HP Fic: When It's Gone (Part 1 of 3) Seamus/Dean
Title: When It's Gone
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean/Seamus, Harry/Ginny, Neville/Susan, Dennis/Parvati
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~20,000
Warnings: graphics, timeline jumping, Spoiler Warnings (highlight to read)*possible violent content, discussions of character death, canon compliant, epilogue compliant, minor character death*
Summary: Sometimes, you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Dean is about to understand just what Seamus's incessant babble means to him. Harry's left to piece together just what went wrong.
A/N: So a really really long time ago, katmarajade won a fic from me for help_haiti for a crazy amount of money a great cause and I promised her a Deamus fic. I can only hope that this lives up to a tiny piece of her patience because, seriously, she is the most amazingly patient person in the world. Also amazing is drusillas_rain for taking an extremely rough draft and tweaking it, many many times, until it tightened up and was presentable. Obviously, all mistakes are my own. Many thanks also to elanorofcastile for doing up the graphics for me that are inserted throughout, especially as I changed what graphics I wanted at the very last minute. Along the way (and it was a very long way because I've been living with this fic in my head for so long), there was cheerleading provided by a multitude of people including but not limited to: djin7 and reddwarfer. I'm quite certain I'm forgetting names and such and so I apologize to those that I've forgotten. longest. authors. note. ever.
Part 2
Part 3
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
When the Aurors show up, Dean isn't really cognizant of what's happened and why they're there. Sure, there's red all over the place, including all over the sofa that Seamus works to keep white and pretty but that isn't blood, is it? His head aches and everything about him is shaky. Air rattles in his lungs as his vision swirls in and out of focus while his hands tremor with the effort just to rub up and down his arms to ensure that he's still there.
He's missing something, though. There's something going on and something missing.
"Shame?" he calls out from his sprawl on the floor near the Floo. "Shame? I don't feel good."
"Stay where you are!" Some kid is in his flat and pointing a wand at him. Dean does as ordered.
"Where's Shame?" he asks the kid as he peers up at him.
"Hands in front of you."
"Dunno if I can do that. I don't feel good." He tries to hold his hands out in front of him, fingers trembling as he grips his wand. His brain finally catches up to the fact that this kid is a stranger in his place and he asks, "Who're you?"
"Aurors."
"You with Harry?" His arms shake, his wand drops and then his hands follow suit.
"Hands out!" The kid Auror shouts out as Dean asks, "Can I talk to Harry?"
"Stupefy!"
September 1st, 1991
Seamus wanders in and out of cabins on the train, looking for a seat. The first one he looks into has some mean-looking kids in it and the second has some kids talking about numbers and shite that Seamus can't even begin to understand though it's obvious that they're passionate about it what with the way that they glare at Seamus as he interrupts a particularly exuberant point made by a taller boy. The third one has some kids crying for their mams and the fourth has a kid sitting by himself with a toad. Considering that his trunk is extremely heavy, Seamus decides that this is a good cabin.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asks as he enters.
"No," the kid mumbles as Seamus wrangles his trunk up into the rack. It slips once, almost hitting him in the head and wouldn't that be a nice welcome to Hogwarts? He'd be forever branded as the kid that knocked himself out with his own trunk.
"Me name's Seamus." He sticks out his hand.
The kid takes it and then says, "Neville."
"Nice ta meet ya," he says just as the door slides open and someone else enters.
"Got room?"
"Sure," Neville responds.
"I'm Seamus and this is Neville."
"Dean." Dean proceeds to heft up his trunk with ease. It makes Seamus mildly jealous that it was so easy for Dean to put his trunk up considering the issues that Seamus had had.
"That's a nice toad."
"His name's Trevor."
"I've got an owl but she's in the back. She hates travelling and she especially hates trains." Seamus gestures towards the back of the train where he'd stashed Brigid. "What've you got?" When Dean continues to gape at Seamus, Seamus crosses his arms and sneers.
"Oh, right. Um, err, that is, I have a cat," Dean says and then opens up his robes to have a small kitten peek its face out.
"Cat, huh?" Seamus turns back to Neville. "Your toad do any tricks?"
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
Even if it's been years, Harry can't forget his first unsolved case. Over the years, he's talked to plenty of law enforcement personnel and it turns out that the not forgetting thing is commonplace. Harry just wonders how many of them have the disappearance and probable death of a friend as their first unsolved case.
Oliver Wood deserves to have his killer brought to justice. As Harry sits at the desk in his study (a fancy title for a spare room if he's ever heard one but it's better than 'mancave' as Ginny likes to call it), he opens the file and looks at the photographs of Oliver's rooms. It's been fourteen years since Harry had taken them and the shock and pain have lessened but both are still present. His finger traces along the toppled sofa with the gashes in the cushions, still so fresh in Harry's memory that he can feel the ghostly impression of torn fabric. When he concentrates, he can smell the lingering scent of blood in the air, as well. Oliver might be gone but he hadn't gone easily.
The rooms tell the story of an attack that had been long and hard. Oliver might've relaxed away from always being at the ready as a member of the Order of the Phoenix but he still had amazing reflexes because of his Quidditch career. He had to be able to react at a moment's notice to be as successful as he had been. Thus, someone coming into his flat would've probably caught him slightly unawares but he would've reacted quickly and given back as good as he got.
Who, then, in those still turbulent times, would've been capable of overwhelming a young, hale and hearty man in the prime of his life?
Even more, who would've wanted to? Oliver hadn't been the easiest person to get along with but that had more to do with the way that he dreamed, slept and ate Quidditch more than any personal failing. If it wasn't Quidditch, Oliver didn't care. There are times, upon thinking back, that Harry thinks that the only reason Oliver joined the Order was to get Quidditch back as quickly as possible and defeating Voldemort would make that happen.
Thinking about this always reminds Harry of the way that Oliver had looked so crushed when he'd come back to the Great Hall carrying Colin. There wasn't much anyone could say or do to explain that away, how a boy that shouldn't have been there had been and, even worse, had died in such a manner. The war had taken many things from them all.
"Mister Potter, sir?" The Floo roars to life and Harry can barely hear Sidney's voice over it.
"Sidney?"
"Sir, I'm at the Thomas-Finnigan residence on a suspicion of Dark Magic call. Thomas asked for you."
That pulls him away from the file and has him swinging the chair around to look directly at the Floo. "Dean? Seamus?"
"Thomas has requested your presence and Finnigan is currently missing. There's a high Dark Magic presence in addition to, err, well," Sidney pauses to look around and then lean further into the Floo, "a large amount of blood."
"I'll be right there, Sidney. Secure the scene."
"Of course, Head Auror Potter." Harry ignores the way that worry twists inside him at the possibility of Dean and Seamus attacked by Dark Magic. Sidney's face disappears from the Floo while Harry rushes into the bedroom to dress.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice comes from the mound of blankets on the bed. His heart, as it always does even though they've been married for longer than they hadn't, beats just a bit faster.
"Go back to sleep. Just have to go somewhere for a case."
"But you don't take cases anymore."
"It's Dean and Seamus. Seamus is missing and there's blood. I have to go, Ginny." The words come out in a rush as he pulls on a pair of clean trousers and shrugs on a shirt.
"Let Dean know if he needs anything…" her voice trails off, the implication apparent and, Harry's certain, well meant.
"Of course. Love you."
"Love you more," she says back. Grinning at the exchange, he walks over, presses a kiss to her forehead and then heads back to the Floo before arriving at the flat Dean and Seamus share.
Sidney hadn't been kidding. There's blood everywhere. Harry looks up and sees it on the ceiling, sprayed along the wall, dotting a photograph of a group photo where the inhabitants cringe under the gore and soaked into the carpet.
At first, Harry doesn't see Dean. It's not until he scans the room again that he sees Dean curled on the sofa, knees pulled to his chest and covered in blood. Harry watches the slow rocking, back and forth, for a moment, before he carefully crosses the room, avoiding as much of the blood as he can.
Sidney makes to approach but Harry waves him off for the moment. He'll get the update on the scene after he talks to Dean for a moment.
"Dean?"
"He's gone, Harry." Dean doesn't look up, just keeps staring at the coffee table and his wand.
"Dean? What happened? Who did this?"
"I don't know."
"When did this happen?"
"I don't know." Each repetition sounds more and more lost as Harry tries to approach this as both Auror and friend.
"Just relax, Dean. We'll figure out what happened."
"Why can't I remember?" Dean curls back upon himself and starts rocking again.
Harry ignores him for a moment, reaching out for the wand on the table. "What am I going to find when I test this wand? What were the last spells you cast?"
"I don't know."
Harry tests the wand, revealing the history of spells and the very first one isn't the one he's expecting. Obliviate. Somehow, Dean's wand cast Obliviate. He pulls the next and Sectumsempra comes out. The next and Expelliarmus is revealed. The litany of spells continues and the possibilities become grimmer and grimmer. Each one seems to implicate Dean more.
"Have you and Seamus fought lately?" Harry asks as he starts to walk around the room, looking at the blood splatter.
"I…" Dean looks around, gaze landing on anything but Harry.
Harry kneels in front of Dean and reaches out, putting his hand on the bent knee. "Did you fight today? Is that what happened?"
