As the World Falls Down

The sound of the doors banging open is so sudden that Gryffindor seventh-year Dean Thomas jerks his hand in surprise, sending a pitcher of pumpkin juice flying. Orange liquid gushes across the table and several seventh years curse as they jump off of their benches to escape the flood. Seamus Finnigan snickers while Dean banishes the juice with a spell from his wand, but the laughter dies in his throat when he spots the reason for Dean's clumsiness.

Professor Minerva McGonagall, usually a very distinguished witch, is sprinting down the length of the Great Hall, her skirts hiked up to her knees and her prim glasses askew. She skids to a halt in front of the High Table and keels over, looking as though she is about to throw up. The headmaster is already out of his chair and hurrying to her side. All of the students have now realized that something is amiss and they fall quiet, staring with rapt attention as Professor Dumbledore lays a comforting hand on the Transfiguration teacher's shoulder. It takes a minute for her to recover, but when she does, she begins to talk very fast in a low voice that no one can hear. The Great Hall is so quiet that Dean swears he might hear a pin drop and yet he can't make out the message being relayed.

Sitting next to him, Seamus nudges Dean's shoulder.

"Is this about Harry, do you think?" he whispers anxiously, some strange emotion shivering within his blue eyes.

A little disconcerted by Seamus' interruption, Dean shrugs with impatience and leans his elbows on the table. Of course this is about Harry Potter. Dean woke this morning to an empty dorm room, save for himself and his sandy-haired best friend. And besides Harry, Ron and Neville, Hermione and Ginny were also missing. Dean has an ominous feeling of foreboding when he looks back up at the High Table and sees that Professor Dumbledore's face is unnaturally pale.

"Prefects," he says quietly, and everyone hears the soft voice. It resounds with something its listeners have never heard from it before - fear. "Please escort all students back to the Common Rooms and wait for the Heads of your Houses to join you."

*~*~*

It's one in the afternoon and classes are unexpectedly over. Yellow sunlight is streaming into the Gryffindor Common Room through stained glass windows, washing its furnishings and occupants alike in their House colors of red and gold. No one seems to notice or care. A roaring fire, lit by a dutiful House Elf earlier in the cold morning, makes the room unbearably hot, but no one seems to care about that either.

Dean glances around the room, his eyes taking in, but not truly considering all of the students surrounding him. First through seventh year, every Gryffindor is in here except for the Prefects who left when Professor McGonagall did. But despite the healthy human presence, the room feels empty and foreign, and Dean shudders with the memory of the words that are still hanging in the air.

"This morning five of your housemates went missing. Two of them have been found."

There is a collective intake of breath from the sixth and seventh years. Professor McGonagall flinches at the sound.

"They were both discovered outside of the Forbidden Forest by Hagrid not more than twenty minutes ago. Hermione Granger was a ragged mess, hardly able to speak. Neville Longbottom was... is... dead."

At this, Seamus grabs Dean's shoulder and squeezes so hard Dean can feel the other boy's fingernails digging into his skin. Some of the girls begin to cry.

Professor McGonagall presses on, forcing herself to finish the story before she is unable to. "We have news that Harry Potter and Ron and Ginny Weasley are being held by a faction of renegade Death Eaters somewhere in the country. They are threatening to kill them all. Already we have been sent three broken wands." She produces three pieces of splintered wood; phoenix feather and unicorn hair show where the wands have been split. Lavender Brown lets out a wail of horror, and Dean fights down the urge to be sick.

Now, sitting on the couch with Seamus and the others, Dean tries to interpret how he feels and finds he can't. Everything in his mind is still too shocked to process anything.

Beside him, Seamus peers in dull curiosity at his wristwatch. The magical mechanism inside it wakes up and begins to shout, "One oh five! One oh five! Why aren't you in class young man!?" Seamus claps a hand over the shrieking watch and shoots a guilty look around the room.

"Sorry," he mumbles, his cheeks reddening. He slouches down into the couch with embarrassment. "Was me mum's idea you know..." he admits under his breath, looking uncomfortable.

The older students appear unfazed. They are still in shock, dabbing at their eyes with handkerchiefs or trying to hide their faces by staring at the carpet. But the younger ones look agitated by the sudden outburst of sound and are trying not to stare at Seamus as he sinks further into the cushions. Their skittish eyes dart away to rest on their own watches, or the window, or the crackling fire. Dean is beginning to wish that Professor McGonagall hadn't left in such a hurry.

