interesting to the rest of his family. They stopped watching him, but I was watching him more. Couldn't anybody else see the change in him? It seemed like he was losing his sparkle- the jokes and impressions were scarce and when they came they lacked the gusto they had once been delivered with. I continued to ask him what was wrong, but I was no longer getting an answer. The inevitable had happened- Finnigan had stopped talking and I was not at all happy.

When we finally left for Hogwarts, he seemed to perk up a bit. By the time the train left the station a smile was back on his face and he was entertaining his growing audience with a set of particularly vicious hag jokes. It must have been quite far into the journey when his audience had gone elsewhere that he fell asleep, his head on my shoulder. I knew how much he had slept the night before- eleven hours in total- so why, how could he still be tired?

Whilst he was sleeping, one of his hands hung limply by his side. It was odd, but a flash of pearly silver seemed to catch my eye when I looked at it. I turned my head this way and that, but the shine followed it and I became aware that the silvery flecks belonged to Seamus' skin. Which was not, in any case, a good sign.

I picked up his hand, examining the flesh closely. I pulled the skin tight, then loosened it again, watching the little silver flecks dance. It was beautiful, but terrifying. If anything, it was a sure sign that I was right, there was something wrong with him. But what? I was turning his hand over and examining the palm when I felt his hand close around mine. He had woken up- I could feel his eyes boring into mine but I didn't want to look at him. In the end, something willed me to look up and there he was, a strange expression on his face. An expression of sadness and fear, like he too knew something was not quite right.

For the rest of the way to Hogwarts, I did not let go of that hand.

The minute we got into our dorm that night, I pulled the curtains around his bed and demanded to know what was happening. He said he didn't know and we both stared at his pearly skin, hoping for some kind of answer. I begged him, even from then to go the Hospital Wing but he always put up a fight.

"I don't need to go," he'd say stubbornly, uncomfortable under my glare.

"Don't want to or don't need to?"

"Leave me alone, Dean," he'd mutter and disappear back through his hangings to bed.

In lessons, neither of us could concentrate. I found that I permanently watched him, looking for signs that his skin had grown more silvery or places where he had lost more weight. I checked to see if he was pale, to hear if he was breathing right. When he went to bed, I lay awake just listening to him. Even the smallest cough frightened me. I wanted him to get better, but I knew, and he knew that he was getting worse.

It was on a Sunday night that things started to get noticeably bad. I had only just fallen asleep and was dreaming about horrible, silver-hided dragons when the sound jerked me back into consciousness. It was a cough, so rattled and strained that it sounded like it could tear you in two. I knew it was Seamus coughing as the others were waking up, startled. It was exactly what I had been dreading.

"No more pretending," I told him as I half lifted him from his bed. "I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing."

He couldn't protest, as he was too weak to fight me off. His skin was shining more brightly now, leading Harry, Neville and Ron to stare at him in fear. The cough was dying down a little, but his need for medical help was obvious. I carried him all the way there, devastated by how light he felt. I had hope, though. I knew Madam Pomfrey could help him and make him better in a second- after all, she had never failed before.

Madam Pomfrey ushered him over to a bed immediately. I did not like the look on her face as she peered at him, or the way she turned swiftly on her heel and out of the door. I knew she had broken into a run the minute she was out and that something must be very wrong.

Seamus sensed it too as I could see his eyes becoming wide, sweat trickling down his noticeably thinner face. I couldn't think of anything to say that would comfort him, so I stared at my shoes, just wishing she'd come back and say he was fine.

When she did return, her footsteps were followed by Snape's and Dumbledore's. They were grave and quiet, assembling at Seamus' bedside with no noise at all.

"Seamus," Dumbledore said in a hushed voice. "There is... no easy way of telling you this."

I inhaled deeply, telling myself it was going to be alright. It had to be. Had to be.

"I wondered if we could have made a mistake," Dumbledore was saying, pulling Seamus' silvery skin taut with a frown. "But I am afraid our diagnosis is true."

I distinctly heard Madam Pomfrey sniff, and she became very busy assembling various bottles on a shelf behind her.

"You have heard of The Grey?" Dumbledore asked. The Grey.. I hated the sound of it. Grey. Bleak. Hopeless.

"The... The Grey?" Seamus trembled slightly and I wondered if he knew what it was. It was for my benefit, I think, rather than his that Dumbledore chose to explain it.