"I don't know. I can't remember." Dean sounds desperate. "Did I do this?"
Harry wants to reassure Dean. After all, they've been friends for nearing thirty years. The Dean Harry knows isn't capable of this sort of violence. The Dean he knows is the one that walks away before it gets violent, he might exchange a few heated words but then he'll walk away, cool off and then approach whatever issue rationally.
But Harry can't argue with the evidence from the wand. Dean's wand has clearly cast a variety of violent spells, spells that cause blood spray like Harry sees in front of him. Maybe someone else cast those spells with his wand, though.
"Dean? I need you to cast something with your wand."
"All right." Dean looks up and unfolds himself.
"Can you cast a Patronus?"
"I don't know. I'll try." Dean takes his wand then tries, a puff of smoke coming from the tip. Another try and another puff of smoke. "I don't think I can."
The suspicion dies just a bit with Dean having problems with his wand but it could also be difficult to summon a happy memory to cast the spell. Harry goes for a slightly less complicated spell.
"What about a Protego? I'll cast at you and you protect yourself, yeah?" Harry steps back and then casts a Jelly-Legs jinx towards Dean who quickly protects himself with a shield. The suspicion comes back but Harry tamps it down. Dean wouldn't do this, not to Seamus of all people.
"What's the last thing you can remember?" Harry asks as he takes Dean's wand back.
"Walking in the door."
"And then?"
"Nothing. I don't even remember shutting it let alone anything else." Dean reaches out and grabs Harry's arm again. "I did this, didn't I? What did I do?"
"We'll figure this out. Why don't you tell me what you do remember? What about the flat?" Harry asks as he scrambles for something to say or do to reassure Dean.
"It's just more of… of…" Dean's hand gestures towards the wall and the ceiling.
"Right. I'll have to go take my own look. Stay here." Harry squeezes Dean's hand and then explores the flat. It's obvious that there'd been a protracted fight. Seamus always had been a scrapper, whether his opponent was a friend, a foe or even himself. Harry steps over the thrown chair, avoids the remains of a vase of flowers and the wet, pink-stained carpet that surrounds it before making his way into the bedroom. It's surprisingly clean in here for the most part. The blankets are tossed back as if the couple had just woken and were starting their day. Clothes are strewn across the floor, the chair in the corner and hanging out of dresser drawers. All in all, it looks like their flat always looks.
He summons his Patronus and sends it off to his assistant. Taking a moment, he closes his eyes, removes his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose and then puts the glasses back on.
"Auror Sidney? A moment?" he says, raising his voice to project to the main room. Sidney comes in and stands at attention while he waits for Harry. "Update me."
"We received an anonymous tip at Headquarters to report here because of suspected Dark Arts. When we arrived, no one answered our knock, we identified ourselves and then entered the flat. Thomas was oblivious, at first, and then requested a 'Shame' and reported illness. We tested his wand and found the same spells that you did. As Thomas requested you and we saw the photographs, we thought we should summon you."
"I appreciate the call. What about his injuries?"
"Nothing other than a headache, lack of memory and shock, as far as we can determine."
"No marks, defensive wounds? Nothing of that sort at all?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Where was his wand?"
"In his hand, sir."
"All right. Continue the investigation. I'll take Thomas in."
"Yes, sir."
Before he can regret what he's about to do, Harry walks into the main room and says, "Dean, I have to take you in for questioning."
"Can I change?" Dean asks as he uncurls and looks at his hands and clothing.
"I'm afraid not."
"All right." Dean stands and hangs his head. Harry wants to hug him, tell him that it'll be all right and that he's not really under suspicion for anything but he can't because he'd be lying. The wand and the amount of blood on Dean tell its own story and it doesn't look good for Dean. The only reason that Harry hasn't immediately Stupified him is their history of friendship and the personal knowledge of how much Dean and Seamus love one another.
Harry grabs Dean's arm and walks him through the Floo and then to a holding cell. When Dean merely accompanies him, head down, and then sits without asking, Harry wonders, for a brief moment, if that's an admission of guilt. He's not so old that he doesn't remember the way that Dean had acted similarly when McGonagall had caught him forging a signature on a detention slip back in their Second Year. "I have to go log this in. You need anything?"
Dean pauses, staring at the ground and twisting his hands together, before finally shaking his head. "No. No, thank you."
"I'll be right back. I'll have to lock this," Harry says, gesturing at the door of the cell. Dean doesn't look up or respond.
After shutting the door as gently as he could, Harry walks to his office and shuts the door behind him. A few privacy charms and he opens up the Floo connection. "Hermione?"
"Harry? What's going on, mate?" Ron's head appears in the Floo almost immediately.
"Can't tell you, sorry to say. I need Hermione."
"Ah, official business, then," Ron says before disappearing from the Floo. A moment later, Hermione's face appears.
"What do you need, Harry?"
"You alone?"
"Ron's back off to bed and the kids are away."
"Who would you recommend as the best defence solicitor?"
"What did you do?" she asks.
"Not for me. It's for Dean. Seamus is missing and it doesn't look good."
"I know just the person, he'll be there shortly," she says and then disappears from view.
Bemused, Harry severs the Floo connection and starts to write out his notes and observations. He wants to keep the things that would harm Dean's case out of the initial write-up but he can't do it. Instead, he adds in his knowledge of the relationship between Dean and Seamus, the way that they'd been together longer than not, the devotion and love between them. Hopefully, it helps Dean, detracting from the blood and gore. The blood and gore that Harry hopes, knows, his team is processing with efficiency and care.
It's quick work to send out the team that his assistant gathered. The instructions are clear: keep it simple and professional. He can't allow his friendship with Dean to influence the quest for Seamus. There'd been a lot of blood, probably too much for Seamus to have lived through losing but, perhaps, he's still out there and Dean is innocent.
Dean is innocent. Harry knows him far too well for him to be anything but innocent of such a bloody attack. That knowledge, though, is tempered by remembered fights between Dean and Seamus and the bruised knuckles left behind. Dean's not a violent sort until he's riled up and if anyone can rile Dean up, it's Seamus.
Dammit, it's been too peaceful for too many years for Harry to have the patience for this sort of thing. The worst Dark Arts his team has been called to was the time that Adrian Pucey had kidnapped some kid and then found himself mysteriously dragged off to fight off trolls in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Lucky for him that Hagrid had stepped in when he had. Pucey might've been left a blubbering and gibbering mess that couldn't identify his attacker but at least he'd been alive enough to answer for the abduction. That was eight years ago already and, in a way, Harry could almost see why Pucey had turned to the Dark Arts to escape from the trolls and had used so many spells even if Harry wouldn't have done the same in his position.
Sighing, he opens his office door, gets his assistant to get him a conference room (no bloody way he's going to make Dean sit in an interrogation room) and then shuts the door once more.
Transcription: Dean,
I feel like I should apologise for haring off like this but I can't take working on the school another day and I can't stand to be there so I decided, last night, to head off as far away from London as I can get. I'll write you when I'm back or I'll stop by or whatever because I'm fair certain you're upset with me right now. I don't mean to hurt you or upset you or anything. It's all just too much and I need a breath that doesn't involve fixing everything that asshole pulled down around us. It feels like the ghosts of the people we lost follow me home at night and watch me sleep. I can't take it anymore. I'm cold all the time and I just need a breath that's warm.
So I don't know where I'll be when this letter gets to you but you can bet that it'll be warm and sunny. Maybe, if you're good, I'll even get you a souvenir or something.
Seamus
Two Years and Fifty-Three Days Later
After everything, he needs to get away from everyone and everything. Everyone except for Dean. Seamus takes off for Rome. The only problem with Rome is that it's all old buildings and brick and tiny streets and alleys. It reminds him too much of England which reminds him too much of that last year which means that Rome suddenly reminds him of torture and humiliation and fear. As he walks down a street, eating gelato, the taste of fear colors the spumoni and that's that. He's got to leave here, too.
He heads to Naples and then he heads to Florence and then to Venice. All of Italy is too old. There's too much stone and not enough air, not even on the canals of Venice.
Seamus thinks maybe a change of scenery would help so he takes off to Spain. La Concha is beautiful, full of life and happiness, a city with an amazing beach. Here, Seamus feels like he can breathe. The sand is fine and gritty against his feet as he walks down the beach in shorts while his shoes dangle from his hand. Another deep breath and the fresh air drifting off the water fills his lungs.
Suddenly, he's not alone on the beach as someone walks next to him.
"Fancy meeting you here," Dean says as he walks step in step with Seamus. Seamus looks over at Dean and grins as he takes in the bare feet, shorts and lack of shirt.
"How'd you find me?" Seamus asks.
"What, you think you can really disappear from me? Unless you wanted to." Seamus can hear the hurt hidden behind the teasing tone. He's not sure how to respond to it in any other way than to touch Dean. He puts his arm around Dean's waist and squeezes because, seriously, Seamus can't stand to think about Dean hurting. They've both suffered enough.
"Why'd I want to do that? Took me a year just to get you back."
"Yet the first thing you do as soon as the dust settles is to hare off to Italy."
"Italy's got class, mate. Way more'n you."