A few minutes of relative silence pass. Seamus fidgets as though he has to go play a Quidditch match in an hour and can't help himself for excitement. Dean wishes he would stop because it's making him feel unnaturally edgy. Then suddenly the Irish boy leans over and speaks directly into Dean's ear, his breath tickling Dean's skin. "This is awful. Can't we leave?"

"No," says Dean, pushing Seamus back and rubbing his ear. He wonders that no one seems to be paying the least attention to them as they are only people in the entire room who are talking. "We have to stay here. McGonagall said so."

"Screw that," Seamus retorts, leaning over again, despite Dean's hand on his arm. "Since when do we listen to her? Let's go, Dean. Please?"

Tempted to reply with an exasperated, "Since forever," or a "Why? Everyone else is here," Dean doesn't. He doesn't even let loose the dreadful scream he feels welling up inside him. Instead, something in the emotion of Seamus' words catches him. He lowers his eyebrows and stares at him seriously.

"Where do you think we can go?" he asks, wondering if this is just Seamus wanting to hide his distraught state from the others, or if he just can't handle the pressure of such a mature situation.

Situation...

As sometimes happens during times like this, Dean is suddenly stopped by his own thoughts and his mind turns to the horrifying reality that he's trying to deny. Seamus seems to see the change in his face because he grabs Dean's shoulder and says hurriedly, "We'll go up to the dorm. She didn't say we couldn't." And when he looks straight at Dean his eyes seem to be speaking volumes, but Dean can't interpret the language.

Seamus stands up. Several people look up, startled. "He's sick," Dean lies quickly, trying to look apologetic and standing up himself. He shoves his feelings aside again, and waits for the students to nod their heads and turn away as Seamus fakes a run for the lavatory. Dean follows him slowly, still trying to understand why they are leaving the others. But Seamus is his best friend, so it's really just best to see what this is all about.

He climbs the stairs up to the seventh year boy's dorm and wonders why Seamus didn't at least wait for him once he was out of sight of the common room. Maybe he really is feeling sick... Dean decides to go ahead to the bathroom first to see if Seamus is all right.

He lets out a muffled yell as someone darts out of the doorway on his right and pulls him into the adjacent room. In the abrupt darkness, lips suddenly cover his and he is left breathless by the kiss that ensues. All he can register is the person's arms, thrown hastily about his shoulders, and the taste of salt where their lips touch his. And then they break apart, and Dean can hear someone stumble away from him and drop onto a bed that creaks under the sudden weight.

Shaking and feeling somewhat violated, Dean draws the slender birch wand from his pocket and whispers, "Lumos," into the darkness. White light blossoms from the tip of his wand and reveals a boy sitting on the end of a nearby bed, his face buried in his hands.

For the second time this day Dean feels as though someone has hit him with a sledgehammer directly between the eyes. Watching Seamus' shoulders shake with violent sobs, he touches a finger to his bruised lips and realizes why the kiss tasted of salt. A wave of shock rolls through him, leaving behind a storm of confusion.

"Seamus?" he asks, tentatively starting toward him. Seamus lets out an audible sob and doesn't look up, but Dean can see that the tips of his ears are red with shame or some other similar emotion. "Argh," Dean whispers, trying to figure out what he's going to do about what just happened.

Finally he sits down and bites his lip in frustration. The other boy visibly tenses. Feeling suddenly ashamed of himself, Dean turns sideways and hugs his miserable friend. This day has been too hard for both of them and Seamus is the person he has depended on most in the world ever since he was eleven years old. It just feels right.

Seamus freezes at the contact. Dean sighs and rests his chin on Seamus' shoulder, wishing that everything around them would go away, and things could be simple like they used to be. Seamus trembles and then relaxes next to Dean's chest, his arms folded against himself, and Dean holds him like a child until he finishes crying.

"Do you hate me?" he asks when he's stopped, remaining motionless in Dean's arms.

Dean tries to straighten out the tangled mess that is his thoughts. "I didn't run away," he answers finally. "I don't hate you."

Seamus gulps a breath and Dean thinks about how very odd it is that he can't remember ever being this close to someone before. Not physically, no, because he's had girlfriends, especially clingy girlfriends, and he knows what human contact means. But he can feel Seamus all wrapped up in his arms - his heart fluttering wildly, his shoulders still shaking a little, the every rise and fall of his chest as he breathes - and it seems different somehow. Maybe it's because he knows Seamus so well in other ways and this is the first time they've ever deliberately touched this close.

Almost instinctively, Dean tightens his arms. "I don't hate you," he repeats, quieter, more sincere this time.

