Open Mind

Open Mind

Dean normally thought of himself as a reasonably calm person. But shock had set in, so there was a distinct tremor to his voice when he spoke. "I didn't mean to," he protested. "Really. I didn't know transfiguration spells could bounce like that. Will he be all right? Is there anything I can do to fix it?"

"Spells can reflect if cast incorrectly," said Professor McGonagall, with a calmness that Dean thought rather misplaced under the circumstances. She picked up the cat. It had enormous ears, a soft sand-colored coat, and eyes of a delicate hazel. Except for the vertical pupils, they were the puzzled eyes of one Seamus Finnegan.

Dean clutched his wand as if it were a security blanket. "Can you fix it, Professor?"

"Of course. But I'm not going to." Abruptly, McGonagall dumped Seamus into Dean's arms. "It will wear off by tomorrow. Until then, he is your responsibility. Take care of him, Mr. Thomas. Don't give him too much for dinner."

Dean's jaw dropped, and he found himself juggling a suddenly squirming Seamus. "But, Professor --"

"It will teach you to pay more attention to your technique, and not to attempt transfiguration spells outside of class without first perfecting them. There will be no permanent harm." McGonagall's tone of voice declared the subject closed.

Dean ignored the warning. "But, Professor!"

"Go, Mr. Thomas. Before I take points off Gryffindor."

Seamus meowed forlornly. Dean felt the same way.

---

"At least I didn't get expelled," Dean told the cat as they headed back towards the Gryffindor common room, he on two feet and Seamus on four. "What would they tell my parents? 'I'm sorry, your son turned his best friend into a cat, which is unacceptable by the rules of Hogwarts.' They wouldn't believe it."

Seamus gave him a long look, managing to convey that he couldn't quite believe it either.

"I'm sorry," he told Seamus. "I'm really, really sorry."

Seamus spared him a brief hurt glance, and stalked onwards.

"Look, I said I was sorry, all right? If there's anything I can do," Dean said desperately, "just tell me. Or, uh, try to tell me, anyway. Seamus, please don't be mad at me, it was an accident, honest..."

Seamus gave no sign of hearing. He stopped in front of the painting of the Fat Lady, communicating quite clearly that since he could not say the password, Dean would just have to help him.

Dean sagged with defeat. "Raspberry scone," he told the Fat Lady.

"Don't look so glum," she chided. The painting swung aside, and Seamus leapt through the opening. He raced through the common room and was up the stairs before Dean could react.

Dean did not go after him. Sometimes Seamus just needed to sulk.

---

A good Seamus-sulk usually lasted perhaps fifteen minutes at most. Cat-Seamus evidently had an even shorter attention span. He was back in the common room in less than two minutes, making loud cat-noises. Dean tried to concentrate on his homework.

When he failed to get Dean's attention, Seamus twined around Dean's legs.

Dean looked down at the cat. "What do you want?"

In response, Seamus hopped up into his lap.

"This is just wrong," Dean muttered as Seamus kneaded out a comfortable spot. "This doesn't seem wrong to you?"

Seamus seemed to have no problems, curling up into a contented ball, warming Dean's thighs. Automatically, Dean petted him. Seamus' fur was smooth and soft, like silk under his fingers. Seamus squirmed happily, beginning to purr.

Dean frowned and pushed him off. "I think you might be enjoying this a little too much."

Seamus meowed plaintively.

"I'm doing your Divination homework for you," Dean told him. "The least you could do is be quiet." He reached for his quill and tapped it against his cheek, trying to think. Seamus had always been the more creative of the two of them, gleefully conjuring fanciful futures with astounding degrees of carnage. "Any ideas?" he asked Seamus, who was busily sharpening his claws against the table leg.

Seamus pondered. Then he flung himself at Dean, yowling, claws out.

"Aaah!" Dean tumbled out of the chair and onto the floor. Seamus landed on top of him, purring and butting his head against Dean's chin.

"What was that for?" Dean demanded.

Seamus hopped onto the table and batted at the quill.

"Oh," Dean said, understanding. He righted the chair and sat, retrieving the quill. "Fine. You get attacked by a giant beast."

Seamus helpfully extended his claws.

"With huge claws," Dean nodded, making a note of it. "But you couldn't have communicated this without giving me a heart attack?"