"Sod off." Dean starts to sling his arm over Seamus's shoulder, looks around and then pulls back. Seamus can feel the heat radiating off Dean's skin and he feels warm. His heart races and, when he looks at Dean, he feels that heat pool in his gut. Christ, he's still wanting his best friend. "You hungry?"
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
"Dean, it doesn't look good." Harry would've continued but the door opens and Draco Malfoy saunters in. "Malfoy. What brings you here?"
"You're speaking to my client without me present. That won't be allowed to happen again." Draco walks over to the table and puts his hand over Dean's folded ones.
"He's my friend," Harry says defensively. Pausing, Harry backs up a step in the conversation. "And what client?"
"Dean Thomas is my client. I am his solicitor. You are an Auror investigating my client. One could almost make the accusation that an Auror in a position of familiarity, especially one of your level, skill and rank, could possibly be abusing the privilege of said friendship and familiarity to garner an admission of guilt."
"Just what are you saying?" Harry's eyes narrow as he glares at Draco. The insult is obvious, especially to Harry when he'd never thought - well, never seriously considered for more than a moment or two, ok, maybe three - the concept of Dean's guilt.
"I'm saying that Dean Thomas is my client and your suspect. Friendship has very little to do with that."
"Malfoy - " Dean starts to say but Malfoy turns on him, holding up a finger and pointing it in his face.
"Not another word before we speak." Cowed at Malfoy's sharp tone, Dean hangs his head once more, staring at their hands on the desk.
"I…" Harry wants to snap at Malfoy, say something biting and horrible but he's also right. "I'll be in my office."
He walks away and does just what he'd said, walking to his office and firing up the Floo once more. "I need Hermione."
"Didn't we already do that?" Ron says in to the fire. "Twice in one night, mate? What the bloody hell is going on?"
"I really can't tell you yet."
"Yeah, all right," Ron grumbles and then Hermione's face appears.
"Malfoy get there, then?"
"Yeah. He really the best?"
"He's really the best."
"Good. Dean's going to need it." Harry pulled back to rake a hand through his hair and then leaned in again.
"It's that bad?"
"You should've seen their flat. Blood everywhere. No sign of Seamus."
"You'll find him." She sounds certain, almost as if he'd asked her what the weather was outside. The faith should have bolstered him but, instead, it made the pebble in his stomach into a boulder as he thinks of everything he has to do to make this right.
"Thanks," he says and then waves before severing the connection once more. "Janice?"
His assistant's head pops in the doorway as he removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Could you please see if Dean and Malfoy are ready to meet?"
"Sure thing, Mister Potter." She quickly disappears. Leaning back in his chair, he pops his back and stretches, the lack of sleep catching up with him. He doesn't hear the door open so he jumps when Janice says, "Sir? They're ready for you."
Grabbing the file, he quickly makes his way back to the conference room. "Ready to continue?"
"My client will only answer those questions I allow him to answer," Malfoy says as he looks to Dean.
"Fine, I'll make a note that you've representation." Harry opens the file and scribbles Malfoy's name in it, buying himself a bit more time to think of how he wants to question Dean. His thumb rubs across his scar as he thinks. "I'll need to cast a few recording charms."
"Whatever you think is best. My client will give his full statement and he expects to be able to leave afterwards so that he may find suitable lodgings away from the scene."
"I can't promise that."
"There is no need for a promise, Potter. I guarantee that Dean will be leaving after giving his statement." Malfoy's glare dares Harry to respond but he only rubs across his scar once more and casts the charms needed.
"Investigation of abduction of Seamus Finnigan. Auror Harry Potter conducting interview with Dean Thomas, domestic partner of missing, and his solicitor, Draco Malfoy," he says aloud for the recording. "Mister Thomas, you are here on your own free will?"
"Yeah, Harry, I - "
"Yes, he is." Malfoy cuts in.
"Please tell me what happened today."
"I, um, I went to work this morning, forgot my keys so I had to go back into the flat and Seamus was eating breakfast. His kippers smelled disgusting so I left without saying goodbye and then when I came home, I shut the door and then I… I don't remember anything until I Floo'd you."
"Was Seamus there when you returned?"
"I don't know."
"Was the flat in the same state when you returned?"
Malfoy holds up a hand before Dean can answer. "Define same state."
"Was the flat covered in blood?"
Dean's flinch at Harry's bald question makes Harry dislike Malfoy just a bit more. He'd forced the issue, made Harry confront Dean about the possibility that Seamus wasn't alive. Harry can barely hear Dean's muttered, "I can't remember."
"What was the last spell you cast with your wand?"
"I sent a memo to my boss at work."
"Did you cast any sort of spell after that?"
"A Protego with you."
"Anything in between?"
"I can't remember."
"Did you cast an Expelliarmus?"
"I can't remember."
"A Sectumsempra?"
"I can't remember."
"Petrificus Totalus."
"I can't remember."
"A Stu - "
"Enough," Malfoy interrupts. "He's clearly stated that he doesn't remember any spells between the one at work and the one he performed with you. I'm not certain what you hope to gain with haranguing my client but - "
"I'm trying to see if any of these spells help his memory, Malfoy."
"You're trying to see if he is lying. Please be honest here, Potter. He's passed your test now kindly continue taking his statement so that he can attempt some sort of sleep."
"How dare you - "
"How dare you, Potter. My client has no memory of the events that led to Mister Finnigan's disappearance, the bloody remnants of neither the abduction nor the possibility that he witnessed either."
"You're not helping."
"I think you have that wrong. You are attacking my client, something that I refuse to allow to continue. Until you are able to be more circumspect - "
"Please," Dean says, interrupting their argument. "Can we just finish this?"
"In a minute, Dean," Harry says and then stops the recording. "A minute outside, Malfoy?"
Draco nods and follows Harry out the door after one last look at Dean.
"Want to tell me what that's about?"
"What what's about?"
"Why the hell are you being such an asshole?"
"That man in there," Draco pauses to gesture towards the interrogation room, "comes home to a partner that's missing. He asks for his good friend, Harry Potter, and trusts in Harry to do right by him. Only problem is that Harry has to do right by Seamus, too. And he can't do both if he gets yanked off the case because he's too close to both of them. So you tell me what you think I'm doing in there?"
"You're dancing on a very thin line to keep us all balanced. You're protecting Dean and you're protecting me."
"In what world is that a possibility? I'm protecting my client, the one that trusts you to find out what happened to his partner."
"I can't release him."
"You can into my custody."
"I can't. There's too much evidence." Harry regrets it but it's true, he can't release Dean, not with the spell history of his wand and the lack of memory. "I'm sorry but I can't."
"What about St Mungo's? He's injured and needs care."
"I have to follow protocol. He'll be checked by our own mediwizard. There isn't anything I can do without the appearance of favouritism and then get myself kicked off the case."
Draco only nods and then gestures back towards the room. "Shall we continue this?"
Harry nods in response, following Draco into the room. "If you agree, Dean, there are a few things we can do to try to reveal the memories that you've suppressed."
"Anything - "
"You can present your ideas and I'll discuss it with my client."
"Fine." Harry rubs at his nose, pressing his glasses back up them and then grimaces. "You'll be taken back to your cell."
"But," Dean starts and then stops, looking down at his hands and sighs. "Thanks, Harry."
Harry can't think of anything that won't ruin his ability to help Dean and Seamus and, so, he keeps his mouth shut as he exits the room, gesturing for the guards to enter and escort Dean back to his cell.
He won't get the results from the sweep of the flat until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. As tempting as it is to stay and try to do something to help Dean and Seamus out, he Floos back home and looks at the work spread all over his study. Oliver Wood's waited fourteen years for justice, the cold case investigation into his death is just going to have to wait after Harry gets some sort of sleep.
It's automatic to go through the house, turning off lights and ensuring that it's secured for the rest of the night, not that there's much left. The downstairs is taken care of quickly and then he walks through the upstairs. The empty bedrooms of his two oldest make his heart twinge and he shuts the doors so he doesn't have to see that they're all getting older. When he reaches Lily's room, he steps inside and, upon catching a glimpse of the stuffed doll in her arms, smiles for the first time since that morning. He smoothes her hair down and away from her face and then tugs her blanket up so that her shoulder is no longer exposed.
After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he steps out of the room, leaving the nightlight on, and heads to his bedroom where Ginny waits up for him.
"Everything all right?"
"Not really." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removes his shoes and then his shirt. She sits up and presses against his back, hugging him from behind as her lips rest against his shoulder.
"Talk?" she asks and Harry knows that he could unburden it all onto her but it's too late (or early, depending on how he looks at the clock) and he merely shakes his head. "All right." He can feel her nod against his shoulder before her lips touch his skin again. "Come to bed."
"I love you."
"I love you, too." She tugs him backwards and he follows, shimmying out of his trousers.
"Nox."
Transcription: Shame,
Meant a lot to me that you made it to the show last night. Means even more that you liked my work. You didn't have to get me a gift, though, you being there was a gift I appreciated your attendance you being there was a gift. Maybe we could go out to a nice dinner, just the two of us? Get dressed up and everything? There's a new club that opened that we could try out, I bet even you'd be willing to dance with me if I dared you.
