Lucky Charms

The trouble with always keeping both feet firmly on the ground is that you can never take your pants off.

J.D. Smith

All of this was just a dream. It had to be.

I'm going to wake up soon, all warm and snuggly in my bed, and laugh at the absurdity of this dream. Then I'm going to get up and wank in the shower just like every other morning. After that, I'll sigh deeply and feel all depressed that the highlight of my day is over. Yup, it'll be the same old, same old.

Wake up!

I mean, really? Malfoy finding the answers to my sex test? Who is that unlucky?

Wake Up!

Why do I dream about Malfoy attacking me in abandoned corridors? Why can't I have a sex dream? One that involves full body massages and feathers. I could definitely use one right about now.

Seamus pauses in his eternal ramblings and stares up at the ceiling of the great hall, almost as if he were saying, "God, you know I don't ask for much, so could you do a poor bloke a favor and send me a..."

Then Seamus blinked and shook his head quickly, shuddering all over. He was about to ask God to send him a wet dream. Only right then, did he realize how desperate he really was.

Groaning miserably, Seamus leaned forward and placed his forehead on the Gryffindor table, his hair just barely missing the soup bowl.

He wasn't dreaming. This was real: Malfoy, Blaise, and the sex test, all of it. It was all real and no amount of hoping would make it go away.

Sighing deeply, Seamus turned his head, so that his cheek was now resting on the table, and stared blankly into space. His mind just refused to deal with the situation at hand and blocked out everything.

It was then that he noticed the fork that was resting just an inch from his nose. It was shiny, grey, and pointy, and, naturally, it reminded him of Malfoy.

Growling, Seamus picked up that ferrety fork and began smacking it against the table. Unsatisfied with this, Seamus sat up straight and began bending that damned fork with both hands, oblivious to the looks he was getting from his housemates.

"Uh, Seamus, why are you attacking your fork?" Dean asked him hesitantly from across the table.

Seamus stilled. Then he looked up at the assorted faces that were all staring at him. Neville's wide and unblinking eyes were frozen in shock, whereas Dean was covering his mouth with his hand in a futile effort to conceal his laughter. Lavender had one perfectly styled eyebrow raised at him and Ron was gaping at him mid-chew. Parvati, however, was too busy eyeing her own fork with suspicion to pay attention to his insane ramblings.

"I--um. Well, you see he...It was...I hate forks," Seamus said abruptly and dropped the fork onto his plate with a clang.

Dean nodded sagely and cupped his chin with his hand in a thoughtful looking way. Then he narrowed his eyes and said somewhat mockingly, "I see. Well! Does this new found prejudice apply to just forks or to all cutlery in general?"

"Oh, shut up!" Seamus said grudgingly. Then he picked his fork back up and began threatening to hit Dean with it.

Dean raised his hands up to protect himself and said, "Alright, alright, no more jokes, even though you left yourself wide open for that one. So what happened, Seamus? Why are you in such a state?"

With these concerned words, all Seamus' problems came rushing back into his brain. For a few minutes, he had been able to forget about Malfoy blackmailing him and the up and coming event with Zabini, but not any more.

His stomach turned in anticipation and his face contorted into a nervous grimace. Seamus didn't know it, but he had a very expressive face that many people could read without difficulty. It was obvious to everyone that he was very upset over something.

"Seamus? What is it? Did Imogen break up with you?" Dean asked with a sympathetic softening of his voice.

Imogen. Right. Let's not forget about that lie. Seamus had made her up last summer, so that Dean would get off his back and stop trying to set him up with girls he called 'sure things.'

Seamus chose the name 'Imogen' because it gave off the impression of a beautiful, but snotty girl who would eventually dump him for a richer bloke and break his poor unsuspecting heart. Thus, giving him several months worth of grieving time before he had to come up with another excuse why he didn't date any girls at Hogwarts. Sigh. It was a very effective sham. Too effective and it often made him feel as guilty as shit, like right now.

Don't give me that look! You try being a poof with low self esteem who has a best friend who is Hogwarts' number one hero for heterosexuality. It isn't easy! Girls will let an artist get away with everything just to get their portrait painted. If I had a galleon for every time Dean told me about him, a girl, and a bucket of paint in the Room of Requirement, I would be richer than Malfoy!

Malfoy!

"Bastard," Seamus swore loudly and glared down murderously at that cursed fork.

"Hey now, Seamus, don't beat yourself up about it. Imogen wasn't the right girl for you. Don't worry. I know several girls who would love a little free time with the Ole Irish Rogue himself," Dean said with a jovial smile.