Seamus merely gazed innocently at him.

Dean balled up a fist and wondered if it was fair to hit a cat.

At that moment, the portrait hole swung open, admitting Lavender and Parvati. They caught sight of Seamus immediately. "Ooh," Lavender said, rushing over to pet him. "He's so cute!"

Parvati was slightly less fond of cats, but seemed charmed nonetheless. "Is he new?" she asked Dean, holding out her hand for Seamus to sniff. "I haven't seen him before. He's a very pretty cat."

Dean was torn. Seamus looked quite happy as Lavender petted him, and Dean decided that this would be the perfect opportunity to repay Seamus for having turned him into a cat. "He's only here for the night," he told the girls, "but you can go ahead and play with him."

Lavender couldn't have been happier. Dean turned his attention back to the homework.

He couldn't quite concentrate, though. Seamus was purring, arching greedily into Lavender's hands. Dean felt rather disturbed, and oddly jealous.

What really disturbed him, though, was that he seemed to be jealous of Lavender.

---

It took a bit of work to communicate with the house-elves, but about half an hour after dinner ended, Dean marched triumphantly into the Gryffindor common room with a plate full of whatever passed for cat food in the wizarding world. "Seamus!" he called. "Dinner!"

Then he stopped in his tracks.

Hermione was dangling a piece of string in front of Seamus' face. Seamus was following the movement of the string with single-minded concentration, ears pricked and tail twitching.

"Oh my God," said Dean.

"Shh!" Hermione let the string hang closer, giving it little twitches every now and then. Seamus tracked it, tensing.

Suddenly he leapt, paws out, teeth bared. He missed, pawing uselessly at the air instead, and Hermione yanked the string back sharply. Seamus dived after it, wide-eyed and excited, and managed to seize the string in his claws. Hermione let go and Seamus rolled over on his back, tangled in string. He batted and bit, paws flailing in the air.

"He has no dignity," Dean sighed, setting down the plate of food.

"He's adorable," Hermione smiled. She scratched the underside of Seamus' chin. Seamus abandoned the string and stretched out very long, closing his eyes. She obligingly rubbed his belly. "I haven't seen him before; he's very friendly. What's his name? Is he yours?"

"Not exactly," Dean muttered. Then, watching Seamus arch and purr under Hermione's hands, he decided that enough was enough. "No, he's not mine. He's Seamus."

Hermione kept rubbing. Seamus was purring madly. "I didn't know Seamus had a cat."

"No, Hermione. The cat is Seamus. I turned Seamus into a cat."

Hermione snatched her hand back. "I'm petting Seamus?"

Seamus stopped purring and gazed pitifully up at her, ears pricked forward hopefully.

"No," Hermione snapped, "I'm not petting you any more, Seamus Finnegan." A smile twitched reluctantly onto her face. "Though you did look rather funny, chasing that string. You need to work on your aim."

Seamus looked wounded.

"You had your fun," Dean told him severely. "Now eat dinner before it gets cold."

Seamus gave him a supremely affronted look and padded towards the food.

---

Dean didn't bother to hide Seamus' existence from the other Gryffindor boys. But to his surprise, no one seemed particularly surprised by the fact that one of their roommates would be a cat for the night.

"You don't find this at all strange?" he protested.

"Fred and George pulled something like this once," Ron explained. "Incomplete Transfigurations, and both of them ended up with red fur and whiskers. Mom wouldn't take the spell off for an entire day." He grinned widely.

Neville nodded agreement. "Gran always said that if I ever got myself into magical trouble, I could jolly well get myself out of it. She'd never fix a miscast spell for me."

Dean turned to Harry for support, but Harry merely shrugged. "I've seen some pretty strange things," he said quietly. "So the little things aren't so surprising. You just have to keep an open mind, I guess." Seamus rubbed against his legs, and Harry absently reached down and petted him.

Dean stretched out on his bed. "Open mind," he muttered. "I go to a magic school. I carry around a magic wand. I get mail from owls. I accidentally turned my best friend into a cat, for crying out loud. How can I not have an open mind?"

The edge of the bed dipped suddenly as Seamus leapt up and joined him. Dean turned over to look at him. "What do you want?"

