Friendship, Loyalty, And Love

Friendship, Loyalty, and Love

Chapter 3:

Morning stretches and bright blue eyes

Seamus Finnigan gave a little yawn and rolled over in his bed. It was early in the morning and he would normally never be awake at this time. However, of late Seamus had been being woken by the dreams that were plaguing him at night. Not that they were unpleasant dreams, not in the least, but they did have a certain ability to unsettle him.

Seamus heard someone moving about in the dorm room he and the other Gryffindor 5^th year boys shared. He rolled over again, facing the break he left in the hangings around his bed and was rewarded with the sight of the roommate who was lately a major feature in his dreams, Dean Thomas. The other boy was much more of a morning person, and it wasn’t at all unusual for him to be up before the rest of their roommates. Dean was getting ready for the day, and had pulled off his pj top when a yawn caught him. His hand covered his mouth as the muscles in his arms and torso stretched, and Seamus was fascinated by the way Dean followed his yawn with a full body stretch, pulling himself upright and reaching for the ceiling. Dean finished yawning and grabbed up his towel, then headed out to the showers.

"Well then," Seamus whispered to himself, letting his tongue rub against his lower lip. "Right. Something needs to be done about this situation." And he turned back over, away from his room, to consider what to do about both the larger problem of how he wished the relationship between his roommate and himself to change, and the smaller, more pressing problem of his body’s reaction to his very hansom best friend.

***

The Gryffindor 5^th years had taken over an entire corner of the library this year at the insistence of Hermione Granger. Their upcoming OWLs were high on her list of priorities, and she wasn’t going to let any of the rest of them forget the tests which came at the end of the year. However, none of the others were at all enthused about the prospect of a year spent in the library poring over books, and they all took whatever chances presented themselves to get away from her strictly regimented study periods.

Quidditch practice made a very good excuse.

Harry was, of course, captaining the team, and the rest of the lineup had remained pretty much the same since he had joined in the boys 1^st year. But two years ago the previous captain and keeper had graduated, and when this year’s tryouts had been held Seamus had managed to make the team.

A few days after Seamus had awoken to the site of Dean’s shirtless stretching the majority of their classmates had been shepherded by Hermione up to the library (although how Lavender Brown had gotten out of it, Seamus had no idea.) They had been up there for almost 3 hours when Harry suddenly sat up and said "Well, that’s good timing."

"What is?" Hermione asked, looking up.

"Well, I’ve just finished my research on the Goblin Rebellions of the 13 hundreds in time for Quidditch practice," Harry replied with a big smile.

"You guys don’t have," Ron began, but cut off abruptly as Seamus kicked him under the table.

"That’s right," Seamus chimed in. "I’d almost forgotten, I was so caught up in my Herbology notes." The Irish boy shot a winning grin at his doubtful classmate.

"Really guys," Hermione sighed. "I don’t know why you play that silly game. Studying is much more important."

"Quidditch isn’t silly!" Ron exclaimed at his girlfriend’s statement.

But before the two of them could start another little fight Harry stood up. "We’ve really got to run though, Herm."

"Oh, yeah," Ron paused for a second. "Actually, I think I might go too, see how the team is shaping up."

"Oh no you don’t." Hermione grabbed Ron’s shoulder and held him to his chair. "You’re staying and studying with the rest of us. I can’t help it if Harry and Seamus have responsibilities to the team, but you’re not getting out of studying. You know you need to work on your transfigurations." Ever since the two of them had started going out, about a week ago, Hermione had become even pushier where Ron was concerned. She seemed to think, and frankly Seamus agreed, that she had the right now that she was his girlfriend.

Ron gave a sigh and turned back at his book while Seamus stood up to join Harry. Dean looked up at them and his twinkling eyes told Seamus that he knew exactly what Harry was up to, but wasn’t going to tattle on them since that would get the sketchbook he had hidden behind the text he was supposedly reading reveled. Dean gave them a little smile, and Seamus couldn’t help but catch his breath at that. Rather than stand there and stare at his best friend’s smiling eyes he turned and followed Harry out of the library.

As they walked along the corridors Seamus decided to ask Harry’s opinion on how he should go about trying to broach the subject with his best friend. Of course, he asked with his usual flair.

"Hey, Harry," he started. "If you were going to seduce Ron, what would you do?"

