Friendship, Loyalty, And Love

Friendship, Loyalty, and Love

Chapter 4:

Many Firsts

As Dean pushed open the door to his dorm room he saw his roommate and best friend sitting tailor style on his bed. Seamus had a notebook open on his lap and was sucking lightly on the sugar quill he was writing with. Dean watched him for a few minutes, just marveling at his friend’s grace while writing. He knew that most people weren’t aware that Seamus wrote fiction stories, although given his skill with words and his love of talking Dean hadn’t been surprised to find it out. Seamus must have been working for a while because the quill was about halfway gone. Dean found Seamus’ writing habits very funny; the Irish boy would work for as long as a quill lasted and then come back out of whatever world he was creating. Seamus claimed that if he didn’t limit himself he might get lost in one of his fictional worlds.

As Dean watched Seamus’ hand work it’s way across the paper, designing worlds every bit as fantastic as their creator, a smile stole across his face. Even if Hermione was wrong Dean knew he needed to talk with his friend about what he had been thinking and feeling. Watching Seamus like this, he knew he wanted to go over and slide his arm around Seamus’ waist, pulling him close and reading over his work. He wanted to show him all the sketches of him, and get him to hold still for portraits, and get more drawings like the one of Seamus sleeping in the dorm. Finally resolved, Dean spoke up, breaking Seamus out of his reverie.

"Hey Seamus," Dean’s voice was light, but he wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to startle his friend or just because he didn’t have the strength to be louder.

Seamus looked up, and seeing who it was gave a smile. "Hey Dean, what’s up?"

"I just wanted to come find you."

"Well, here I am," Seamus gestured to with his hands around the room. "What can I do for you?"

A number of possible answers flitted across Dean’s mind, but he couldn’t figure out what he really wanted to say, or how to say it. "Um, I just wanted to talk."

"Oh, well come here," Seamus slid over on his bed, making space for Dean to sit down. As Dean crossed the room Seamus closed his notebook and set it on his bed stand, along with the quill. "Talk about what?" he asked once Dean had gotten settled.

"Well," and now Dean stalled. "I just, wanted to know what was up with you, how you were doing."

"I’m fine, you know that," Seamus’ smile again disarmed Dean. "It’s not like you don’t see me every day."

"Yeah, I know, but . . . well . . . I don’t know, I kind of wondered . . . oh I don’t know." Dean broke off.

"Is something wrong with you?" Seamus looked concerned. "Has something happened?"

"Um, well, yeah. Kind of. But not a bad thing or anything." Dean silently cursed his lack of comfort with words. He could draw exactly what he meant, and felt, but he couldn’t say it.

Dean knew he was starting to look distressed because Seamus leaned over and put his hand on Dean’s arm, distracting him further. "Is there something I can help with?"

"Well, yes," Dean tried to grab the opening, then stalled. "But I don’t know how to tell you." He paused, but Seamus seemed willing to let him go on at his own pace and so the silence stretched out. Dean noticed that Seamus hadn’t moved his hand yet.

"Dean," Seamus finally said, shifting so he was kneeling next to Dean on the bed. "Dean, you know I’d do anything for you, right? All you have to do is let me know what you want me to do."

Dean heard the double meaning which could be attached to Seamus’ words, but had trouble believing Seamus could mean it that way. He looked up into his friend’s eyes and saw once again the look in Seamus’ eyes he’d been trying so hard to capture. Without thinking he said, "There it is!"

"There what is?" Seamus began to look confused, but Dean reached out and placed both hands on Seamus’ cheeks, holding him still.

"The look," Dean knew he wasn’t being very coherent but he couldn’t help it. "The look in your eyes, I’ve been looking for it. I’ve been trying to draw it, to understand it."

"What look in my eyes," and Seamus’ eyes once again softened, shining out with that strange light. Dean leaned forward to get a better look then realized how close he was sitting to Seamus. Before he could lean back again though, Seamus’ hand tightened on Dean’s arm, holding him in place.

"Dean," and now it was Seamus’ turn to be hesitant. "Dean . . ."

"Yes?" Dean was entranced with his friend’s features, he didn’t think he’d ever had such a good look at the line of Seamus’ nose, the color of his skin, or the fullness of his lips.

And as Dean focused on Seamus’ lips his friend’s tongue slipped out to wet them, as though Seamus’ mouth had gone dry, then he started again. "Dean, what would you say," and Seamus began to lean closer.

"Yes?" Dean asked quietly when Seamus paused.

"What would you say if I asked," Seamus’ voice had dropped almost to a whisper and Dean leaned forward to hear him until their noses were almost touching.

"Yes," Dean quietly repeated himself.

"What would you say if I," Seamus seemed to pull himself together to finish his question. "If I asked if I could kiss you?"