Dean
Seven Years and One-Hundred-One Days Later
It's Harry's 25th when Seamus can't take it anymore. The drink in his hand isn't enough though he downs it quickly enough. The second drink goes down even more smoothly while the thirdfourthfifthsixth all slide smooth as silk down his throat. With a grimace, he stares across the room at the way that Dean is leaning into Luna Lovegood, hand placed protectively on her back.
Rather than watching Dean work his magic on the ladies while he sits here pining like a stereotypical drunken swine, he looks at all the changes at The Leaky. It's been open for a few years under Susan Bones's management and it's got a different feel to it than when they'd all been off to Hogwarts. For one thing, the décor's been updated, looking like the place had at least entered the twentieth century rather than staying in the 1600s. For another, the beer selection's much better. For another, the service has been impeccable, as can be attested to by the seventh drink appearing before him, as if by magic. Seamus laughs out loud at his witticism.
It's as he's listening to a discussion on the disappearance of Pansy Parkinson - did you hear that she ran off with her butler? No way, I heard it was Blaise Zabini, he disappeared at about the same time, didn't you hear? - that his drinking escapades are interrupted.
"You want to slow down there? Party only started an hour ago," Dean says, slinging an arm over Seamus's shoulder like he's done a thousand and one times. This time, though, Seamus flinches, getting away from that arm, because Dean's touch burns worse than fire. "Definitely cutting you off."
"Fuck off, Thomas."
"Yeah? You want to tell me why you'd just acted like I'm spreading disease by my touch?" Dean gestures with his beer bottle.
"Do what?" Seamus looks anywhere but at Dean.
Instead of responding, Dean's invading his personal space, almost touching and forcing Seamus to dance out of the way of it. Seamus can't cope with Dean's proximity, not at all. He's had enough alcohol to numb his pride as his brain churns escape escape escape so he tries to step left and then right and back and forward to escape. Dean's always been quicker than him because no matter which way he goes, Dean's still there, hips lining up with hips and hands on his shoulders or arms before finally settling on his neck. When had they gotten in the back hallway in the Leaky and why's it so fucking narrow? Even the damned bar is against Seamus right now. "What's gotten into you?"
"Getting old," Seamus says. "Just getting old."
"Yeah? For an old arsewipe, you're certainly quick on your feet." Dean's thumbs are doing funny things like tracing circles on his neck and over his jaw line, and he arches into the touches.
"Please," he breathes out, uncertain of what he's pleading for. All he knows is that he wants something to change.
"I've been waiting for you to ask for so long," Dean whispers back and then leans in as Seamus's eyes drift shut.
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Eight Days Later
In the morning, Dean's surprised to see the doors to his cell swing open and one of the guards gesture him out. For some reason, he'd expected to stay there until he's convicted of Seamus's death and then he's off to Azkaban. He knows that's not at all realistic but a lack of memory tied with the trauma and the loss and the lack of sleep all combine into this morass of confusion.
He'd not slept last night at all. There'd been too many random noises in addition to the way that the room had never gotten properly dark. He'd used to hate sleeping in the dark but nineteen years of Seamus insisting on it has changed the way that he sleeps. Damned Seamus, ruining things for him even though he's gone.
Finally following the guard and specifically not concentrating on Seamus, he finds himself in a lobby with Draco Malfoy. "I've secured your release. There are a few terms, of course, but, you're free of this place."
"How?"
"An amazing solicitor along with your record of service to the Wizarding world. Come along, I've secured quarters for you while your flat's unavailable."
"Thank you, Malfoy."
"All part of the service. Shall we?" Malfoy gestures towards the door and Dean trails along after him.
The flat's tiny, but at least it's something that's not covered in blood. Not that it helps Dean with envisioning the way that his flat had been covered in the blood. How he'd been covered in blood.
"This'll do until I can get your flat returned to you. I've petitioned to have some of your belongings released but, unfortunately, they're still part of the crime scene. As soon as I can, I'll get your clothes. Anything else that you'd like while this case is ongoing?"
"There's a…"
"Yes?"
"There's a photo of Shame and me. It's on the mantle, simple frame. I'd like that, if I could."
"Anything else?" Malfoy pulls out a small pad of paper and starts taking notes.
"It's just something dumb."
"Nothing's dumb. If you want it, I can petition for it."
"There's a bowl by the door, it's a small wooden thing, that I'd like. Shame, he's always forgetting his keys and…" and it really is a dumb thing to ask for. Who asks for a wooden bowl when he could be getting hundreds of other things? There's the Kestrals shirt that Seamus had got him and then there's the West Ham shirt he'd got for Seamus. There's the artwork and the coffee mugs and food and clothes and his shoes.
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Anything else I want is gone."
Eighteen Years and One-Hundred-Eighteen Days Later
"You see this?" Seamus waves the paper at Dean. "Goyle got himself killed. Wonder what Harry's doing with that?"
"Dunno. What makes you think Harry'd be involved?"
"Story says he'd been slashed to pieces. Sounds like Dark Arts to me." Seamus stands, drops the paper in front of Dean and then fetches them both a new cup of tea. Two sugars into Dean's mug and three into his own. A splash of lemon for Dean and a splash of milk for himself. When he turns back to the table, mugs in hand, Dean's got the paper in front of him. Seamus reaches over Dean's shoulder, putting the mug on the table before resting his jaw on Dean's head. They both read the article until a clock chimes and Seamus curses lightly. "Gonna be late," he says as he presses a kiss against the crown of Dean's head. "Love you."
"Love you, too," Dean says absentmindedly and flips the paper. As Dean hears the door close, he mutters his own curse before standing and hurrying to the dish by the door, grabbing the keys and shooting down the hall. "Oi! Forgot your keys!"
Seamus hurries back, snatching them from Dean's outstretched hand and then swipes a kiss across Dean's chin. "You're the best."
"I know," Dean agrees and then swats Seamus's arse." Better hurry. If you're late, you won't be able to leave early."
"Gallery opening. Right. Gotta get cleaned up."
"Damned straight."
"Bye!" Seamus brushes another kiss across Dean's chin and hurries off to work, the gallery opening forgotten by the time he reaches the stairs.
When he gets home that night, the flat's dark and Seamus calls out for Dean before calling again. There's no answer and worry kicks in until he remembers the gallery opening. Dean's big event and Seamus, like the complete arsewipe that he is, had completely forgotten about it.
There is no one in the world that could possibly hate Seamus more, right now, than Seamus himself. He drops his keys in the bowl by the door. There are no words that can possibly make this better, that can possibly appease Dean, if Dean reacts the way that Seamus would've.
He's still kicking himself when Dean comes home, dropping his keys into the bowl and then walking past the kitchen and into the bedroom. When Seamus follows him in, leaning against the doorjamb and watching the play of muscles along Dean's back as he strips out of his suit and tie, Dean ignores his presence.
"Sorry ain't gonna cut it and I know it but I'm still sorry that I forgot your opening."
"Don't," Dean says, still with his back turned on Seamus. Seamus stares at that back as it ripples in front of him and thinks about how, just last night, he'd traced those tattoos with his tongue and his hands, Dean crying out about how much he loved Seamus, the warm tone of his voice then in direct contrast to the cold, sterile tone he's using right now.
"I understand," Seamus says, pushing off the doorjamb and going to Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's stomach and pressing his cheek to Dean's back. "You're pissed and too right with it."
"I said 'don't'." Dean grips Seamus's hands, gentle for all the controlled anger that Seamus can feel trembling under his skin, and removes Seamus's arms from his waist.
"All right, love." Seamus still presses a kiss to Dean's back and then heads into the living room to sleep on the couch.
In the morning, Dean doesn't hand him his keys and he has to scoop them out of the bowl himself, running back to the flat that echoes because Dean had been gone by the time Seamus had woken. It's a pattern that repeats for weeks until Seamus actually remembers the next gallery event.
Nineteen Years and One-Hundred-Three Days Later
Ginny massages the knots at the back of his neck, pressing the base of her palm into his flesh and rolling it until the knot gives way. Harry can't help the way that he moans with the relief. Ignoring the way that he's feeling overwhelmed at the cases, Harry concentrates on Ginny's hands on his body. Even after all these years, he can't seem to get enough of her. Finally unable to resist any more, Harry turns underneath her and lunges up, capturing her lips in a kiss.
"I love you," he says just before he kisses her again.
"I love you, too," she says when they break for air. “So what’s going on?”
"Just thinking how fast things change and, well…"
"And the way that Seamus just disappeared and Dean's accused of killing him?"
"He's not formally accused of anything."
"Yet."
"Yet," Harry agrees. "I hope never but not yet."
"You think he's capable of it?"
"Anyone's capable of anything. Hell, Oliver Wood never pissed off a single person in his life and look at what happened to him."
"And now Dean and Seamus."
"And now Dean and Seamus." He reaches up and pulls her down until her head rests on his chest. "Just makes me wonder, is all. What the hell is wrong with the world?"
"People do strange things."
"Malfoy thinks I'm too close to Dean and Seamus to investigate this case clearly," he whispers it against her hair as he breathes in deeply.
"Maybe you are but Dean trusts you and Seamus would, too. You ask him when you find him and he'll tell you."
"I don't think we're going to find him."