"WHAT?" Harry spun and looked at his roommate.

"I said, ‘if you were going to seduce Ron, what would you do?’"

Harry stared at the other boy for a few seconds, then turned and continued down the hall. "I wouldn’t," he answered. "Ron’s straight."

"Right," Seamus continued. "But if he weren’t…"

"I wouldn’t," Harry said again, in the same aggravated tone. "Ron’s straight."

"Ok, but hypothetically speaking, if Ron weren’t straight, what would you do to seduce him?"

"Seamus," Harry’s voice was starting to sound really angry. "I wouldn’t try to seduce Ron, he’s not gay. Now drop it."

"Fine, fine," Seamus paused. "Well then, if you were going to seduce Hermione, what would you do?"

Harry glared at Seamus. "I wouldn’t seduce Hermione, she dating Ron."

"I know that," Seamus sighed. "But if she weren’t, hypothetically, what would you do to seduce her."

"I wouldn’t," Harry repeated slowly, as though dealing with a very small child. "Hermione is dating Ron. Now drop the subject."

Seamus glanced over at his famous roommate, the thought about what Harry had said. "So what you’re saying, is that you wouldn’t seduce Hermione because she’s dating someone else, an admirable sentiment. But you wouldn’t seduce Ron simply because he’s not into you, and if he were you’d be on him like a bunny in heat. Have I got that right?"

"Finnigan," Harry’s voice was low and kind of scary. "You know when I said to drop the subject?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Drop the subject," Harry said. "Now. Or else."

"Right, dropping it."

The two continued in silence for a while longer, and then Seamus asked Harry, "So, then, am I to assume that you might be more interested in shagging, say, Draco Malfoy, male sex god, than Ginny Weasley, your sweet and innocent fangirl?"

"Ok, that’s it. Come with me." And Harry grabbed his talkative roommate’s collar and started to pull him towards the Entrance Hall.

"Where are we going Harry?" Seamus asked. "It’s just, we don’t actually have practice and I thought we were going up to the tower to hang out and do something that wasn’t work."

"We were, but now we’re not." Harry replied.

"Then where are we going?"

"Out to the pitch, and you’re going to play Keeper, and I’m going to throw balls at your head."

"Oh," Seamus sighed. "I’ve upset you haven’t I?"

"Seamus," Harry began, then paused. "Seamus," he tried again. "You know, you’ve got the most one track mind I’ve ever run across," he finally managed.

"That’s probably true." The Irish boy admitted as he was dragged out the door and down to the Quidditch pitch.

When they finally reached the field Harry let go of Seamus and turned to him. "Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Why has my non-existent sex life suddenly become of such great interest to you?"

"Oh, it’s not," Seamus hastily reassured his captain in hopes of getting out of practice. "I was just trying to get some ideas on how one might go about seducing one’s best friend."

"I don’t think I followed that Seamus. You want to know how I’d seduce a friend?"

"No, I want to know how I should." And Seamus grinned at Harry as he slowly caught on.

"So you want Dean?" he asked. "Since when?"

"Oh, a couple of weeks ago," Seamus answered nonchalantly.

"But you haven’t talked to him about it, I assume." And Harry settled to the grass, thoughts of throwing things at his roommate momentarily forgotten.

"Nope, I’m trying to decide how I want to broach the subject." Seamus followed Harry’s lead and sat down.

"And you think asking me, The Boy Who’s Never Been Laid, is the way to get ideas?"

Seamus grinned, "Well, oh intrepid captain, I figured that it might be a good, fresh perspective on things. Besides, it was as good a way as any of coming out to you, not that I needed to worry, as it turns out."

"Accio broomsticks!" Harry suddenly called out. "Thanks for reminding me about practice." The smile on Harry’s face could easily have been described as evil.

Seamus gave a little sigh, and then waited till his and Harry’s broomsticks thumped into Harry’s waiting hands.

"Let me ask you one thing first," Harry said as they mounted up. "What do you know about what Malfoy’s been up to?"

"Malfoy? Nothing. I only mentioned him because he’s really hot and I figured, if guys float your boat then he’d be on your top ten to shag list just like the rest of us. Why?"

"Oh, well he wasn’t in potions today and I think he’s up to something." Harry shrugged.

