The Homo Superior

The Homo Superior

"Seamus, what are you doing?"

"Sitting here."

"Yes, but what is that you've got?"

"You mean this?"

"Yeah."

"It's Dean's sketchbook."

"Any particular reason you're defacing it with a sharpie? Because I don't think Dean will like--"

"That's the whole point, you git."

-----

"Dean, what are you doing?"

"Sitting here. Do you have a problem with that?"

"No."

"Good."

"But what are you doing?"

"Listening to the voices in my head scream. What do you want, Colin?"

"Did you know that Seamus has your sketchbook?"

-----

In the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione Granger is thoroughly enjoying the first day of her winter vacation. Wrapped in one of her boyfriend's maroon sweaters, she sinks into the couch closest to the fire and sighs contentedly. Opening up a slim book with the word Pygmalion scrawled across the cover in fading ink, she is prepared to spend the rest of her morning lost in George Bernard Shaw's excellent play about the meaning of perfection.

It's been too long since Hermione has had the time to read any of her favorite Muggle works. Perhaps that's why she's a bit put out when Dean Thomas storms down the stairs followed closely by Seamus Finnegan and less closely by a red-faced Colin Creevy. Dean has a tattered sketchbook clutched in his hands and Hermione can see what looks like the beginning of angry tears shining in his eyes. Biting her lip, she closes her book and sits up to watch the ensuing row.

"Get back here!" Seamus is saying, sprinting the last steps to Dean's side and grabbing the black boy's arm. Dean freezes and stares at the ceiling, an ugly look on his face as he obviously tries to force back his tears. Seamus frowns at him and says, "You can't just run off without telling me."

"Telling you what!?" Dean explodes. Seamus recoils from his friend and takes a hurried step backward as the scorned artist waves his ruined sketches under Seamus's nose and hisses, "You want me to tell you what I think of this, huh? Fine, Seamus, I'll tell you." He opens the sketchbook and starts to rip the pages out; painfully slow; one at a time. Every time one is free, he tosses it over his shoulder and Colin stoops to pick it up, smoothing the damaged picture and shooting Hermione mournful looks.

Ignoring him, Hermione watches Dean quake with rage as he tears another page out. "I think you're the most idiotic... immature... unfeeling person I've ever met in my life and I'm not putting up with your lack of sympathy anymore. For God's sake, Seamus, you're supposed to be my best friend. And if there's something I don't want to tell you, I reserve that right. You don't get to know everything about me by default!" He slaps the empty cover of his sketchbook against Seamus's chest and shoulders past him.

Seamus turns, his mouth open and his hand up as if to stop Dean's rampage, but Hermione raises her eyebrows at him from across the room and he lets the hand fall back to his side as Dean exits the room. Colin nervously flattens the rumpled sketches. Seamus whips his head around at the noise.

"You sneak!" he shouts, and starts for Colin's throat. Colin lets out a shriek of terror more suitable for a girl and Dean's sketches go flying as he dives behind the couch, Seamus following. Hermione has had more than enough and stands up.

"Seamus Finnegan, you let go of that poor boy right now!" she commands and Seamus slowly rises to his feet, an abashed look on his face. Colin scrambles for the stairs and disappears.

"How dare you take out your frustration on Colin?" Hermione says, vexed. She crosses her arms and tilts her chin up as Seamus attempts contriteness, flashing his baby blues for all he's worth. She shakes her head. "You have no shame, do you?"

"None whatsoever," Seamus agrees cheerfully. Hermione wonders at his ability to switch moods so fast. He's worse than she is PMS-ing. He plops down onto the couch and picks up Pygmalion.

Hermione grabs it from his curious hands and sits next to him. "What was that all about?" she pries. "And what did Colin do?"

Seamus rolls his eyes and leans back into the cushions of the couch. "Dean's been acting really weird lately--" Hermione nods, and thinks she knows why but doesn't say so. "--and we had a row about it over breakfast because he wouldn't talk to me. I got mad and told him to find a new best friend, so he told me to piss off. I took his advice and went back to the dormitory. And then I found that." He points at the sketchbook lying all over the floor, and shrugs. "I don't know what I was thinking really. Except that I was mad. Am mad," he corrects, and rubs his nose absentmindedly. "Colin just told Dean what I was doing, is all."

Hermione closes her eyes for a moment, seeking serenity. She feels Seamus leave the couch and opens them to see the sandy-haired boy shifting through Dean's sketches on the floor.

"Are you sorry?" she asks him frankly. He looks at her over his shoulder and gives her a cheerful smile.

"No. Dean was being a wanker. And these are all pictures of me, anyway. I think I reserve the right to make myself look like a git."

Hermione can't stifle the giggle that escapes her mouth. She joins Seamus on the floor and looks at a few of the drawings. They're all terribly good, despite Seamus's additions. And Seamus is right; he's the subject of every one. She can see Seamus eating, Seamus flying, Seamus sleeping...

