Take This Chance

"It takes two to get together, it takes time to make it last

Though we all end up together like the drink in last night's glass

But we take this chance together; let's not think about the end

Never mind the splinters, 'cause I'll always be your friend

Until the end"

~The Saw Doctors

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

What the hell is on my leg? was the first thought to hit Seamus on the morning after the Quidditch finals. Gryffindor had won; and not without the help of Seamus Finnigan, Chaser Extraordinaire. Alright, so he wasn't as good as Angelina had been. Still, it was seventh year, he had been a part of winning the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor, and the war was finally over--naturally there had been an amazing party like never before held in the common room. And naturally, he'd had a fair share of firewhiskey. Maybe a bit more than a fair share. Now, waking up on the floor in front of the fireplace, Seamus wondered if maybe those last few shots had been overdoing it--and what was weighing so heavily on his leg.

Quickly pushing the concept of too much firewhiskey from his mind (there just couldn't be such a thing!), he sat up. Or at least he tried, but to no avail. Groaning, he tried again, succeeding, and immediately wished he hadn't bothered--he really ought to start keeping some Pepperup potion on hand. How much firewhiskey could he have had to get a headache like this? Time to check the damage on the rest of the room. Most of the Gryffindors--and assorted other students--were still in the common room, out cold from a solid night of raucous activity. There on his ankle, Seamus saw the sleeping head of his best friend, Dean Thomas. The rest of Dean was on the floor, still connected to his head of course, but Seamus didn't pay attention to it. He watched his friend sleep, a peaceful expression on his face, dark skin glowing in the odd light only a morning after can provide. How Dean managed that when most other people looked like hell in that light, Seamus never knew.

As content as he would've been to watch the other boy sleep for hours, Seamus really did need that Pepperup potion, and his ankle as well, as it was bent in an odd direction and starting to ache.

"Dean," he whispered, trying not to wake anybody else. "Dean! Wake up." Nothing. "Your sketchbook is in the fire," he tried in a normal voice. Still no luck. Seamus sought to slide his leg out from under the other boy as gently as he could, but there just wasn't enough force to overpower the weight of Dean's head. With a grunt, he quickly yanked his leg back.

"Oi! What'd you do that for?" Dean asked, irritated, seconds after his head had thudded to the floor.

"Sorry, mate, but contrary to what you may believe, I need my leg. You know, for standing, walking, that sort of thing."

"Ah, and I was hoping you'd just let me keep it," Dean offered with a smile, realizing just where he had been asleep. He looked around the room, saw his schoolmates in their various degrees of looking completely trashed, and noted that Seamus was among the worst. "Where are you off to? You look like you should be unconscious for another few hours."

"Pepperup potion," explained Seamus, running a hand through his sandy hair. "Need any?"

Dean shook his head. "Some of us weren't spending the wee hours of the morning getting completely pissed." It was true; somehow Dean always knew exactly where to draw the line on drinking. Not that he didn't cross it every so often, but the point was he knew where to draw the line.

"I couldn't have been that bad," tried the Irish boy. "Don't remember doing anything supremely stupid, and I did wake up with all my clothes still on."

"Sure you weren't that bad--if you think asking Ginny Weasley to borrow a spare pair of her knickers is perfectly normal."

At this point, Seamus' fair face gave an excellent impersonation of a radish. This, he did not remember asking. He thought for a moment, and a familiar wicked grin spread across his face. "What did she say?"

"Maybe when she gets a bit more laundry done," Dean answered, chuckling. He looked around the room again and spotted Ron sprawled across an armchair that still had someone sitting in it--a Ravenclaw he didn't recognize--with one shoe on his left foot and the other on his right hand. "Apparently, holding your liquor isn't a trait of the Weasley clan."

Seamus laughed at this, and when he laughed that morning, something in Dean was triggered. It wasn't anything new; this had a tendency to happen to Dean at inexplicable moments with his best friend, especially this past year. Still, he didn't know quite what it was; only that Seamus could bring out this odd feeling in him--an elated, exciting, and somehow secure feeling like nothing he had ever known. Neither of them had ever been better friends with anyone else, and so Dean took this mysterious, glorious emotion to be a blessing and didn't waste time thinking about what it was anymore. It came from Seamus; that was enough.

Thud. Seamus, attempting to stand up, had instead tripped over someone's copy of Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three. Ugh. A headache, a sore ankle, and now a bruised bottom? This really was not his best morning. "Er, Dean? You wouldn't mind helping me up the stairs, would you?"

As the two began working their way slowly up to the seventh year boys' dorms, Seamus knew this was it. He wasn't likely to get another chance as good as this. Seamus Finnigan had, at the moment, a perfect life (aside from the mild hangover that is). But that wouldn't last more than a few weeks--once out of Hogwarts, he didn't know where he'd go. Didn't know what he'd do. There was only one thing Seamus was sure of, and if he didn't tell Dean now, the last dream he had been holding on to would be gone and he'd be completely lost.