"Well, he’s always up to something isn’t he? Trying to get us in trouble, or cheat at Quidditch or something."

"Yeah, but I think he’s up to something serious this time."

"Well, if you want to know what Malfoy’s been doing, ask Justin Finch-Fletchley." Seamus replied.

"What? Why Justin?"

"He’s a Hufflepuff, isn’t he? They keep track of the rest of us all the time. It’s their way of fighting back against the Slytherin rumor mill. They always know what we’re actually doing cause they pay attention."

"Really? I didn’t know that." Harry looked startled.

"Oh yeah. If you ever want to know the truth behind one of the rumors going around, or make sure your side of a story is being heard, just talk to a Hufflepuff."

"Hmm. Thanks Seamus," Harry grinned. "Now up. Head over to the goal. You stay there, and I’m going to get the balls. Keep your eyes open, you won’t know when I’m coming back, or where from." And with that he kicked off the ground and shot off.

"Damn," Seamus muttered to himself and then followed Harry’s lead, heading off to his post by the three goals.

***

Dean let his pencil glide across the paper, filling in the details of his redheaded roommate’s ear. The little sketch of Ron leaning over his textbook with his head on his hand was actually pretty good, even if Dean did say so himself. On the other side of the open book was a portrait of his roommate’s sister, Ginny, sitting curled up in one of the comfortable chairs by the fire in the Common Room. She had been studying with Neville and Colin, who were lightly outlined in their respective seats, but it was clear she was the focus of the picture. Her bright red hair seemed almost to glow in the light of the fire which Colin had later told him looked almost as though it were moving on the page.

"Hey Dean," Parvati’s voice came from across the table. "You haven’t turned the page in the Potions text for almost half an hour. Mind if I use it?" And without waiting for an answer the girl leaned across the table and snatched the book up, reveling his sketchbook behind it.

"Dean!" Hermione scolded. "I thought we’d come up here to do work, and you’re goofing off. Here, give me that!" And now Hermione was leaning across the table, reaching for his other book.

"No, wait ‘Mione," Dean tried, but it was too late. Hermione already had her hands on it, and rather than risk damaging the book he had to let her take it. "Give it back," he tried.

"No," was her answer. "First I want to see you get some real work done, then you can have it back."

"But I was going to do Potions today and now Parvati’s got the book," Dean realized his excuse was rather lame, but couldn’t come up with anything better.

"You should have been doing the work before, and it’s not Parvati’s fault that she also has work to do in Potions," Hermione shot back. "Just go get another book."

"If there’d been another book Parvati could have used it," Dean muttered, but made it quiet enough that Hermione could at least pretend she hadn’t heard. Instead of continuing the fight Dean got up and headed into the stacks, ostentatiously looking for another text.

Dean was very glad that Hermione had caught him with his main sketchbook and not the new one. Ever since the night Seamus had woken them with his cry Dean had been trying to capture the look of his friend’s eyes on paper and he had even started a smaller, more private book devoted to sketches of Seamus. Some of the drawings were full of the vibrancy and motion of Seamus, all straight lines and quick curves to show his friend’s energy. Others were taken in moments of, if not stillness, then at least repose, Seamus curled up in a armchair studying a book that covered his lap, Seamus sitting in class, staring at the lecturing Professor and clearly falling asleep.

Out of these pictures Dean’s favorite was a drawing he had done one morning when he’d woken very early. Seamus always slept with his curtains partway open to let in a breeze and that morning when Dean had woken he’d seen Seamus, fast asleep with his head resting on one arm, the other dropped along his stomach. Dean had taken his time with that one, knowing it would be a while before anyone else woke up, and when he looked at it now he could swear he could see Seamus’ light breath lifting his chest. Looking at that picture he always felt the urge to reach out and caress the sleeping cheek, or to drop a light kiss onto the eyelids which covered Seamus’ bright, beautiful blue eyes. For Dean could admit it to himself now, Seamus was beautiful, full of energy and joy in life. Bordering each of these drawings were small pictures of pairs of blue eyes, twinkling, laughing, sleepy, angry, happy. Each of the eyes was a credit to both the artist and the subject, but none of them seemed right to Dean. None of them captured the look that had been in Seamus' eyes the morning he’d woken them.