"Yes," Dean repeated again, then made the meaning of his statement clearer by leaning forward and pressing his lips to his friend’s, letting the hands which had been cupping Seamus’ cheeks slide down, caressing his neck then dropping down behind his shoulders as Seamus’ arms slid around his waist.

The kiss was sweet, innocent, and wonderful. It was everything Dean could have wished and more than he had ever hopped. It summed up exactly the feeling he got in his stomach when he saw Seamus smile at him, and he suspected it was all that Seamus had held in his eyes when he glanced at Dean with the look that had haunted him in his sleep.

Slowly the kiss ended, and Dean leaned back lightly, then rested his forehead on Seamus’. "I think I finally know what the look I was trying to capture was. It was love . . ." Dean trailed off.

"Yes," and Seamus smiled as he repeated Dean’s earlier answer, then leaned forward to kiss him again.

***

They were sitting quietly on Seamus’ bed talking, having slid slightly apart because they didn’t know when one of their roommates might be coming upstairs.

"Hey Seamus, I want to show you my sketchbook," Dean blushed a little at this, although Seamus wasn’t sure why.

"Dean, I’ve seen it, remember. I know I shouldn’t have looked without asking . . ." Dean’s hand covered Seamus’ mouth, cutting him off.

"No, not that one. I’ve got another one that I want you to," but Dean was cut off by a loud noise coming from down the stairs. "What was that?" Dean was startled.

"No idea," and Seamus got up from the bed to open the door. Once it was open they could make out words from the common room.

"What do . . . mean? How . . . attacked?!"

"That sounded like Ginny," Dean sounded worried, and got up to follow Seamus to the door.

" . . . think . . . must have . . . Voldemort . . ." Harry was the only boy they knew who ever called You-Know-Who by his proper name, so that had to have been him. Looking at each other the two boys began to run down the stairs.

As they neared the bottom more of the yelling became clear, many people seemed to be babbling and over them rose Ron’s voice. " . . . were looking for . . . Ernie said . . . but when we got to . . . found Justin, just lying there." Dean and Seamus burst out from the stairwell just as Professor McGonagall hurried into the room.

"Potter, Weasley, I need you to come to the Headmaster’s office with me now." Their stern eyed Head of House looked worried and must have been in a rush, because once Harry and Ron turned to face her she headed back out the portrait hole, leaving the two boys to rush after her.

"What’s happened?" Dean looked around as Hermione answered him.

"Harry and Ron found Justin Finch-Fletchley lying on the ground of the Greenhouse, bleeding. They think he was attacked because most of the plants in the building had been destroyed."

"And they think You-Know-Who did it?" Seamus looked aghast, but Dean didn’t wait for an answer.

"Come on Seamus," he grabbed the smaller boys hand and began to pull him towards the exit of the Gryffindor dorm.

"Where are you going?" Hermione’s sharp tone pulled Dean up short.

"To the hospital wing to see if Justin’s ok," Dean answered.

"No you’re not. Professor McGonagall told us to stay here." Hermione sounded annoyed.

"She didn’t," Seamus said quickly. "She didn’t say anything except ‘Potter, Weasley, I need you to come to the Headmaster’s office with me now’." Seamus’ imitation of their head of house was excellent, but in the madness no one noticed.

"Well I’m sure she would have said it if she hadn’t had so much else to worry about. Besides, I’m a prefect and I’m saying it. Everyone should just stay here until the professors know more about what happened."

However Dean tugged on Seamus’ arm and started for the portrait hole again.

"Where are you going?!" Hermione sounded very angry.

"Justin’s a friend of mine," now Dean rounded on the girl sounding just as angry. "I am going to see if he’s ok."

"And if he’s not? There’s nothing you can do for him. Madame Pomfrey will help him." Hermione tried to sound reasonable but Dean just shook his head.

"What would you do if it was Harry or Ron?" he shot back, then dropped Seamus’ arm. "I’m going," he said, then ran out of the tower.

Seamus turned to follow him and Hermione rounded on him. "And where are you going?" she asked in exasperation.

"To see if Dean’s ok," Seamus said, tight lipped. "And don’t try to tell me there’s nothing I can do for him." Hermione looked at him for a second then nodded and he shot out the door after his friend.

***

"Dean!" Seamus cried out, running after the taller boy. "Dean, hold up!"

Dean stopped racing through the corridors and allowed Seamus to catch up. "I’m not . . ." he started, but Seamus interrupted him.

"Let’s go," he said, and caught at Dean’s hand. The two walked in companionable silence for a bit, before Dean started to talk.

"What do you think happened?" he asked.

"I don’t know, but if Harry thinks it was You-Know-Who, well, he would know, wouldn’t he?" Seamus’ voice was quiet and worried.

"But, how could he have gotten into the school to attack someone?"