The dorm room was empty. Well, not exactly empty; as there were assorted robes, books, and erm...other *reading* materials sticking out everywhere. Seamus sank down on the nearest four-poster, which happened to be Dean's, as his friend rummaged through his trunk looking for Pepperup Potion.

"Drink up."

Here it goes, Seamus thought to himself, downing the potion and taking a deep breath. The headache vanished immediately, but the potion didn't do anything for the awful knot in his stomach. "Dean, I...I have to tell you something."

"Anything. Go ahead." He lowered himself onto the bed next to his best friend, knowing something was wrong, and it was important--but not having a clue what it could be.

"Well...it's really important, and I don't want to scare you or anything, but...well...I just...it's just that...quite honestly, I think I..." Maybe he should have thought about how to say it before, instead of hoping the right words would come to him when the "right moment" showed up. Dean waited, getting more and more worried with every second as he watched his friend get very pale and then very red as he'd choke on word after word.

"Dean," he finally managed, and the flood gates opened right up. "You're my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. Everything is changing now, everything. Nothing is set; there's nothing out there for us to be sure of. Now, I've got to tell you something, and I really hope it's a two-way street here, because it's really the only thing I'm sure of in my life anymore, but if it's not--well I don't know what then, but it's really important that you take me seriously and really think about it--"

"Seamus?"

"I love you."

Then there was a pause. It was only three seconds, but to Dean it must've been at least an hour. To Seamus...it was a lifetime.

"But...you can't. I mean...you don't...that's not what you do."

"What do you mean that's not what I do?" This was not going well. Seamus had been prepared for shock--but "that's not what you do"? What was that? He's testing the only thing he thinks is certain here, and Dean comes back at him not with, "I love you too, Seamus," not with, "Why Seamus, I had no idea," not even with, "Alas, I've fallen for the Whomping Willow," but a "that's not what you do."

"Well...it's not."

"What? Why not? I can't have emotions? I can't feel anything serious?" He was getting angry...not really a good sign. "Dammit, Dean, I'm putting out all I have for you here, and you won't even believe it's the truth! You just can't swallow it! Well, you've got to, because it's all I have. I love you, Dean Thomas, and fuck you if you can't handle it!!"

"But you just can't mean that! You go through relationships faster than rolls of toilet paper! Christ, Seamus, two weeks ago your main focus in life was to shag the new Hufflepuff Keeper!"

By this point, both boys had jumped off the bed, and were standing five feet away from each other, shouting for all Britain to hear. No, things were definitely not going well. It was time to take control of the situation.

"LISTEN TO ME! Dean, I really care about you. You're the best friend I've ever had. The best person I've ever known. I've never stayed in another relationship because it wasn't right--I can't stay with anybody else, knowing how I feel about you. Believe me, I tried."

"Tried just about everybody else in the school."

"And failed miserably. Why do think that is? It's either because I smell funny, or because I'm in love with my best friend."

"Well, you could shower a bit more thoroughly after a Quidditch match." This was more like it. Awkward, but they were making progress. "It's just...how do you know? How can you just up and decide something like this?"

"It's not something I decided...it's...it's this feeling I get from you. This amazing, exciting, happy, safe feeling that makes me want to be around you forever. Just random moments when we're together, and I get this feeling in the pit of my stomach that kind of creeps up and....What?" Dean had an odd expression on his face. He took a few steps forward, and then a few more, and then there it was. They were inches apart, close enough for each to feel the inhalations and exhalations without being sure whose were whose; they could very nearly taste each other. Dean felt that familiar feeling stir up in him again; the one that said all that mattered was this boy standing in front of him. He closed the gap between them.

It was only a second, maybe two, before Dean backed up a bit. Then he said it.

"I love you."

He said it simply, the same way he would've said it was raining or that Seamus' shoe was untied. And then there was the next kiss. It was nothing like the first had been, this was an embrace as well as a kiss, a reassurance and an exploration, they were searching for what they already had, taking in all the novelty and all the familiarity at once--almost a question and completely an answer.

"Are you alright up here?" came a small, groggy voice. "I heard shouting...sounded like you were going to kill each other...bit like Ron and Herm-oh! Er, sorry there guys, didn't know what...erm..."

"Don't worry about it Neville," Seamus laughed, not letting go of Dean. "It's alright."

"Well then...I'll just...er...be on my way then. See you at breakfast?"

Dean nodded. Once the two were alone again he looked at Seamus, still amazed at him, and at himself, and at everything, really. "What now?" he asked. "What do we do? Where do we go from here?"

"I don't know. But we do have an hour before breakfast..." There was that wicked grin again. Dean laughed. There were no spectacular resolutions made that morning, no secrets of the world uncovered, no universal problems solved. There were only two boys that knew it didn't matter anymore whether or not they knew what was coming. It didn't matter very much just what was coming after that. They had found something to hold onto; and they would hold on, convinced that come what may; they would always have each other.