When he thought about that look, and the things that had made it up, made it special, he could pin down some things. There had been the trust, shining out of them, the knowledge that Dean was trying to help, and thankfulness for that. There had been some sleepiness, left over from his interrupted rest. And there had been something else, which presumably had been caused by the dream. Something that had made Seamus’ eyes dilate and shine in a way Dean didn’t think he had seen before, but very much wanted to see again. Something that, when he thought of it, made Dean’s breath catch in his throat and his pulse start to quicken. That was what he was trying to capture on paper, and why he was glad Hermione hadn’t taken his other sketchbook.

Finally Dean returned to the table the others were working at and by then Parvati had finished with his book. He took it back, set it up in front of him, pulled out some paper to make notes on, and proceeded to once again border the page with bright eyes. With any luck Hermione would not look over and notice that the pencil he was ‘taking notes’ with was a vibrant blue.

***

By the time Seamus made it back to the room he was tired, sore, and sweaty, and, while the practice had taken his mind off of his problems, now they were back and he still didn’t know what to do. He decided to take a shower and do some thinking, so he grabbed his towel and headed out.

However, when he reached the dorm bathroom he ran into Ron coming out.

"Hey Seamus, where were you guys?" Ron asked.

"Out on the practice field."

"Why? You didn’t really have practice did you?" the redhead looked confused.

"No, but Harry decided I was in need of some work anyway." Seamus gave a little sigh and rubbed at his sore shoulder.

"Huh, I wouldn’t have thought he’d be doing any work after getting away from ‘Mione. What did you do to annoy him?" Ron grinned.

"You probably don’t want to know," said Seamus, for once letting discretion be the better part of, if not valor, at least his conversation.

"Yeah, I guess you might be right. If it was obnoxious enough to piss off Harry it must have been bad, even for you."

"Hey!" Seamus protested. "I’m not that bad!"

"Right," Ron gave a little laugh. "You taking a shower?" He changed the subject suddenly.

"I thought so, why?"

"Oh, just, when you’re done Dean wants you to hunt him down. He’ll probably be in the library because Hermione caught him with his sketchbook and then swiped it. She says she won’t give it back till he shows her he’s done some real work today."

"Wow," said Seamus with a sigh. "You know, you’re girlfriend is a real dominatrix sometimes."

"Watch it Finnigan," Ron growled. "She’s just . . ."

"Pushy? Overbearing? Domineering?" Seamus started to fill in when Ron trailed off, then took a look at Ron’s face. "Standing right behind me?" He hazarded.

"Got it in one Seamus," came Hermione’s voice.

Seamus gave a sigh and turned to face his pretty classmate. "Hey," he tried a week smile.

"So, how was practice?" she asked sweetly.

"Thorough, and I’ve got the bruises to prove it," he replied.

"Poor dear," the utter lack of sympathy in her voice was at least countered by her grin. "Ron, Harry wants to talk to you about something Irish boy here told him."

Ron shot the smaller boy a smile, gave Hermione a kiss on the cheek, then hurried out towards the common room.

"So, domineering, am I?" she asked.

"Well, you’re the one with Dean’s sketchbook!" he shot back with more vehemence than he had intended. "I mean, that is . . ." and he trailed off.

Hermione arched an eyebrow at her friend, then reached into the bag she was carrying. "Here, take it back to him if it’s that important." Then she handed Seamus Dean’s small leather bound book. "And take a shower first, you smell." She wrinkled her nose at him, then smiled and turned to follow Ron.

"Smart Finnigan," Seamus said to himself. "Why not just tell the entire dorm you’re messed up in the head about your bes. . ." and he cut himself off. It was hard to tell who might be standing around listening in these curving corridors. "Right, shower." And he turned away from the direction his friends had taken and entered the bathroom.

***

Dean was hard at work bent over his notes by the time Seamus entered the library looking for him. He had decided that getting his sketchbook back was, if not more important than drawing his friend, at least easier since Seamus was out practicing. But when the object of his compulsive doodles dropped into the seat across from him he looked up with a smile.

"Hey," Seamus said quietly, not wanting to get yelled at by Madame Pince, but also not wanting to disturb Dean. "Got this back for you." And he handed over the small book.

"Hey thanks," and again the smile that so haunted Seamus graced his lips. "How much of your soul did you have to barter for it?"