"What?" Ginny sits up and gapes at him. "But…"
"It's why the Aurors still have the case. Way too many dark spells off Dean's wand."
"Oh, Harry," she says as she drops to his chest again and embraces him. He's never been more thankful. These moments of quiet support and love shore him up like nothing else.
Eight Years and Sixteen Days Later
Seamus looks at Dean's sketches for the memorial and can't quite put his finger on what's wrong with it. There's just something slightly off. The marble is a perfect choice and will match Dumbledore's Tomb perfectly.
"Something's missing." Seamus leans across Dean's shoulders where he works at his desk in the Ministry for Memorials and Remembrances. He can't resist pressing his chest against Dean's back while his chin rests on Dean's head.
"Like what?"
"Dunno. There's…" his voice trails off as he looks at the drawing once more. It's decent, got a good size and the crests for all the houses but it's just not right. "There's no life. It's cold, yanno?"
"It's a memorial to the dead," Dean says as if Seamus is a particularly slow child.
"They're not just 'the dead'. They're our friends." Seamus leans in even closer, putting his arms around Dean. It's still new and exciting that they can do this, that there's this new level of intimacy between them. And, in the midst of all of that, just a hint of gratitude that they're both here and not being commemorated in that memorial.
"You're right."
"Spent months in the Room of Requirement with some of them." Seamus speaks quietly, as if he says it too loud and the ghosts will swarm in and take him away. "Wouldn't trade being free for the world but, every once in awhile, I wish…"
"Ted kept me safe."
"You should've seen MacMillan. Never would've thought him capable of being such a badass."
"Even Griphook was kind to me."
"Wonder who has Colin's pictures? Kid took a thousand photos. Got the shite beat out of him for it but he kept doing it. 'Have to record it so people will know'." He says the last in a facsimile of Colin's voice.
"I'm just glad it wasn't you." Dean stands abruptly and embraces Seamus. They hold on tightly, so tightly that Seamus can't think of anything but Dean. He's surrounded by Dean and he'd go back to the Carrows' torture again if it meant coming out to this.
Nineteen Years and One-Hundred-Four Days Later
It's the silence in the rented flat doubling as a jail cell that melts the numbness. He'd thought that, perhaps, he wouldn't mind the silence. It'd make a change from the way that Seamus would natter on about every bloody thing that would possibly enter his head. It's one of the things he'd appreciated about Seamus from the very beginning - you'd always know exactly where you stood with him. The man didn't have a thought that didn't get said somewhere.
After thirty years (oh Christ, thirty years. Thirty. When did they get so old?) of listening to Seamus nattering on at him, a spot of silence should've been appreciated. Dean can hear himself thinking, can feel him reasserting himself as an individual and not part of DeanandSeamus or SeamusandDean as he's been thinking of them. He'd been longing for it, they'd been fighting over it lately, the way that Seamus seems to dominate everything in their lives, Seamus's wants supersede his own, Seamus's needs supersede, Seamus supersedes Dean every sodding time anymore.
But now that Seamus is gone, the silence only tells Dean how wrong he'd been. He hates the silence, wants it to stop because, right now, it feels like something's boring in to his head and eating his brain alive. It's the silence, the bloody, fucking silence, that's killing his brain and driving him insane.
He hurries to the radio and turns it on but the newscast is all about how Seamus has been murdered by his boyfriend of twenty years. Him. They're talking about him and how he's murdered Seamus. With a bitten off cry, he turns the radio off once more and lets the silence devour him.
When Harry pops in the next morning, he finds Dean curled in a ball on the floor, hands covering his ears. "Mate?"
"Make it stop," Dean pants. "Please, make it stop."
"Make what stop?" Harry's baffled at what could possibly be happening to Dean. There's not a thing attacking him, as far as Harry can tell. With a suspicious look around, he casts a few revealing charms and still finds nothing living in the room other than Dean and himself. At a loss, Harry sits on the floor and touches Dean's shoulder blades. He's gobsmacked when Dean pushes himself into Harry's lap, pressing into his stomach as he clings. "Mate?"
"I didn't kill him, Harry. I know what they're saying and what you're thinking and I know what it looks like. I know what you think but I didn't do it."
"We'll figure it out," Harry says, brushing across Dean's scalp like he's done a million times to his kids.
An owl pecks on the window, startling them both out of their silence.
"I'll get that," Harry offers, sliding out from under Dean. The owl drops a letter at Harry's feet and takes off once more.
[insert graphic of letter:
Harry,
Please go to 7 Hamberdeen Court. I think this case ties in to your current one.]
The address is familiar but Harry can't think of why as he tells Dean, "I have to go."
"Sure, Harry, thanks."
Transcription: Dean,
You ever think why we were spared and others weren't? You think maybe there were things we were supposed to do? You ever wonder if you're fucking up a chance that other people died so you could have?
I think I am, sometimes. I think I am.
Seamus
Ten Years Later
Seamus stares at the monument as it soars into the sky. It's beyond a work of art, it's a living, breathing symbol of life. Dean's really outdone himself as far as Seamus is concerned. The round, white marble, matching Dumbledore's Tomb, has vines of flowers climbing up its sides.
"What do you think?" Dean asks as he stands behind Seamus. Dean's hand reaches out and covers Seamus's where it rests over the Gryffindor Crest.
Rather than answering Dean, Seamus entwines their fingers and leans back so that his head rests on Dean's shoulder. He turns slightly so that he presses his face into the curve of Dean's neck and breathes in.
"That good, huh?" Dean's chest rumbles with his words.
"You're amazing, absolutely amazing. I…" Seamus can't think of how to put his thoughts into words that make sense when strung together. He's got too much churning around in his head and his gut. Finally, he whispers, "I don't know what would've happened to me if your name was on here."
"Didn't happen, Shame." Dean pulls Seamus close.
"Hey, guys," Dennis says as he steps up beside them. "Interesting design."
"Thanks but, really, the way that Seamus laid out the names and the crests and things, that's the best part."
"That was just my idea. You did the main part of it, mate."
"So everyone that we lost has their name up there?" Dennis says as he reaches out and traces some of the names with his fingertips.
"Every single person lost in both the wars."
Dennis yanks his hand back from the memorial before turning on his heel and storming off, muttering and cursing under his breath.
"The hell was that about?"
"Dunno."
Continue to part 2
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: wook77
Pairing: Dean/Seamus, Harry/Ginny, Neville/Susan, Dennis/Parvati
Rating: R
Wordcount: ~20,000
Warnings: graphics, timeline jumping, Spoiler Warnings (highlight to read)*possible violent content, discussions of character death, canon compliant, epilogue compliant, minor character death*
Summary: Sometimes, you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Dean is about to understand just what Seamus's incessant babble means to him. Harry's left to piece together just what went wrong.
A/N: So a really really long time ago, katmarajade won a fic from me for help_haiti for a crazy amount of money a great cause and I promised her a Deamus fic. I can only hope that this lives up to a tiny piece of her patience because, seriously, she is the most amazingly patient person in the world. Also amazing is drusillas_rain for taking an extremely rough draft and tweaking it, many many times, until it tightened up and was presentable. Obviously, all mistakes are my own. Many thanks also to elanorofcastile for doing up the graphics for me that are inserted throughout, especially as I changed what graphics I wanted at the very last minute. Along the way (and it was a very long way because I've been living with this fic in my head for so long), there was cheerleading provided by a multitude of people including but not limited to: djin7 and reddwarfer. I'm quite certain I'm forgetting names and such and so I apologize to those that I've forgotten. longest. authors. note. ever.
Part 2
Part 3
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
When the Aurors show up, Dean isn't really cognizant of what's happened and why they're there. Sure, there's red all over the place, including all over the sofa that Seamus works to keep white and pretty but that isn't blood, is it? His head aches and everything about him is shaky. Air rattles in his lungs as his vision swirls in and out of focus while his hands tremor with the effort just to rub up and down his arms to ensure that he's still there.
He's missing something, though. There's something going on and something missing.
"Shame?" he calls out from his sprawl on the floor near the Floo. "Shame? I don't feel good."
"Stay where you are!" Some kid is in his flat and pointing a wand at him. Dean does as ordered.
"Where's Shame?" he asks the kid as he peers up at him.
"Hands in front of you."
"Dunno if I can do that. I don't feel good." He tries to hold his hands out in front of him, fingers trembling as he grips his wand. His brain finally catches up to the fact that this kid is a stranger in his place and he asks, "Who're you?"
"Aurors."
"You with Harry?" His arms shake, his wand drops and then his hands follow suit.
"Hands out!" The kid Auror shouts out as Dean asks, "Can I talk to Harry?"
"Stupefy!"
September 1st, 1991
Seamus wanders in and out of cabins on the train, looking for a seat. The first one he looks into has some mean-looking kids in it and the second has some kids talking about numbers and shite that Seamus can't even begin to understand though it's obvious that they're passionate about it what with the way that they glare at Seamus as he interrupts a particularly exuberant point made by a taller boy. The third one has some kids crying for their mams and the fourth has a kid sitting by himself with a toad. Considering that his trunk is extremely heavy, Seamus decides that this is a good cabin.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asks as he enters.