Seamus starts to cry again, just a little bit. "I'm sorry," he cries, terrified to reach out and touch Dean again and yet amazed that his friend is offering him such comfort freely. "But with everything that's going on... You know we could die too, Dean. And we're only seventeen. And I thought I knew myself, but apparently I don't. And when she told us about Harry and the others and what happened... It just made me realize..." He sniffles and scrubs a hand across his wet eyes. "Sorry," he says again, not looking at Dean.

Dean forces himself to be still and take stock of everything that Seamus just said. He's right of course. They could die. And not just them, but the entire wizarding world. If this Death Eater scheme works - and it doesn't look too hopeful for Harry at the moment - then the world is in for some shock. The awful truth of their situation settles down into him and he wonders what is stopping him from crying like Seamus.

"It's the end of the world," the boy in his arms whispers, his voice heavy with tears.

Dean shakes his head. "It doesn't have to be," he says anxiously. "It doesn't. Seamus--" He pulls the other boy away from his chest so that he can see his face. It's blotchy and tear-stained and Seamus tries to close his eyes but Dean doesn't want him to. For one moment, blue eyes stare back at deep brown as Dean asks, "Why did you kiss me?"

"Because," Seamus says, taking a deep breath that looks like it pains him. "I thought I knew who I was, but I don't. And I don't want to die not knowing who I am." Despite the pain, a note of defiance enters his voice.

Dean shakes his head. "I don't understand," he says.

"Neither do I!" Seamus exclaims suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. Dean stares, and Seamus lets his arms fall back to rest in his lap. Restless, he watches his fingers curl into a fist as he says without looking up, "That's why I did it."

It's unfortunate that he's not watching Dean's face. Something in it breaks and seems to fall away and suddenly Dean smiles; it is a sad, broken smile, but still a smile. One good thing might as well happen today, he tells himself confidently, shoving all thoughts of death, doom, and destruction out of his head. And then he asks very softly, "Do you know who you are, Seamus?"

Seamus' head snaps up and his eyes narrow suspiciously. Dean carefully keeps his face blank. He's known for a long time that, in the world of attraction, Seamus happens to favor boys, but he also knows himself well enough to understand that girls are never the only thing on his mind.

Seamus' face falls as he confesses, "I thought that I would after that, but now I'm even more lost." He moves as if to pull away, but Dean grabs him gently by the arm and brings him back to the embrace they'd been sharing moments earlier.

"I know who you are, Seamus," Dean explains. Seamus stiffens and waits for the inevitable shove in the opposite direction, the derogatory comment. He should know better. Instead, Dean's arms wind around his waist and he feels Dean's breath tickle his ear as he says, "You're mine, Seamus. Right now, you're just mine."

Seamus turns his face and Dean kisses him on the mouth. This time, neither of them is nervous and they have quite enough breath for a lengthy exploration. When Dean breaks off, Seamus grabs him by the ears and kisses him again, a hungry, ravishing kiss that steals Dean's breath like the first one did. Then Seamus lets him go and falls against Dean's chest with a grin.

"I know now," he breathes, blissfully closing his eyes. Dean blinks and tries to catch his breath.

"Well, I don't!" he says indignantly. "Are you mine or am I yours?" He can feel Seamus grinning into his shirt.

"Let's call it mutual ownership," he suggests, and kisses the hollow of Dean's throat, his tongue grazing the skin teasingly. Dean almost recoils from the surprising touch before realizing that it's sort of pleasant.

"Hey, Seamus," he says, raising a hand to finger a lock of Seamus' hair.

"Yes, Dean?" Seamus replies happily, close to purring like a cat.

"Is this all because we think we're gonna die?"

Seamus folds his arms and shifts around so that his head is on Dean's shoulder. "Way to kill the mood," he grumbles. "I can see romantic involvement doesn't change you much."

Dean shrugs with a matter-of-fact, "I'm still me."

Seamus mumbles something inaudible, and then says, "No."

"No?" Dean asks, puzzled.

"No, it's not cause we're gonna die." He runs his fingers down the underside of Dean's arm and lets them catch Dean's fingers at the end. Suddenly the mood of the dark little room is utterly solemn again. "It's because one of our friends is dead and the others might soon follow him. It's because Dumbledore is scared now and he's never been scared before. It's because there are dark wizards out there willing to kill us for our Muggle heritage." Dean can feel goose bumps forming all over his body as Seamus finishes. "It's because someone like me is scared to lose someone like you."