Seamus curled about and flopped onto the blankets, planting his body firmly against Dean's shoulder.

Dean shoved. "Put your ass somewhere else. This is my bed."

Seamus went slit-eyed and showed claw.

"Unfair," Dean protested. "You'll regret this tomorrow." Then he considered Seamus' personality, and sighed. "On the other hand, maybe you wouldn't."

Seamus yawned, displaying wickedly sharp teeth. Then he nuzzled fondly against Dean's face and licked his cheek. His tongue was wet and rough, like sandpaper.

"That's really strange," Dean said, rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand. "See what I mean? You'd never do something like that if you were human."

Seamus washed one paw nonchalantly, flicking his tongue into the crevices, biting at the claws. Dean watched in fascination. "Is that really you in there?"

In answer, Seamus swiped his tongue against Dean's cheek again.

Dean sighed. "Open mind," he muttered. Giving in to temptation, he reached over and began scratching under Seamus' chin, the way Hermione had earlier. Seamus' eyes slid closed and he tilted his head back, exposing his neck, asking for more. A thrumming purr rose in his throat.

"You have no shame," Dean muttered, and kept scratching.

After a while, his fingers tired and he stopped. Seamus was almost asleep, a warm weight on Dean's arm. Dean curled around him, burying his fingers in Seamus' soft fur, and closed his eyes.

---

Dean woke gradually, aware of heat and closeness. Someone's arms were wrapped loosely around him. A leg was slung over his hip, and hair was tickling his cheeks. He was vaguely aware that something was wrong with this picture, but he was warm and very comfortable and didn't want to think too hard about it. He burrowed into the pillow, and got a mouthful of hair. Startled, he pulled back.

"Mmmrph," said the person sharing the bed with him. "God, Dean, it's bloody early in the morning."

He knew that voice. "Seamus? What -?" He tried to get a hand free, to rub his eyes.

His hand was trapped under one of Seamus' arms. "Go to sleep," Seamus muttered into his neck.

Dean was sleepy enough to take that advice. He relaxed, letting his hand settle back onto --

-- skin, warm and breathing and utterly bare.

Seamus had no clothes on. Dean's first impulse was to let his hand slide curiously along Seamus' side, investigating the contours and angles of his body.

His second impulse was to realize that the first was utterly insane. He yelped and shoved with both hands, trying not to think too hard about what he was shoving against. Seamus toppled off the bed, thankfully taking most of Dean's bedcovers with him. He landed in a tangled heap, spluttering. "Christ Jesus, Dean!"

Seamus had no business looking that offended. Dean summoned as much dignity as he could manage in striped flannel pajamas. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"Sleeping." Seamus gazed up with wide, hurt hazel eyes. "A great rude bully you are, kicking a body out of bed so early in the morning."

"But you aren't wearing anything!" Dean remembered, a little too late, that he should have lowered his voice. Neville was already poking his tousled head from between the curtains, and Harry and Ron were stirring.

Seamus grinned. "Well, that's not so much of a thing." The grin sharpened, though his voice remained easy. "Or is it, Dean?"

Dean swallowed. "Seamus, you'd better get some clothes on."

"Oh, is that it now?" Seamus' smile was too innocent. "You're a strange one, if you want folk to put their clothes on when they come to bed with you. It's usually done the other way about."

Dean glared, flushing. There was a muffled giggle from Neville's direction. Seamus shouted with laughter and fled to his own bed, trailing Dean's blanket behind him and pulling the curtains shut.

Dean lay back with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. Then he sat up. "Seamus! Give me back my blanket!"

Seamus was still laughing behind the curtains. Dean wondered briefly why he'd ever wanted Seamus to return to human form. "I'm sorry," he apologized to the room in general. "I didn't mean to wake anyone up."

Ron was curled in a heap under the blankets, his pillow clutched over his head. Harry peered blearily out from his bed. "Oh. Everything's back to normal, then?"

"Yeah. For what that's worth." Dean tried to get his sheets back in order.

Seamus emerged from his bed, bright-eyed and grinning and mercifully clothed, hauling Dean's blanket. "Here you go, Dean, and my thanks for a lovely night. We should do it more often, don't you agree?"

Dean stared at him.

"Open mind," Seamus reminded, smirking.

Dean flung a pillow.