The one of him sleeping has not been vandalized. Hermione picks it up and studies it closely. Seamus is lying in his bed, his head halfway off the pillow and the sheets twisted around his chest which (Hermione notes with interest) is bare. His sandy hair is tousled on his forehead and his cheeks are slightly flushed. Hermione can almost see him breathing on the paper.

Seamus leans over her shoulder to look at the picture. "Ah!" he cries abruptly, and snatches it away from her. Hermione protests, but he jumps up and sits back down on the couch, holding the paper so she can't see it. "This is the one that started it all," he murmurs vaguely, eyes glazing as he stares at the image of himself.

"Started what all?" Hermione asks in exasperation. "You're so weird, Seamus."

He laughs at that, and shakes the drawing. "This," he explains, "is when Dean started being strange. I woke up when he was almost done with it and he wigged out."

"Be specific," Hermione says, getting up and sitting in the chair across from Seamus. "What do you mean he 'wigged out'?"

"I mean, he was surprised I was awake, but then he got all fidgety and nervous and he couldn't finish the drawing. I told him it was all right; I know about him and his wonky sense of lighting conditions and all that. But he wouldn't calm down. He kept babbling on about stuff that didn't make any sense. Irrelevant stuff like what we were gonna do when we left school and all."

"Hmm." Hermione tilts her head at him. "Sounds like you should have taken a course in Wizard Psych, Seamus."

"What! Why?" He narrows his eyes at her. "What are you implying?"

Hermione chuckles. "Well, maybe you'd know if you took the class."

Seamus puffs out a frustrated breath and tucks the picture in his pocket. "I resent the suggestion that I can't figure things out for myself," he says haughtily, doing his best impression of a certain blonde Slytherin. Hermione smiles to herself.

"But you can't, Seamus," she points out, matter-of-fact.

Seamus gives her a heartbroken look and falls back on the couch, wailing, "I know! So can't you please tell me what's going on?"

"Why? What's going on?"

Seamus sits up and Hermione turns around to see Ron come into the Common Room, a wriggling Crookshanks in his arms. Hermione squeals and goes to get her cat. Ron rolls his eyes and looks at Seamus who lifts his shoulders in a shrug and smiles, nonplussed. Ron shakes his head.

"Your stupid cat got caught eating Hagrid's lettuce again," Ron tells Hermione. She grimaces at him and hugs Crookshanks to her chest. The gingery cat turns his squashed face toward his mistress and purrs loudly, ignoring Ron's accusation. Hermione scratches his chin and gives her boyfriend a significant look. He sighs. "Just telling you what Hagrid told me," he says in his own defense. Crookshanks hisses at him and jumps from Hermione's arms to stalk off to the girl's dormitories.

"Now look what you did," Hermione says accusingly, chasing after her fickle pet. Ron heaves a bigger sigh and slumps on the couch next to Seamus.

"I swear she'll never change," the redhead groans. Seamus nods in weary agreement.

"You're telling me," he says, thinking of whatever it is Hermione seems to know about Dean that he doesn't.

"What were you two talking about, anyway?" Ron suddenly says, straightening to look at his roommate meaningfully. "It wasn't about me, was it?"

"No," Seamus laughs, putting the worried look on Ron's face to rest. "It was about Dean."

"Oh," Ron says. He smiles a little. "I see."

Seamus darts him a suspicious glance. "Well, could you tell me then? Because I don't see anything."

"What do I see?" Ron echoes, and his smile becomes broader. Seamus curses the freckled boy as he hums a chord or two and sings, "'A crack in the sky and a hand reaching down to me...'" He pauses. "There's no need to be nasty about it, Seamus."

"Augh!" Seamus exclaims and lets Ron wander off in search of Harry's David Bowie CDs.

The befuddled young Irishman sits in the Common Room for a while longer, pondering over Dean's recent words and actions. It's difficult; Seamus doesn't have the best memory in the world and he can't seem to call up anything specific happening in the past couple weeks aside from the whole drawing incident. All that comes to mind is the troubled feeling he's had lately that Dean has been hiding something from him, and he hates that feeling. Absently, he starts to put the pictures from Dean's sketchbook back in their original order. Is it just him, or do these pictures seem surprisingly intimate?

Suddenly there's a bang, a crash, and a loudly stated obscenity from the hallway outside the portrait hole. Seamus looks up with faint interest, halfway eager to have something distract him from his worried thoughts. Dean staggers inside, a wet umbrella hanging off his arm, and a dazed look on his face.

"I'm okay!" he says a bit belatedly, rubbing his forehead. Seamus snickers and stands up, going to his friend.

Dean sees him coming and Seamus is quite abruptly forced backwards with the point of the umbrella.

"Don't talk to me," Dean spits. "I'm sick of your words."