His heart skips several beats and Dean chastises himself for liking how much it felt. "Seamus," he says, unable to help his melancholy smile. "The world is about to fall down all around us. I need you. You couldn't lose me now even if you tried to."

Seamus squeezes Dean's hand and grins slyly, his sadness put aside in light of Dean's confession.

"You need me?" he asks, arching an eyebrow as he leans forward.

"Maybe in more ways than one now," Dean complains as Seamus busies himself with planting kisses in a line up Dean's forearm. "Bully," he gasps when the other boy continues his track up to Dean's neck, letting his lips linger too long at the edge of Dean's jaw. Dean finds he can't help himself anymore and tangles his fingers through Seamus' soft hair so that he can guide his mouth back to where his own is waiting. Seamus yields to Dean willingly for a moment and then presses himself forward, deepening the already passionate kiss.

Dean holds on for dear life as he feels all traces of his identity slipping away from him.

This time Seamus stops, but doesn't pull back. He puts his pale cheek against Dean's dark one and doesn't say anything, just silently listens to Dean trying once again to catch his breath.

"What... was that for?" Dean pants, grateful that he can hold onto Seamus to keep himself from falling off the face of the planet like he feels he's going to.

"What are you thinking right now?" Seamus whispers, ignoring Dean's question. "Tell me what you're thinking, Dean."

Dean grabs Seamus by the shoulders, pulls his face away from the Irish boy's. "That was one hell of a kiss," he says, almost accusingly. "How come the two of us are such idiots?"

Seamus stares in disbelief. "Huh?"

"That kiss--" Dean touches Seamus' mouth with two probing fingers. "How come we've never kissed before?"

"Dean!" Seamus whines. "I was trying to be serious! This is serious. This is--" He stops, looking staggered.

"What?" asks Dean crossly. "I was being serious. You were the one crying on my shoulder in order to seduce me."

Seamus might have laughed at that half-hearted dig if he'd been of a lighter mood. "Dean," he says instead, "This is serious."

"Yeah, you said that twice already." Dean laughs a little.

Seamus gives him an oddly wistful look and Dean is struck by the strangeness of it. Seamus is the bright and cheerful one, he is the quiet and thoughtful one; what's going on?

"Seamus, I..." Dean hesitates, staring at his former best friend who's now so much more. With the light still glowing eerily from his wand left forgotten on the bed, Dean can see Seamus' bright blue eyes, his sandy, tousled hair, and his pale skin, flushed with color. He realizes that Seamus is staring back at him, drinking up Dean's dark features - his black hair, his chocolate brown eyes, his half-parted lips - with the same intensity that Dean is using to examine him. Quirking a smile for a reason he doesn't understand he says, "Seamus, I'm the real idiot here. I knew you were what I wanted, but I never consciously realized it. If I had, we might've had years of this instead of..." He gestures futilely between them and around them.

Seamus smiles sweetly. "Shut up, Dean." And he presses a chaste kiss upon Dean's lips. "I forgive you."

Dean marvels at the exact simplicity of this gesture. He eyes Seamus admiringly for a moment. "Seamus," he declares at last, "I think I am thoroughly in love with you, and it's all your fault."

The Irish Gryffindor turns pink and grins, making Dean grin back at him. Impulsively they move forward, kissing again briefly, once, then twice. It's a wonder that their smiles don't split their faces, they're so wide.

Quite suddenly the door opens. Seamus' charm that darkened the room disappears and the light from Dean's wand blinks out. The two boys give a collective start and look at the doorway, their smiles vanishing. Seamus clings to Dean possessively, and Dean in turn pulls him closer.

"Ah," the tired voice of Albus Dumbledore says to them. "I am sorry, boys. I didn't realize that you might be in here."

He takes one step into the room and looks at them for a moment, blue eyes lacking their customary twinkle, and takes in the way they are sitting: Seamus in Dean's lap and Dean with his arms around the smaller boy. "Ah," he says again, this time with the ghost of a smile although his eyes remain dull. "I had been wondering when..." He does smile, for their benefit, and then turns to gently close the door.

Seamus and Dean glance at each other in questioning, and slowly draw apart. Seamus wriggles off of Dean and sits beside him instead, their hands creeping together between them. If it's okay with the Headmaster then they don't care what anyone else thinks.

"Sir...?" Dean asks cautiously because Dumbledore hasn't said anything further; he only continues to stare at them. Seamus shifts uncomfortably and Dean squeezes his fingers in reassurance.