Snort. Irish Rogue. Dean insisted that some girl thought up that absurd nickname for Seamus, and not Dean himself. If they only knew...

Idiot, they're going to know in about five minutes!

"Dean..." Seamus began thickly, but cut himself off. He couldn't look Dean in the face and he couldn't tell him the truth. Some Gryffindor he turned out to be. He couldn't even admit to himself that he had been cowardly lying to his best friend for the past three years.

It's all going to come out in front of everyone and Dean's going to hear it from someone else and hate me.

Seamus swallowed thickly and bit his lip. Then all of a sudden, he felt something poking his hand. He looked down and he found Dean's dark hand holding his fork and gently poking his hand with it.

Seamus laughed once and looked up into Dean's grinning face. When he glanced up at him and saw all their years of friendship vanishing due to his deceit, the laughter choked in his throat and his eyes burned.

"Hey now, none of that. Why don't we skive off class and go back to our dorm? We can try out your homemade firewhisky and see what happens," Dean said, hoping that this would do the trick and make Seamus himself again, but it only made Seamus' face contort more.

"Stop it! Stop being so goddamn decent to me. I don't deserve it!" Seamus said harshly and stood up so roughly that he banged the back of his knees against the bench and nearly stumbled getting himself out.

"Seamus?" Dean asked in confused disbelief and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

Seamus knew that tone of Dean's voice. He only used it when he was feeling guilty, as if he was responsible for Seamus' behavior. It stilled Seamus and made him turn around instead of walking off.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Dean. It's me. I'm the one to blame. Whatever happens later, know that I'm sorry," Seamus said to Dean, but he never looked him in the eye.

Then Seamus sprinted towards the Slytherin table with the posture of a dead man walking to his execution. Before his courage failed him, he walked directly up to where Zabini was sitting.

Ignoring the glee filled look on Malfoy's face and the stunned surprise on the other Slytherins sitting next to his target, Seamus inhaled a deep breath and said loudly, "Zabini!"

All conversation at the Slytherin table ceased to exist and all eyes turned to Seamus and then to Blaise. Seamus braced himself and stared down at a seated Zabini. It was almost his undoing.

The sight of him just sending out all those vibes of Slytherin mystique almost sent Seamus over the edge. Zabini was sitting there with the two top buttons of his shirt unbuttoned, showing off his pale neck, and with his black hair all flung back. He took a casual sip of a pumpkin juice, as if a Gryffindor at the Slytherin table was an everyday occurrence.

"Yes," Zabini said softly. It wasn't even a question. Then he licked the leftover juice from his lips with his skilled tongue.

Seamus choked. He couldn't do it. He just couldn't. All of this was for nothing. He couldn't get his mouth to work. He was too busy staring at Zabini's mouth and neck. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this close to him.

Then all of a sudden, Seamus felt this invisible force pulling his gaze upward and towards Zabini's dark eyes. The words just seemed to come from a place deep inside Seamus and once he started he couldn't stop.

"I want you, Blaise. I always have. You're the most beautiful man in the world and anyone who doesn't think so is a fool who I would gladly beat senseless for you. But it's more than just looks, I also think that you are an amazing human being. I've watched you for so long. I know how you help Bulstrode with her homework in the library everyday, how you sit in the Hospital Wing with Nott every time he gets sick, and how you're just so brilliant with everything you do without being arrogant. I want you, Blaise, so much it hurts to even look at you."

Out of breath, Seamus stood there staring at a stunned beyond belief Blaise and waited for some cutting reply to tear him to shreds. When no response came from a thin lipped and frowning Zabini, Seamus shook his head and said sadly, "I just thought you should know." Then he stormed out of there like a bat out of hell.

Even though he was almost exiting the Great Hall, Seamus could still hear Malfoy and Parkinson laughing and mocking Zabini from far away.

"Is he not your type, Blaise?" Parkinson asked snidely.

"Yeah. Don't you prefer your boys taller and prettier?" Malfoy said jeeringly and way too loudly so that everyone in the hall, from Gryffindor to Hufflepuff, could hear him.

Seamus ran out of the Great Hall to the sounds of Slytherin laughter with the sick realization that Malfoy had just used him to out Blaise Zabini. Discrete Zabini, who never did anything publicly, had just been humiliated in front of the whole school and it was all Seamus' fault.

Feeling depressed, but somehow freer than he'd ever felt in his whole life, Seamus accepted his fate that he was going to die a virgin with seven smelly cats, who would then consume his pure, untouched carcass.

Sigh.

Sex is overrated anyway, isn't it?

Oh shut up!