"It is an ancient Wizarding illness. Nobody is quite sure how a person becomes afflicted with The Grey- many, like myself, believe it to be passed down through blood. It need not strike for generations-"

"But.. What happens?" I asked, all hope beginning to fade.

"The Grey eats away at the victim- you see it in the silvery tinge of Seamus' skin, yes? It is relentless- it tears away at the body leaving virtually nothing behind. Sufferers can last from days, to weeks, to months or years without noticing any change. It seems, however," he sighed, peering at the pair of us. "You have been struck more quickly."

Seamus was silent, but questions were whirling about in my mind. Why? When? How?

"You mean he's going to die?"

"No," Dumbledore dropped his voice even more. "Grey sufferers do not die. In fact, they become immortal." Seeing the hope in my eyes, he immediately crushed me. "However, The Grey does not only suck their health. It feeds on the soul until nothing of the person remains. Seamus' body would still exist, Dean, but it would empty. Seamus Finnigan, as such, would be dead."

It was like a lead weight hitting my chest, suffocating me. It couldn't be happening, I couldn't lose him, there had to be a-

"But surely you can-" Snape cut me off, looking so grave I couldn't hate him like I normally did.

"There is no antidote, Thomas. No potion or spell can stop The Grey."

"No," I whispered, my mouth forming words that wouldn't escape. Seamus was losing his soul- he was leaving me. How would I ever- what would I do without him?

"We are deeply sorry," Dumbledore said, and looked it. "I shall contact your parents, of course, immediately. I will also have to inform the rest of the school."

He and Snape turned on their heels and left. Seamus sat there, looking stunned as he traced the pearly flesh with a finger. I was trying desperately to push the rising lump in my throat back down- begging the tears to stay put. I had seen it in films before; you had to be strong for them, pretend there was the slightest shred of hope. Why shouldn't there be hope, anyway? Wizards had a solution for everything, or so I thought. I had always had such faith in the Wizarding realm- now all they could do was give me the age-old cliché heard so frequently in the real world, "There's nothing we can do."

"Well," Seamus said blankly. "That's that, then."

In all the years I'd known him, I had not once heard him admit defeat.

After two days, they sent him away from the Hospital Wing. He had a choice of going back to Ireland or staying on at school. He had been adamant that he stayed at Hogwarts, which surprised me. For someone who loved their home and family as much as he did, he seemed quite happy to leave it all behind. What I didn't realise then was that he thought if he went home, he really was ill and it truly was the end. Back there they'd weep for him and watch him slowly fade away. At Hogwarts, though, we were all in denial. Someone had to be able to save him.

So Seamus returned to his bed in the dorm. Madam Pomfrey supplied us with potions that would help with his cough and make him more comfortable. Harry and Ron got a book out of the library on The Grey and we read it together while Seamus was sleeping. I found it hard to take in- how could something so rare, so dangerous be happening under our noses? Why him, of all people? Soon the words became blurred and I couldn't read any more. I went straight back to the dorm, pulled back the hangings on Seamus' bed and watched him like I had never watched him before. I watched the rise and fall of his chest and listening to his rattling breath. I traced the silver with my own finger, stroked his hair and pulled up the covers around him, just to stop him getting cold.

I did love him. People knew we were close, but they had no idea what I felt about him. Our bond wasn't like Harry and Ron's- we weren't really like brothers. It was more like we were two halves of the same person. That was why the idea of losing him broke me so much. Without my other half, what would I be?

People also thought we were lovers, but it was never like that. What we had wasn't romance, or lust. It was love, but of a deeper kind. What we had was hard to explain- still is. You just have to understand that together we were complete.

I'll never forget the day his family came up to the castle. His mother just stood there, stricken while his sisters cried. His brother, like me, insisted that they were wrong. He almost came to blows with Dumbledore, screaming at him to do something.

The worst of it was seeing his father utterly bewildered. He was a muggle and couldn't understand what he was being told.

"Can't you do a spell? Make a potion?"

Then he cursed the Magical Realm and his wife, shaking with rage. He said he couldn't cope with any more of this 'magic' and demanded to be escorted from the castle.

I understand the Finnigans never saw him again.