"Hmm? Oh yes. Of course, of course." The Headmaster shifts his gaze to the room itself. He begins to walk around the dormitory, passing Seamus and Dean's beds, but lingering in turn at Ron's then Harry's and lastly at Neville's. Seamus shivers and closes his eyes.

"It's a shame that there are some things in life that we don't see until it's too late," Dumbledore says at last, touching the dying plant on Neville's nightstand. Dean doesn't remember its leaves being brown that morning when he awoke. "It always takes something terrible to correct our lack of attention," he goes on, his voice soft and sad. Dean nods at his words, thinking of Seamus sitting beside him.

"Would I be correct in assuming that you two have only just...?"

Dean meets the Headmaster's eyes and nods again, wrapping a protective arm around Seamus' shoulders as the other boy leans against him, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. "It was Seamus who saw it first," he explains, giving his more-than-a-friend a tender look. "I needed his help."

Dumbledore nods, the ghost smile flitting across his aged and weary face again. "I always thought it would be him," he agrees. "I am glad that you have found happiness on such a dark day."

"Me too, Professor," Dean says. Seamus makes a soft noise of agreement at his side. "Professor?" Dean asks, hesitating.

Dumbledore swings his eyes from Harry's empty bed back to Dean. "Yes, Mr. Thomas?"

"Do Ron and Harry... do they have much of a chance, sir?"

He looks at him strangely for a second. "I suppose that depends."

"On what? If you don't mind me asking..."

"I don't mind." He sits down on Harry's bed and smoothes the cover beneath his hands. "It depends on me, Dean. The threat of Harry's death is not an idle one. There is a prophecy that calls for either Harry's or Voldemort's death, claiming that they cannot both live. Neither Voldemort nor his escaped Death Eaters know of this prophecy. It's me they expect to lure out. They know there's some reason that I continue to protect Harry besides the mere goodness of my heart." He sighs. "Well it is that they see me as the threat, or we'd surely be a lost cause by now. As it is..." He trails off and leaves the words unspoken. Seamus can't seem to stop shivering despite Dean's arm around him.

Dean bows his head, stares at his feet dangling over the edge of the bed. He wonders if he'll ever see his friends again. He wonders if they aren't already a lost cause. And most of all, he wonders what is to become of him and Seamus.

Dumbledore gets up from the bed and steals one last look around the room. He goes to the door and pauses there, waiting for Dean's questions. Dean's words die on his lips when he sees the expression on the Headmaster's face. Seamus however, still has his eyes closed.

"Are we going home?" he asks, not looking up, but shrinking further into Dean's embrace.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore replies. "It is doubtful that the Ministry of Magic will allow Hogwarts to remain open without me in it." And he leaves, closing the door behind him.

"Do you think we'll have to leave?" Dean asks Seamus anxiously, putting a hand on the Irish boy's cheek as he opens his eyes.

"I don't know. I don't want to." Seamus reaches up and traces Dean's lips with a finger. "You'll give yourself worry lines wrinkling your forehead like that," he scolds gently, his hand dropping.

Dean closes his eyes, feeling a painful welling in them. He squeezes back his tears and looks at Seamus. "Sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be," Seamus replies mildly, purposefully etching any sadness out of his voice. He watches Dean for a moment, and then says suddenly, "Here. Lie down." He pats the bed beside him.

Dean looks at him in askance. "Sure," Seamus says, repeating himself. "Lie down. You probably need to." He pulls Dean down by the shoulders. Dean lets himself be guided, his head coming to rest on Seamus' lap, his legs drawing up against his chest. Seamus smiles to himself, pets Dean's hair and rubs his back comfortingly.

"Listen," he says. "We'll be all right, Dean. We can get through all of this together." Dean struggles to nod, wishing he didn't still feel like crying. He tries to take solace in Seamus' constant touch, reassures himself that the sandy-haired boy is right. Together they can survive.

"Seamus," he says. "I really do love you."

Seamus' hand stops. Then he lies down next to Dean; this time it's his arms wrapped around the other boy. "I love you too, Dean," he whispers. "And I'll be there for you as the world falls down."

"I'll paint you mornings of gold,

I'll spin you Valentine evenings,

Though we're strangers till now,

We're choosing the path between the stars,

I'll leave my love between the stars...

As the pain sweeps through,

Makes no sense for you,

Every thrill that's gone,

Wasn't too much fun at all,

But I'll be there for you-oo-oo...

As the world falls down,

Falling, falling, falling, falling in love..."

-As the World Falls Down by David Bowie (from the movie Labyrinth)