"No," the kid mumbles as Seamus wrangles his trunk up into the rack. It slips once, almost hitting him in the head and wouldn't that be a nice welcome to Hogwarts? He'd be forever branded as the kid that knocked himself out with his own trunk.
"Me name's Seamus." He sticks out his hand.
The kid takes it and then says, "Neville."
"Nice ta meet ya," he says just as the door slides open and someone else enters.
"Got room?"
"Sure," Neville responds.
"I'm Seamus and this is Neville."
"Dean." Dean proceeds to heft up his trunk with ease. It makes Seamus mildly jealous that it was so easy for Dean to put his trunk up considering the issues that Seamus had had.
"That's a nice toad."
"His name's Trevor."
"I've got an owl but she's in the back. She hates travelling and she especially hates trains." Seamus gestures towards the back of the train where he'd stashed Brigid. "What've you got?" When Dean continues to gape at Seamus, Seamus crosses his arms and sneers.
"Oh, right. Um, err, that is, I have a cat," Dean says and then opens up his robes to have a small kitten peek its face out.
"Cat, huh?" Seamus turns back to Neville. "Your toad do any tricks?"
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
Even if it's been years, Harry can't forget his first unsolved case. Over the years, he's talked to plenty of law enforcement personnel and it turns out that the not forgetting thing is commonplace. Harry just wonders how many of them have the disappearance and probable death of a friend as their first unsolved case.
Oliver Wood deserves to have his killer brought to justice. As Harry sits at the desk in his study (a fancy title for a spare room if he's ever heard one but it's better than 'mancave' as Ginny likes to call it), he opens the file and looks at the photographs of Oliver's rooms. It's been fourteen years since Harry had taken them and the shock and pain have lessened but both are still present. His finger traces along the toppled sofa with the gashes in the cushions, still so fresh in Harry's memory that he can feel the ghostly impression of torn fabric. When he concentrates, he can smell the lingering scent of blood in the air, as well. Oliver might be gone but he hadn't gone easily.
The rooms tell the story of an attack that had been long and hard. Oliver might've relaxed away from always being at the ready as a member of the Order of the Phoenix but he still had amazing reflexes because of his Quidditch career. He had to be able to react at a moment's notice to be as successful as he had been. Thus, someone coming into his flat would've probably caught him slightly unawares but he would've reacted quickly and given back as good as he got.
Who, then, in those still turbulent times, would've been capable of overwhelming a young, hale and hearty man in the prime of his life?
Even more, who would've wanted to? Oliver hadn't been the easiest person to get along with but that had more to do with the way that he dreamed, slept and ate Quidditch more than any personal failing. If it wasn't Quidditch, Oliver didn't care. There are times, upon thinking back, that Harry thinks that the only reason Oliver joined the Order was to get Quidditch back as quickly as possible and defeating Voldemort would make that happen.
Thinking about this always reminds Harry of the way that Oliver had looked so crushed when he'd come back to the Great Hall carrying Colin. There wasn't much anyone could say or do to explain that away, how a boy that shouldn't have been there had been and, even worse, had died in such a manner. The war had taken many things from them all.
"Mister Potter, sir?" The Floo roars to life and Harry can barely hear Sidney's voice over it.
"Sidney?"
"Sir, I'm at the Thomas-Finnigan residence on a suspicion of Dark Magic call. Thomas asked for you."
That pulls him away from the file and has him swinging the chair around to look directly at the Floo. "Dean? Seamus?"
"Thomas has requested your presence and Finnigan is currently missing. There's a high Dark Magic presence in addition to, err, well," Sidney pauses to look around and then lean further into the Floo, "a large amount of blood."
"I'll be right there, Sidney. Secure the scene."
"Of course, Head Auror Potter." Harry ignores the way that worry twists inside him at the possibility of Dean and Seamus attacked by Dark Magic. Sidney's face disappears from the Floo while Harry rushes into the bedroom to dress.
"Harry?" Ginny's voice comes from the mound of blankets on the bed. His heart, as it always does even though they've been married for longer than they hadn't, beats just a bit faster.
"Go back to sleep. Just have to go somewhere for a case."
"But you don't take cases anymore."
"It's Dean and Seamus. Seamus is missing and there's blood. I have to go, Ginny." The words come out in a rush as he pulls on a pair of clean trousers and shrugs on a shirt.
"Let Dean know if he needs anything…" her voice trails off, the implication apparent and, Harry's certain, well meant.
"Of course. Love you."
"Love you more," she says back. Grinning at the exchange, he walks over, presses a kiss to her forehead and then heads back to the Floo before arriving at the flat Dean and Seamus share.
Sidney hadn't been kidding. There's blood everywhere. Harry looks up and sees it on the ceiling, sprayed along the wall, dotting a photograph of a group photo where the inhabitants cringe under the gore and soaked into the carpet.
At first, Harry doesn't see Dean. It's not until he scans the room again that he sees Dean curled on the sofa, knees pulled to his chest and covered in blood. Harry watches the slow rocking, back and forth, for a moment, before he carefully crosses the room, avoiding as much of the blood as he can.
Sidney makes to approach but Harry waves him off for the moment. He'll get the update on the scene after he talks to Dean for a moment.
"Dean?"
"He's gone, Harry." Dean doesn't look up, just keeps staring at the coffee table and his wand.
"Dean? What happened? Who did this?"
"I don't know."
"When did this happen?"
"I don't know." Each repetition sounds more and more lost as Harry tries to approach this as both Auror and friend.
"Just relax, Dean. We'll figure out what happened."
"Why can't I remember?" Dean curls back upon himself and starts rocking again.
Harry ignores him for a moment, reaching out for the wand on the table. "What am I going to find when I test this wand? What were the last spells you cast?"
"I don't know."
Harry tests the wand, revealing the history of spells and the very first one isn't the one he's expecting. Obliviate. Somehow, Dean's wand cast Obliviate. He pulls the next and Sectumsempra comes out. The next and Expelliarmus is revealed. The litany of spells continues and the possibilities become grimmer and grimmer. Each one seems to implicate Dean more.
"Have you and Seamus fought lately?" Harry asks as he starts to walk around the room, looking at the blood splatter.
"I…" Dean looks around, gaze landing on anything but Harry.
Harry kneels in front of Dean and reaches out, putting his hand on the bent knee. "Did you fight today? Is that what happened?"
"I don't know. I can't remember." Dean sounds desperate. "Did I do this?"
Harry wants to reassure Dean. After all, they've been friends for nearing thirty years. The Dean Harry knows isn't capable of this sort of violence. The Dean he knows is the one that walks away before it gets violent, he might exchange a few heated words but then he'll walk away, cool off and then approach whatever issue rationally.
But Harry can't argue with the evidence from the wand. Dean's wand has clearly cast a variety of violent spells, spells that cause blood spray like Harry sees in front of him. Maybe someone else cast those spells with his wand, though.
"Dean? I need you to cast something with your wand."
"All right." Dean looks up and unfolds himself.
"Can you cast a Patronus?"
"I don't know. I'll try." Dean takes his wand then tries, a puff of smoke coming from the tip. Another try and another puff of smoke. "I don't think I can."
The suspicion dies just a bit with Dean having problems with his wand but it could also be difficult to summon a happy memory to cast the spell. Harry goes for a slightly less complicated spell.
"What about a Protego? I'll cast at you and you protect yourself, yeah?" Harry steps back and then casts a Jelly-Legs jinx towards Dean who quickly protects himself with a shield. The suspicion comes back but Harry tamps it down. Dean wouldn't do this, not to Seamus of all people.
"What's the last thing you can remember?" Harry asks as he takes Dean's wand back.
"Walking in the door."
"And then?"
"Nothing. I don't even remember shutting it let alone anything else." Dean reaches out and grabs Harry's arm again. "I did this, didn't I? What did I do?"
"We'll figure this out. Why don't you tell me what you do remember? What about the flat?" Harry asks as he scrambles for something to say or do to reassure Dean.
"It's just more of… of…" Dean's hand gestures towards the wall and the ceiling.
"Right. I'll have to go take my own look. Stay here." Harry squeezes Dean's hand and then explores the flat. It's obvious that there'd been a protracted fight. Seamus always had been a scrapper, whether his opponent was a friend, a foe or even himself. Harry steps over the thrown chair, avoids the remains of a vase of flowers and the wet, pink-stained carpet that surrounds it before making his way into the bedroom. It's surprisingly clean in here for the most part. The blankets are tossed back as if the couple had just woken and were starting their day. Clothes are strewn across the floor, the chair in the corner and hanging out of dresser drawers. All in all, it looks like their flat always looks.
He summons his Patronus and sends it off to his assistant. Taking a moment, he closes his eyes, removes his glasses, pinches the bridge of his nose and then puts the glasses back on.
"Auror Sidney? A moment?" he says, raising his voice to project to the main room. Sidney comes in and stands at attention while he waits for Harry. "Update me."
"We received an anonymous tip at Headquarters to report here because of suspected Dark Arts. When we arrived, no one answered our knock, we identified ourselves and then entered the flat. Thomas was oblivious, at first, and then requested a 'Shame' and reported illness. We tested his wand and found the same spells that you did. As Thomas requested you and we saw the photographs, we thought we should summon you."
"I appreciate the call. What about his injuries?"