Some nights, when the coughing was worst, I would crawl into his bed and hold on to him tightly. He'd cling to me, struggling to get any words out. Eventually, I always managed to calm him down and he'd sleep in my arms. I felt so whole then, wondering how much longer he'd be with me. Sometimes, I feared he'd have gone by the time I woke up and I'd be holding on to his empty shell.

By day, Seamus fought to stay cheerful and bright. He found himself too weak to tell his spirited stories and became frustrated. He made up a new line of jokes about The Grey that I forced a laugh at and later broke down. I never let him see that I was weak, especially as he managed to be so positive. One day, all of Gryffindor painted our skin silver so Seamus didn't feel so freakish. Even my allergy to the silver paint was worth it, just to see the rare smile returning. He laughed a little and demanded Hermione turn his hair silver to match his skin.

He defied us all by still being around at Christmas-time. By then, he was almost devastating to look at. He was less than half of what he used to be, little more than flesh and bones. We took him out to the grounds for walks, but by late November he could only manage a few steps. He was furious, determined to walk a few more steps until he exhausted himself and collapsed. After that, he became quieter, staring permanently out of the window.

"I hate The Grey," he used to say, whilst I held him and stroked his hair. I told him I hated it too.

Around the time the Christmas decorations were put up, Seamus' health became worse than it had ever been. He coughed almost non-stop and even my arms could not restrain him. His skin glowed brighter and illuminated every bone. On Christmas Eve, he broke down and told me he was losing his sight. We knew then that it wouldn't be much longer.

That night, he told me everything he was going to miss. He started with Ireland, listing each family member, every place he had ever been. He talked about the sun and walking through poppy fields. He told me how much he would miss magic and Hogwarts, even Professor Snape. He said how much he would miss the feeling of zooming along on a broom, the wind blowing your hair. He had always loved seeing the world from the air. Then, finally, he told me he'd miss me.

"You're a part of me," he said and we both laughed slightly at the sentimentality of it all. "A half." He pressed his palm against mine and examined our hands.

"You know I love you, don't you?"

He made it through to Christmas Day, but I could see how unhappy he was. I could see him holding his Christmas cards very close to his face, straining to see. When his family visited, he confused his oldest sister with his brother and mortified, would not speak for a few minutes after. It surprised me how final he was with his family when they said their goodbyes, like he was giving up. He made sure he hugged them all, telling them he loved them and would they tell his dad that he loved him too. I watched them leave reluctantly, some crying openly and knew that too, knew he had lost.

A few minutes after they had left, he pressed his palm against mine like he had the night before.

"Dean," he repeated. "You know I love you, don't you?"

I nodded, closing my fingers around his.

"And you love me?"

I nodded again, not liking the tone of his voice.

"You'd do anything to make me happy?"

I nodded once more, unsure of where this was going. Right then, I couldn't think of a thing I wouldn't do to make him happier but I had a feeling he wanted something from me I could not give.

"Dean, I'm so scared," he said, his eyes unfocussed. "I don't want to be empty. I don't want to be soulless."

"Of course you don't," I soothed, tucking a tendril of his hair behind his ear.

"No! Listen!" he cried, bringing on a short coughing fit. "You've.. You've got to help me. Please."

Help him? There was nothing I wanted to do more. But how could I possibly help him now he was so close to losing himself?

"What do you want me to do?" I heard myself asking him, afraid of what the answer might be.

"You do potions," he whispered. "You've got Belladonna, yeah? If.. If you brew it and-"

Belladonna? My stomach turned over unpleasantly in the realisation of what he was asking of me.

"Seamus- you can't, I can't- it's poison!"

"Dean, please," he squeezed my hand weakly. "Let me die. I want to die before- before my soul does."

I stared blankly at him, horrified. I couldn't kill him- I loved him! But I didn't want to let him suffer either. Though I couldn't kill him! Only.. How could I live knowing that he was there and not there, lying empty? Was it kinder to-

"Do you know what you're asking?" I whispered, my words cutting through the air like the sharp blade of a knife.

He sighed, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Please- you're the only one that understands! I didn't want it to end this way, Dean. You know I'd never put you through anything like this if I had a choice!"

I shook my head. I was not about to kill my best friend, my other half.

"Either way, I'm not going to live," he continued. "Whatever happens I'm not going to be there. Don't you understand that I want to go with dignity? This way, I can beat The Grey. Dean, I can beat it!"