"The greenhouse isn’t in the school, it’s outside." But Seamus didn’t sound very sure of himself.

"It’s still on the grounds though," Dean led them around another corner towards the hospital wing. "You’d think the wards and guards and things would stop him."

"Well, maybe he had help getting here, or, maybe it wasn’t him," Seamus sounded hopeful. "You’d think if You-Know-Who went to all the trouble of getting on the grounds he’d at least attack Harry and not just some random kid out in the green house."

"But Justin’s not just some random kid, is he?" Dean said. "He’s Muggle born." Seamus didn’t have an answer to that, but he gave Dean’s hand a squeeze. Then, in the silence they had let drop around them they heard a quiet sniffle from up ahead. Seamus paused, and Dean tried to peer ahead. "What do you think that was?" Dean asked quietly.

"It sounded like someone was crying, or trying not to," but Seamus looked worried. "The other houses ought to know what happened, and Hermione’s right, people shouldn’t be out until we know more about what’s going on." Dean gave him a look at that. "I just mean," he said quickly, "that whoever is out here probably shouldn’t be."

The two quietly continued down the hall, trying to hear which direction the occasional muffled sound came from. Slowly they pulled level with a partly closed door and pushed it open halfway. There they were confronted with the sight of Draco Malfoy, sitting on a desk at the front of an unused classroom with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around them. He didn’t look like he’d been crying, but it appeared as though he might start soon.

Dean looked at Seamus, who shrugged back at him then turned to leave the Slytherin to his problems. Unfortunately he bumped the open door with his shoulder and, although the thump was quiet, it seemed to be enough to alert Malfoy to their presence.

"Finnigan, Thomas, what are you doing here?" Malfoy’s voice was steady and controlled as it always was, although something seemed different to Dean’s ear. Maybe something really had upset the other boy.

"We could ask the same of you Malfoy," Seamus shot back. "You don’t own the school and you don’t get to question students’ whereabouts." The Irish boy had a quick temper and often found the aristocrat’s manner to be very abrasive.

"Well, I am one of the Slytherin prefects," the blond reminded them in a tone that boded ill for their interruption, but then he seemed to deflate. "Go away or points will be taken."

"Look you stuffed up little . . ." Seamus began, but Dean stopped him.

"Come on Seamus," and Dean rested his hand on the smaller boy’s shoulder. "He’s not worth our time and Justin is. Let’s go."

"Off to see Finch-Fletchley, are you?" Draco’s question caught Dean off guard as he turned to leave. "And what do you think you can do for him?"

"Be there for him. He’s my friend and I want to see if he’s ok."

"I doubt he is," Draco’s answer seemed ominous.

"And what do you know of it?" Dean turned on him angrily. "Are you the one who let some Death Eater on campus to attack him, or maybe you did it yourself."

"Stuff it, Mudblood," was Malfoy’s only answer.

"Don’t you call him that!" Seamus was incensed. "You’re nothing but a petty two-bit villain and not worth the ink under his fingernails."

Malfoy looked taken aback at this, and Dean couldn’t help but glance at his hands to see that, in fact, there was rather a lot of ink under his nails. He blushed a little at Seamus’ having noticed, and Malfoy caught the blush.

"Oh, is that how it is then?" the Slytherin suddenly looked rather like a cat which had just sighted a bright, innocent, and unwary cannery. "Not just Mudbloods are we? No, we’ve got to be flying for the other team as well, eh?" Dean didn’t quite catch the reference but suspected it probably wasn’t a nice thing from the way Seamus was turning red.

"Look you little . . ." Seamus looked about ready to leap into the room and pound on Malfoy when steps were heard running down the corridor they had come from. Harry suddenly burst around the corner and skidded to a stop next to the two boys.

"There you are," he said, a little out of breath. "When you didn’t make it up to the Hospital Wing Professor Dumbledore got worried and sent me to find you. What kept you?"

"This ratbag," and Seamus, not wondering how Harry and the Headmaster had ended up in the Hospital Wing, gestured into the room at Malfoy, still sitting curled up on the desk.

Harry glanced into the room, then took a better look. "Malfoy," he spit out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"None of your business Potter," he shot back.

"I’m making it my business. Where have you been all afternoon? Where were you when Justin was attacked? What do you know about it?"

"None of your business," the blond drawled. "None of your business, and, oh yes, none of your business. Where do you get off grilling me? What I do with my time is my own choice."

"Not now it’s not. You’ve been up to something all year . . ."

"All year?" Draco interrupted. "How ‘all year’? We’ve only been back for two months."

"Well, you’ve been up to something for two months then, and I want to . . ."

"Potter, what on earth makes you think I’ve been up to something?" and now the blond was innocence personified, although none of the Gryffindors were buying it. Dean, who was used to looking at people and seeing what was really there was the only one to notice the way Malfoy’s eyes kept shifting around the room, and his feet were moving as though he was twitching his toes in his shoes.