"Nothing other than a headache, lack of memory and shock, as far as we can determine."
"No marks, defensive wounds? Nothing of that sort at all?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Where was his wand?"
"In his hand, sir."
"All right. Continue the investigation. I'll take Thomas in."
"Yes, sir."
Before he can regret what he's about to do, Harry walks into the main room and says, "Dean, I have to take you in for questioning."
"Can I change?" Dean asks as he uncurls and looks at his hands and clothing.
"I'm afraid not."
"All right." Dean stands and hangs his head. Harry wants to hug him, tell him that it'll be all right and that he's not really under suspicion for anything but he can't because he'd be lying. The wand and the amount of blood on Dean tell its own story and it doesn't look good for Dean. The only reason that Harry hasn't immediately Stupified him is their history of friendship and the personal knowledge of how much Dean and Seamus love one another.
Harry grabs Dean's arm and walks him through the Floo and then to a holding cell. When Dean merely accompanies him, head down, and then sits without asking, Harry wonders, for a brief moment, if that's an admission of guilt. He's not so old that he doesn't remember the way that Dean had acted similarly when McGonagall had caught him forging a signature on a detention slip back in their Second Year. "I have to go log this in. You need anything?"
Dean pauses, staring at the ground and twisting his hands together, before finally shaking his head. "No. No, thank you."
"I'll be right back. I'll have to lock this," Harry says, gesturing at the door of the cell. Dean doesn't look up or respond.
After shutting the door as gently as he could, Harry walks to his office and shuts the door behind him. A few privacy charms and he opens up the Floo connection. "Hermione?"
"Harry? What's going on, mate?" Ron's head appears in the Floo almost immediately.
"Can't tell you, sorry to say. I need Hermione."
"Ah, official business, then," Ron says before disappearing from the Floo. A moment later, Hermione's face appears.
"What do you need, Harry?"
"You alone?"
"Ron's back off to bed and the kids are away."
"Who would you recommend as the best defence solicitor?"
"What did you do?" she asks.
"Not for me. It's for Dean. Seamus is missing and it doesn't look good."
"I know just the person, he'll be there shortly," she says and then disappears from view.
Bemused, Harry severs the Floo connection and starts to write out his notes and observations. He wants to keep the things that would harm Dean's case out of the initial write-up but he can't do it. Instead, he adds in his knowledge of the relationship between Dean and Seamus, the way that they'd been together longer than not, the devotion and love between them. Hopefully, it helps Dean, detracting from the blood and gore. The blood and gore that Harry hopes, knows, his team is processing with efficiency and care.
It's quick work to send out the team that his assistant gathered. The instructions are clear: keep it simple and professional. He can't allow his friendship with Dean to influence the quest for Seamus. There'd been a lot of blood, probably too much for Seamus to have lived through losing but, perhaps, he's still out there and Dean is innocent.
Dean is innocent. Harry knows him far too well for him to be anything but innocent of such a bloody attack. That knowledge, though, is tempered by remembered fights between Dean and Seamus and the bruised knuckles left behind. Dean's not a violent sort until he's riled up and if anyone can rile Dean up, it's Seamus.
Dammit, it's been too peaceful for too many years for Harry to have the patience for this sort of thing. The worst Dark Arts his team has been called to was the time that Adrian Pucey had kidnapped some kid and then found himself mysteriously dragged off to fight off trolls in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. Lucky for him that Hagrid had stepped in when he had. Pucey might've been left a blubbering and gibbering mess that couldn't identify his attacker but at least he'd been alive enough to answer for the abduction. That was eight years ago already and, in a way, Harry could almost see why Pucey had turned to the Dark Arts to escape from the trolls and had used so many spells even if Harry wouldn't have done the same in his position.
Sighing, he opens his office door, gets his assistant to get him a conference room (no bloody way he's going to make Dean sit in an interrogation room) and then shuts the door once more.
Transcription: Dean,
I feel like I should apologise for haring off like this but I can't take working on the school another day and I can't stand to be there so I decided, last night, to head off as far away from London as I can get. I'll write you when I'm back or I'll stop by or whatever because I'm fair certain you're upset with me right now. I don't mean to hurt you or upset you or anything. It's all just too much and I need a breath that doesn't involve fixing everything that asshole pulled down around us. It feels like the ghosts of the people we lost follow me home at night and watch me sleep. I can't take it anymore. I'm cold all the time and I just need a breath that's warm.
So I don't know where I'll be when this letter gets to you but you can bet that it'll be warm and sunny. Maybe, if you're good, I'll even get you a souvenir or something.
Seamus
Two Years and Fifty-Three Days Later
After everything, he needs to get away from everyone and everything. Everyone except for Dean. Seamus takes off for Rome. The only problem with Rome is that it's all old buildings and brick and tiny streets and alleys. It reminds him too much of England which reminds him too much of that last year which means that Rome suddenly reminds him of torture and humiliation and fear. As he walks down a street, eating gelato, the taste of fear colors the spumoni and that's that. He's got to leave here, too.
He heads to Naples and then he heads to Florence and then to Venice. All of Italy is too old. There's too much stone and not enough air, not even on the canals of Venice.
Seamus thinks maybe a change of scenery would help so he takes off to Spain. La Concha is beautiful, full of life and happiness, a city with an amazing beach. Here, Seamus feels like he can breathe. The sand is fine and gritty against his feet as he walks down the beach in shorts while his shoes dangle from his hand. Another deep breath and the fresh air drifting off the water fills his lungs.
Suddenly, he's not alone on the beach as someone walks next to him.
"Fancy meeting you here," Dean says as he walks step in step with Seamus. Seamus looks over at Dean and grins as he takes in the bare feet, shorts and lack of shirt.
"How'd you find me?" Seamus asks.
"What, you think you can really disappear from me? Unless you wanted to." Seamus can hear the hurt hidden behind the teasing tone. He's not sure how to respond to it in any other way than to touch Dean. He puts his arm around Dean's waist and squeezes because, seriously, Seamus can't stand to think about Dean hurting. They've both suffered enough.
"Why'd I want to do that? Took me a year just to get you back."
"Yet the first thing you do as soon as the dust settles is to hare off to Italy."
"Italy's got class, mate. Way more'n you."
"Sod off." Dean starts to sling his arm over Seamus's shoulder, looks around and then pulls back. Seamus can feel the heat radiating off Dean's skin and he feels warm. His heart races and, when he looks at Dean, he feels that heat pool in his gut. Christ, he's still wanting his best friend. "You hungry?"
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Seven Days Later
"Dean, it doesn't look good." Harry would've continued but the door opens and Draco Malfoy saunters in. "Malfoy. What brings you here?"
"You're speaking to my client without me present. That won't be allowed to happen again." Draco walks over to the table and puts his hand over Dean's folded ones.
"He's my friend," Harry says defensively. Pausing, Harry backs up a step in the conversation. "And what client?"
"Dean Thomas is my client. I am his solicitor. You are an Auror investigating my client. One could almost make the accusation that an Auror in a position of familiarity, especially one of your level, skill and rank, could possibly be abusing the privilege of said friendship and familiarity to garner an admission of guilt."
"Just what are you saying?" Harry's eyes narrow as he glares at Draco. The insult is obvious, especially to Harry when he'd never thought - well, never seriously considered for more than a moment or two, ok, maybe three - the concept of Dean's guilt.
"I'm saying that Dean Thomas is my client and your suspect. Friendship has very little to do with that."
"Malfoy - " Dean starts to say but Malfoy turns on him, holding up a finger and pointing it in his face.
"Not another word before we speak." Cowed at Malfoy's sharp tone, Dean hangs his head once more, staring at their hands on the desk.
"I…" Harry wants to snap at Malfoy, say something biting and horrible but he's also right. "I'll be in my office."
He walks away and does just what he'd said, walking to his office and firing up the Floo once more. "I need Hermione."
"Didn't we already do that?" Ron says in to the fire. "Twice in one night, mate? What the bloody hell is going on?"
"I really can't tell you yet."
"Yeah, all right," Ron grumbles and then Hermione's face appears.
"Malfoy get there, then?"
"Yeah. He really the best?"
"He's really the best."
"Good. Dean's going to need it." Harry pulled back to rake a hand through his hair and then leaned in again.
"It's that bad?"
"You should've seen their flat. Blood everywhere. No sign of Seamus."
"You'll find him." She sounds certain, almost as if he'd asked her what the weather was outside. The faith should have bolstered him but, instead, it made the pebble in his stomach into a boulder as he thinks of everything he has to do to make this right.
"Thanks," he says and then waves before severing the connection once more. "Janice?"
His assistant's head pops in the doorway as he removes his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Could you please see if Dean and Malfoy are ready to meet?"
"Sure thing, Mister Potter." She quickly disappears. Leaning back in his chair, he pops his back and stretches, the lack of sleep catching up with him. He doesn't hear the door open so he jumps when Janice says, "Sir? They're ready for you."
Grabbing the file, he quickly makes his way back to the conference room. "Ready to continue?"
"My client will only answer those questions I allow him to answer," Malfoy says as he looks to Dean.
"Fine, I'll make a note that you've representation." Harry opens the file and scribbles Malfoy's name in it, buying himself a bit more time to think of how he wants to question Dean. His thumb rubs across his scar as he thinks. "I'll need to cast a few recording charms."