Seamus swallows his pride and steps aside to respect Dean's wishes. Dean is surprised at this action and eyes Seamus warily as if he's watching an overzealous puppy that's just come back from obedience school. Seamus winces and smiles at the same time, hoping the effect is such that Dean understands he's not a threat. Dean slowly lowers his umbrella.

"What's the matter?" he asks, sighing.

"I thought you were sick of my words," Seamus retorts triumphantly, still smiling. Dean arches an eyebrow. "Nothing," Seamus replies hurriedly. "Nothing's wrong. I was a git. I'm sorry. Here. I spell-o-taped your sketchbook back together while you were gone." He holds out said item. Dean looks at it blankly for a moment, then takes it from him and slips it into the pocket of his rain-soaked cloak.

"You're wet," Seamus observes in the uneasy silence that follows.

"It's raining," Dean says, and he seems to have calmed down considerably. Seamus is glad, but feels nervous for some reason he can't quite explain.

"But your umbrella...?" he points out, unable to say anything else.

Dean glances at him. "Forgot I had it," he replies shortly, "Why?"

"No reason." Seamus blinks. Has Dean always looked at him like that? "Say, Dean?"

Dean takes the drenched cloak off and throws it over a chair before answering. "Yes, Seamus?"

"Are you still mad at me?"

More uneasy silence follows this question. Seamus watches Dean's eyes travel from him to the cloak back to him then to the floor.

"No," he sighs at last. "I'm not." Then he thinks of something and adds, "As long as you're not going to ask me what's wrong with me again!"

"Oh no, I wouldn't do that," Seamus says at once, holding up his hands and batting his eyes innocently. "I don't need to do that." For Seamus has come to realize something in the space of the past few minutes. And he is wondering why he never noticed it earlier. Suddenly the sketch of him sleeping seems to be burning a literal hole in his pocket.

Again, Dean is surprised by Seamus's response. He gives Seamus an odd look. "Why not?" he asks suspiciously.

"Because I think I just figured out what everyone else knows."

"Oh, what's that?"

"Well, let me ask you a question first, and then I'll tell you. Okay?"

Warily, Dean agrees. "Okay."

Seamus clears his throat, looks at Dean, and says with a straight face. "If I lost my teddy bear, could I use you instead?" And Seamus gives him such a feral grin that Dean's eyes widen.

"What? Earlier this morning you destroy my life's work because I won't say I like--mmph." Seamus can't see how Dean's words are adding anything to the conversation and cuts him off. His lips are much better employed this new way anyway.

"Seamus..." Dean moans in his ear after a moment. "You're hopeless."

"How so?" Seamus asks curiously, allowing his fingers to explore the planes of Dean's dark cheek, down to the sharpness of his collarbone. Has Dean always been this beautiful and he just never noticed? For six years, he never noticed? Seamus makes a mental note to himself to pay more attention to his friend in the future.

"You get mad because I won't tell you I like you, and now this?" Dean replies, pushing Seamus away.

Seamus folds his arms and pouts, the petulant child. He takes out his sketch. "Is this the picture of a boy you just like?" he inquires, sticking out his lower lip. Dean looks like he's aching to do something about that pout, but he takes the picture instead. "How long has it been since I came out of the proverbial closet, Dean? I'm still mad, but I'm willing to forgive you because I think I've done more than just like you for as long as I can remember."

Dean's lips part as he looks at the picture. "You're not kidding," he says, and it's no question. Seamus rolls his eyes and gives him an exaggerated nod.

"It's taken you this long to notice?"

"What the hell are you going on about, Seamus? You couldn't figure out what was wrong with me..."

"I... Huh. I guess you're right."

Dean gives the picture another look, then lets it fall to the floor. "I'm always right," he says, but he is suddenly happy for the first time in weeks. "Except about the liking you thing."

"What?" Seamus panics.

Dean leans in and kisses him. "I think I could love you, Seamus Finnegan," he says with a grin of his own. "You git."

"Well if it isn't Eliza and the professor!" Hermione waltzes into the room, a huge smile on her face. Seamus and Dean spring apart as though they've been burned.

"Please continue," Hermione says, gesturing. She picks up Pygmalion from the couch. "I'm just here for my book. Nice day, isn't it?" She retreats to the dormitories, still smiling.

"But it's raining," Dean says dully because he can't think of anything else to say. He chances a glance at Seamus, suddenly embarrassed.

Seamus rolls his eyes and grabs Dean by the shoulders, pushing him toward the couch. "And what could be more beautiful than a rainy day?" he inquires, blue eyes twinkling. "Except you, of course. And your lovely confession." He kisses Dean before the other boy can protest and they fall onto the couch together.

"I think I already love you, Dean. What are you going to do about that?"

Dean fights his grin. "I guess I'll have to find that teddy bear you might be missing. How else will I ever escape to sketch you while you sleep?"

"Shut up, and kiss me again, you idiot. We've got a lot of catching up to do."