"Oh, not much, just my deepest darkest secret." Seamus’ tone was light, but there was a seriousness behind it which implied he might not be joking.

Dean decided that a little teasing was in order. "What, the one about the Australian triplets, the spray cheese the puppy dog, and the whip?" his grin widened.

"Nah, that one’s old news," Seamus bantered back, although he seemed slightly preoccupied, but suddenly he snapped back to the moment and looked straight at Dean as though he had decided something. "Dean, have you got a thing for Ginny?" he asked.

"What?" Dean was startled. "Why on earth . . ." and he trailed off. "Seamus, you shouldn’t have been looking in my sketchbook," he finally said.

"I’m sorry," and the Irish boy dropped his eyes. He really did sound sad, although there seemed to be more to it that just being reprimanded on his manners. "I just wanted to see. You know I like your pictures."

"It’s ok," and Dean reached over and touched his friend’s hand to get him to look up. He paused, momentarily struck by something he just didn’t understand in Seamus’ glance, then continued. "No, I’ve not got a thing for Ginny. I asked her if she’d mind being a model for some sketches because I haven’t done enough pictures of girls. Most of my sketches are about the people who are around when I’ve got pen and paper," he paused, then added quietly, "Most of them are of you."

"Oh," and Seamus’ voice was quiet, then the strange look in his eyes shifted to one of his charismatic smiles. "I just wanted to be sure you weren’t holding out on any juicy gossip I should know about my best friend."

Dean shook his head, then picked up his pencil again.

"I should probably leave you to your work," Seamus said and stood up, but instead of leaving he slid around the table till he was standing over Dean’s shoulder. He looked down, and Dean knew he could see the doodles that bordered his parchment. He wondered if Seamus would be able to tell who’s bright blue eyes were staring back at him.

"Hey Dean," and Seamus laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder, causing the taller boy to look up at him. "I’d really like to see some of your sketches of me someday." And Dean was struck again by the beauty of the smaller boy’s features and the light that shined through his eyes.

"Um, yeah . . ." Dean started, then gave a little swallow. "Yeah, sure." And he paused, then added quietly, "Someday."

And Seamus squeezed Dean’s shoulder and left the library. As he exited Dean’s eyes were riveted to his back, watching him till he turned the corner, then Dean released a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

"I think," Dean muttered to himself. "I think, I need to talk to Hermione." And he let his head fall against the back of his chair as his tongue slipped out to try and wet his suddenly dry mouth.

***

"Hermione?" Dean’s quiet voice interrupted the girl working in the corner of the common room.

"Hmm," she looked up. "Oh, Dean. You’ve already got your sketchbook back, haven’t you? Seamus rescued it from me."

"Yeah, I’ve got it. And look, I even did some actual work while I was in the library." He showed her the notes he’d taken on his Potions text, but Hermione’s eyes were drawn to the pretty doodles surrounding the notes.

"I can see that," she smiled. "So, you’ve got your book back, what’s up? Not many people hunt me down for idle chitchat."

"Well," Dean started, hoping to explain his problem, then paused. "That’s probably true, isn’t it?" He asked quietly. "I’m sorry if you think we, well, if . . ." and he trailed off.

"Don’t worry about it," Hermione reassured her tall friend. "I know none of you mean anything, and I’m glad to be of help when people come to me with questions and problems."

"But, do you ever get the chance to off load your problems?" Dean asked.

"Of course," and the pretty girl smiled. "Why do you think I keep Ron around? Look," she suddenly changed the topic. "I think you’ve got something on your mind. Want to grab a chair and tell me about it?"

"Yeah, thanks." Dean pulled another chair over to the table Hermione was sitting at and settled into it, then, instead of starting to talk just stared at the fire.

"You know," said Hermione after about 2 minutes. "You’d be amazed how much use can come of my help if you actually bother to get it."

"What?" Dean looked up, startled.

"That is, why don’t you talk to me, because I’m going to bet you don’t want me trying to guess what your problem is."

"Um, right," Dean decided not to think about what his observant friend might have seen in his behavior over the past few weeks. "Well, ok. Let’s say there’s this fully hypothetical guy . . ." Dean paused, wincing at the obviousness of his beginning.

"Right," Hermione smiled. "Absolutely hypothetical person of the male persuasion. I can handle that. And?"