"Sssh," I told him, frightened that his coughing fit might finish him off anyway. "I can't agree just like that, you know. Do you have any idea how much trouble I'd be in? They'd trace the poison in a flash. Shay, please don't make me have to make this decision."

"You wouldn't be in trouble," he said, defiant. "You could put the brew into a potion bottle- make it look like someone had spiked it. They'd understand, anyway. They would, Dean. You can say it was all my fault- which it is. You had my best interests at heart." He was pleading now. I couldn't bear it.

It was true, though. I did have his best interests at heart. I didn't want to see his soul die any more than he did. And here was a way out, though it was dangerous and devastating for the both of us. I didn't want him dead, you know. I just wanted to make him happy- I wanted him to defeat The Grey.

All it took was a nod. I don't think I could have coped with agreeing out loud. He watched as I got out my cauldron, fetched the Belladonna and started preparing the fatal brew. I heard him humming to himself as I got to work, noticing that it was the same song his mother always sang.

It seemed.. weird. Here I was, preparing a poison for the person I loved most in the world at their request. I knew what it would all mean- that I had committed a murder. In under an hour, I would be looking at Seamus' dead body and knowing that I had done it. I killed him.

I poured the mixture into a goblet and handed it to him with a shaking hand. It took an age for him to put it to his lips and when he finally took a sip, it was all I could do to stop myself from knocking it out of his hand. I knew then, that he was really leaving. Nothing could stop him now.

As he drained the goblet, I found I could no longer stop myself from crying. It took his last efforts to pull me into his arms and whisper to me that it was alright. Everything was alright now. Only it wasn't, how could it be? I was losing him- becoming half again.

"You never know," he told me with a smile. "I might become a ghost and haunt you until your dying days!"

"You'd give Peeves a run for his money," I muttered, entwining my fingers in his.

"You're.. amazing," Seamus whispered. I could hear his breath slowing down. "What you've done for me.. it.."

"You know why I did it," I told him, holding him closer as a small spasm ran through him. "Does it hurt?"

"Feels.. nice," he said, stroking my face lightly. "Relief."

I kissed his brow, his forehead, every part of his face as I felt him slipping away. His final words, before his body gave up were "thank you."

I just lay there for a while with him in my arms. It was only later, when I was clearing my cauldron away that I realised what I had done. Like a lead weight in my chest, the terrible feeling of emptiness set in, the feeling that I would never be whole again. Had I done the right thing? He seemed to think so. So where was this guilt coming from?

Before anybody came and noticed him, I held him once more and kissed him again, this time on the lips. I whispered to him that I loved him, wondering if he could hear me from somewhere else. I knew from the empty feeling that he couldn't, he was gone. I was now half a person- a murderer. Why had I listened to him?

I was so shaken with guilt that the minute he was found, I confessed. His family were horrified and demanded I was sent for a hearing. It was clear that they wanted me in Azkaban for what I had done to their son. They were quite right, too. What right did I think I had to poison him, no matter what he said? I should never have listened to him. I shouldn't have done it.

I always laughed at the melodrama in soap operas and things when somebody died. Now I see that my emotions parallel theirs completely. I cannot function without him- I have lost a huge part of myself. I find myself stroking empty places that he once inhabited and going to pieces. Sometimes I am even angry at him. How could ask me to do something that he knew would destroy me?

There are times when the guilt fades away and I know that what I did couldn't have been wrong. It was what he wanted, what I wanted for him. It was beautiful, being with him while he slipped away. And isn't being dead better than being an empty shell, existing with no trace of existence?

I don't really know how I feel. All I know is that I love him, I miss him and I wish it hadn't had to end this way. He was the fuel I needed to survive, now I live off these complex and painful emotions. I tried to imagine how he would have coped if it had been me. He'd have known that he did the right thing- he did it for love. But me, I'm too weak to feel like that. I need him around to tell me that it's alright and I know that I will never hear those words again.

All I can do to stay alive is remember him before The Grey took hold of him. His laugh, his smile, his touch. Every joke and impersonation is greeted with applause in my head. These moments give me hope, and it is through these that I sometimes wonder if I really killed him at all.

But I did. I made the poison, and he drank it.

I killed Seamus Finnigan, and now I am half.