"You’re a Malfoy. Whenever something bad happens I think you’re involved. You’re a little shit and . . ."

"That’s right. I’m a Malfoy!" and now Draco was on his feet, yelling at Harry. "I’m a goddamned Malfoy! What of it? Oh, that’s right, Malfoy is synonymous with Dark Arts, I’d forgotten. Silly me!"

"Yes, that’s right," and Harry was yelling right back. "Malfoy does equal Dark Arts in my book. You’re a Slytherin, you frequent Knockturn Alley, your father has an extra cellar of Dark Arts materials, your father gave Ginny Voldemort’s old diary, your father was a Death Eater, and still is, your father . . ."

"My father, my father, my FATHER!" Malfoy practically screamed. "I am NOT my fucking FATHER! Do you understand? Do you people hear me? I am my own person and will make my own fucking decisions!"

"And your decisions got Justin hurt." Harry spit out, pulling Malfoy up and stopping his yelling entirely.

"Go ahead, blame it on me," Draco had become very quiet. "But I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with it."

"Yeah, right. I’ll believe that when . . ." Harry was interrupted.

"If you didn’t," Dean said. "If you didn’t, then who did?"

Draco seemed to deflate for a second, as though the loss of momentum provided by his argument with his nemesis would cause him to fall over, then regained himself. "I’ll give you three guesses Thomas, and the first two don’t count."

"Your father?" now it was Seamus’ turn to surprise Harry with his input.

"Give the boy a prize," Draco turned away from the three Gryffindors arrayed in the doorway, and looked around the room, as though seeing it for the first time, or not seeing it at all.

"Malfoy, did you know it was going to happen?" Draco looked up at Dean’s voice and saw that the black boy had stepped into the room at last and was crossing to where he stood. "Did you know Justin was going to be attacked."

Draco sighed. "Not really."

"That’s not good enough Malfoy," Harry finally spoke up again, quietly, as though stunned to be having such a conversation with Draco Malfoy. "How ‘not really’?"

"Really not really," Malfoy gave a small, wry smile, then sobered. "I knew they were up to something. It would be pretty fucking hard not to know that. I didn’t know any details though. I didn’t know time, or place, or person, or anything. Just," and he sighed. "Just that something was up."

"How is that possible?" Now it was Harry’s turn to step into the room. He walked across the floor and stopped a body’s length from Malfoy. "How could you not know?"

"No," Draco said. "No. I won’t talk about this. Not now."

"Then when?" Seamus asked, coming in to join Dean.

"Not with you at any rate," Malfoy shot back, then turned to face the boy he’d faced off against so many times. "Potter, you want to know what I know, meet me tonight, down outside the Main Entrance. I’m ready to talk, but you’d better come alone. I don’t want to see the Weasel or his too-smart-for-her-own-good girlfriend. Or these two poufs," he added, almost as an after thought.

"And if I don’t come?" Harry asked.

"You don’t come, you don’t learn what I have to say. You don’t find out what I know about my father’s activities. You don’t get to know why I’m going to talk to you, and you don’t discover the thing I know you want to know most in the world; why I’m not in league with my father any more." This tact admission of his previous compliance in his father’s work didn’t seem to startle Harry, who just nodded at the blond boy. "I’ll see you tonight. Or I won’t." And Draco strode out of the classroom, leaving Dean and Seamus staring after him.

"I don’t think you’d better go," Seamus finally said, turning to face his famous roommate. But Harry didn’t answer. "Really Harry, I . . ."

"Seamus," Dean spoke up. "This one’s Harry’s call. Come on," and he tugged on Seamus’ sleeve. "Let’s go see Justin."

"Um, yeah, right." Seamus nodded at Dean, then looked back at Harry, who had turned to face the desk Draco had been sitting at. "Harry, you want to come?"

"No, that’s ok," Harry finally answered. "I think I’m going to go back to the tower." Dean and Seamus started to head out the door when Harry’s voice stopped them. "Hey, Seamus," and the Irish boy looked back to see his friend grinning at him. "You ever get around to dealing with that thing we talked about before Quidditch practice?"

Seamus blushed and Dean looked at him a little questioningly. When Seamus didn’t meet his eyes he caught on, then grinned back at Harry. "Well, if by that thing you mean me, then yeah," and he slung an arm around Seamus’ shoulders. "He did."

"Congrats then, you two deserve each other."

"Right, well," Seamus found his tongue again. "I think we’re just going to go see Justin, if that’s ok."

"That’s fine," Harry’s eyes turned serious. "I hope he’s ok."

"Yeah, me too," Dean said, then the two boys headed out, leaving the third to think about all the things he had learned this evening.