"Ok, this guy has a friend, a good friend," and again Dean paused, not entirely sure where he was going.

"Good to know. I’m glad our hypothetical male has at least one friend. Tell me something about the friend."

Dean panicked a bit at that. "Nothing to tell really. Just a friend, a normal, everyday sort of friend. But the thing is, our, our very hypothetical guy has been thinking about his friend. A lot. A lot, a lot."

"Ok, define a lot. Has he been thinking about his friend when the friend’s not there, or just when the friend is? What about during times when the friend is there, but our hypothetical guy should have been thinking about other things, like, say, Potions?" The girl smiled at this.

Dean blushed, then shoved his Potions notes into his bag. "Definitely not just when the friend is there, and also when the guy ought to be doing other things."

"What kind of things has the guy been thinking?" Hermione tried to pull Dean out a bit. "Does it upset him that he’s thinking these things, or are they just normal, friend like things?"

"Not, not upset exactly." Dean paused, then rushed on. "Mostly he’s been thinking about his friend’s smile, and, and hi . . . the friend’s eyes."

Hermione carefully covered her notice of Dean’s small slip. "What about them? That they’re good, bad, need work?"

"Perfect. They’re perfect," and for a second Dean seemed pulled out of himself, absorbed in something Hermione couldn’t see, but could guess at.

"And by ‘A lot, a lot’ you mean?"

"Obsessed," Dean’s voice was hard. "He’s totally focused on his friend when the friend’s around, or when he’s just left, or coming, or . . ." and Dean trailed off, realizing he’d given something away.

Hermione just smiled. "But you say it doesn’t upset him that he’s, obsessed if you will, with his friend?"

"Um, um no. It’s just, well. He’s worried."

"About?" Hermione wasn’t sure whether or not she ought to keep the charade of the hypothetical guy up or not. She couldn’t tell how much Dean was resting on it, and she really needed to know, given Seamus’ outburst earlier and his quite statement as she was leaving the Irish boy, just how comfortable Dean was with what he was talking about.

"Well, lots of things. Like, what if his friend’s not interested, or what if people will say it’s wrong, or," and Dean paused again, clearly thinking about something else now. "Or what if his parent’s disapprove."

Hermione thought about this. She didn’t know much about the Thomas family, only that they were full Muggles like her own parents. "Well," she started. "I guess there are some things even a hypothetical guy needs to think about."

"Yeah," and Dean seemed momentarily defeated.

"I’ve got a question for you," Hermione said, and Dean looked up. "If our hypothetical boy with his very good friend could choose one of those things, or something else, like getting rid of his feelings entirely. If he could choose one thing to not need to worry about, what would it be?"

Now Dean looked Hermione straight in the eye, and there seemed to be a sort of resolution to his manner. "Not to need to worry that his friend didn’t like him, that his friend would be upset by all of it, or that his friend wouldn’t feel the same."

Good

, Hermione thought. He’s serious. "Well, that might be considered three things, but I get the feeling that all three of them would be solved in the same manner. Ok, now, what if our hypothetical guy had some other, equally hypothetical friend who was very observant and also reasonably certain that our guy’s friend did in fact feel much the same way about him." Dean’s eyes started to shine at her, and she had to stop and think how she wanted to phrase what she was saying. "Do you think, given that possibility, our guy would be able to face up to the other things he’s worried about?"

"Of course," Dean’s voice was sure. "You know that ‘Mione, you’ve got Ron. When somebody loves you, you can face up to anything."

Hermione smiled at that. "Well, it’s good to know our hypothetical male has such strength of character," she paused, then sat back in her chair. "On another note, I think you might want to know that Seamus came in a bit ago and went up to you guys’ room. Harry and Ron are down raiding the kitchen and Neville’s sitting over with Ginny right now, so . . ." she trailed off.

"Right," and Dean took a deep breath. "Thanks Hermione, thanks for everything." And the boy stood up, then paused. "Um, by reasonably certain, what might our hypothetical guy’s hypothetically observant friend mean?"

"Dean," Hermione said. "Really, there are some questions which can only be answered in person, and very few of them are hypothetical."

Dean smiled at the gentle chiding, then squared his shoulders as though about to set off to battle and headed for the stairs up to the dorms.