"Whatever you think is best. My client will give his full statement and he expects to be able to leave afterwards so that he may find suitable lodgings away from the scene."
"I can't promise that."
"There is no need for a promise, Potter. I guarantee that Dean will be leaving after giving his statement." Malfoy's glare dares Harry to respond but he only rubs across his scar once more and casts the charms needed.
"Investigation of abduction of Seamus Finnigan. Auror Harry Potter conducting interview with Dean Thomas, domestic partner of missing, and his solicitor, Draco Malfoy," he says aloud for the recording. "Mister Thomas, you are here on your own free will?"
"Yeah, Harry, I - "
"Yes, he is." Malfoy cuts in.
"Please tell me what happened today."
"I, um, I went to work this morning, forgot my keys so I had to go back into the flat and Seamus was eating breakfast. His kippers smelled disgusting so I left without saying goodbye and then when I came home, I shut the door and then I… I don't remember anything until I Floo'd you."
"Was Seamus there when you returned?"
"I don't know."
"Was the flat in the same state when you returned?"
Malfoy holds up a hand before Dean can answer. "Define same state."
"Was the flat covered in blood?"
Dean's flinch at Harry's bald question makes Harry dislike Malfoy just a bit more. He'd forced the issue, made Harry confront Dean about the possibility that Seamus wasn't alive. Harry can barely hear Dean's muttered, "I can't remember."
"What was the last spell you cast with your wand?"
"I sent a memo to my boss at work."
"Did you cast any sort of spell after that?"
"A Protego with you."
"Anything in between?"
"I can't remember."
"Did you cast an Expelliarmus?"
"I can't remember."
"A Sectumsempra?"
"I can't remember."
"Petrificus Totalus."
"I can't remember."
"A Stu - "
"Enough," Malfoy interrupts. "He's clearly stated that he doesn't remember any spells between the one at work and the one he performed with you. I'm not certain what you hope to gain with haranguing my client but - "
"I'm trying to see if any of these spells help his memory, Malfoy."
"You're trying to see if he is lying. Please be honest here, Potter. He's passed your test now kindly continue taking his statement so that he can attempt some sort of sleep."
"How dare you - "
"How dare you, Potter. My client has no memory of the events that led to Mister Finnigan's disappearance, the bloody remnants of neither the abduction nor the possibility that he witnessed either."
"You're not helping."
"I think you have that wrong. You are attacking my client, something that I refuse to allow to continue. Until you are able to be more circumspect - "
"Please," Dean says, interrupting their argument. "Can we just finish this?"
"In a minute, Dean," Harry says and then stops the recording. "A minute outside, Malfoy?"
Draco nods and follows Harry out the door after one last look at Dean.
"Want to tell me what that's about?"
"What what's about?"
"Why the hell are you being such an asshole?"
"That man in there," Draco pauses to gesture towards the interrogation room, "comes home to a partner that's missing. He asks for his good friend, Harry Potter, and trusts in Harry to do right by him. Only problem is that Harry has to do right by Seamus, too. And he can't do both if he gets yanked off the case because he's too close to both of them. So you tell me what you think I'm doing in there?"
"You're dancing on a very thin line to keep us all balanced. You're protecting Dean and you're protecting me."
"In what world is that a possibility? I'm protecting my client, the one that trusts you to find out what happened to his partner."
"I can't release him."
"You can into my custody."
"I can't. There's too much evidence." Harry regrets it but it's true, he can't release Dean, not with the spell history of his wand and the lack of memory. "I'm sorry but I can't."
"What about St Mungo's? He's injured and needs care."
"I have to follow protocol. He'll be checked by our own mediwizard. There isn't anything I can do without the appearance of favouritism and then get myself kicked off the case."
Draco only nods and then gestures back towards the room. "Shall we continue this?"
Harry nods in response, following Draco into the room. "If you agree, Dean, there are a few things we can do to try to reveal the memories that you've suppressed."
"Anything - "
"You can present your ideas and I'll discuss it with my client."
"Fine." Harry rubs at his nose, pressing his glasses back up them and then grimaces. "You'll be taken back to your cell."
"But," Dean starts and then stops, looking down at his hands and sighs. "Thanks, Harry."
Harry can't think of anything that won't ruin his ability to help Dean and Seamus and, so, he keeps his mouth shut as he exits the room, gesturing for the guards to enter and escort Dean back to his cell.
He won't get the results from the sweep of the flat until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. As tempting as it is to stay and try to do something to help Dean and Seamus out, he Floos back home and looks at the work spread all over his study. Oliver Wood's waited fourteen years for justice, the cold case investigation into his death is just going to have to wait after Harry gets some sort of sleep.
It's automatic to go through the house, turning off lights and ensuring that it's secured for the rest of the night, not that there's much left. The downstairs is taken care of quickly and then he walks through the upstairs. The empty bedrooms of his two oldest make his heart twinge and he shuts the doors so he doesn't have to see that they're all getting older. When he reaches Lily's room, he steps inside and, upon catching a glimpse of the stuffed doll in her arms, smiles for the first time since that morning. He smoothes her hair down and away from her face and then tugs her blanket up so that her shoulder is no longer exposed.
After pressing a kiss to her forehead, he steps out of the room, leaving the nightlight on, and heads to his bedroom where Ginny waits up for him.
"Everything all right?"
"Not really." Sitting on the edge of the bed, he removes his shoes and then his shirt. She sits up and presses against his back, hugging him from behind as her lips rest against his shoulder.
"Talk?" she asks and Harry knows that he could unburden it all onto her but it's too late (or early, depending on how he looks at the clock) and he merely shakes his head. "All right." He can feel her nod against his shoulder before her lips touch his skin again. "Come to bed."
"I love you."
"I love you, too." She tugs him backwards and he follows, shimmying out of his trousers.
"Nox."
Transcription: Shame,
Meant a lot to me that you made it to the show last night. Means even more that you liked my work. You didn't have to get me a gift, though, you being there was a gift I appreciated your attendance you being there was a gift. Maybe we could go out to a nice dinner, just the two of us? Get dressed up and everything? There's a new club that opened that we could try out, I bet even you'd be willing to dance with me if I dared you.
Dean
Seven Years and One-Hundred-One Days Later
It's Harry's 25th when Seamus can't take it anymore. The drink in his hand isn't enough though he downs it quickly enough. The second drink goes down even more smoothly while the thirdfourthfifthsixth all slide smooth as silk down his throat. With a grimace, he stares across the room at the way that Dean is leaning into Luna Lovegood, hand placed protectively on her back.
Rather than watching Dean work his magic on the ladies while he sits here pining like a stereotypical drunken swine, he looks at all the changes at The Leaky. It's been open for a few years under Susan Bones's management and it's got a different feel to it than when they'd all been off to Hogwarts. For one thing, the décor's been updated, looking like the place had at least entered the twentieth century rather than staying in the 1600s. For another, the beer selection's much better. For another, the service has been impeccable, as can be attested to by the seventh drink appearing before him, as if by magic. Seamus laughs out loud at his witticism.
It's as he's listening to a discussion on the disappearance of Pansy Parkinson - did you hear that she ran off with her butler? No way, I heard it was Blaise Zabini, he disappeared at about the same time, didn't you hear? - that his drinking escapades are interrupted.
"You want to slow down there? Party only started an hour ago," Dean says, slinging an arm over Seamus's shoulder like he's done a thousand and one times. This time, though, Seamus flinches, getting away from that arm, because Dean's touch burns worse than fire. "Definitely cutting you off."
"Fuck off, Thomas."
"Yeah? You want to tell me why you'd just acted like I'm spreading disease by my touch?" Dean gestures with his beer bottle.
"Do what?" Seamus looks anywhere but at Dean.
Instead of responding, Dean's invading his personal space, almost touching and forcing Seamus to dance out of the way of it. Seamus can't cope with Dean's proximity, not at all. He's had enough alcohol to numb his pride as his brain churns escape escape escape so he tries to step left and then right and back and forward to escape. Dean's always been quicker than him because no matter which way he goes, Dean's still there, hips lining up with hips and hands on his shoulders or arms before finally settling on his neck. When had they gotten in the back hallway in the Leaky and why's it so fucking narrow? Even the damned bar is against Seamus right now. "What's gotten into you?"
"Getting old," Seamus says. "Just getting old."
"Yeah? For an old arsewipe, you're certainly quick on your feet." Dean's thumbs are doing funny things like tracing circles on his neck and over his jaw line, and he arches into the touches.
"Please," he breathes out, uncertain of what he's pleading for. All he knows is that he wants something to change.
"I've been waiting for you to ask for so long," Dean whispers back and then leans in as Seamus's eyes drift shut.
Nineteen Years and Ninety-Eight Days Later
In the morning, Dean's surprised to see the doors to his cell swing open and one of the guards gesture him out. For some reason, he'd expected to stay there until he's convicted of Seamus's death and then he's off to Azkaban. He knows that's not at all realistic but a lack of memory tied with the trauma and the loss and the lack of sleep all combine into this morass of confusion.
He'd not slept last night at all. There'd been too many random noises in addition to the way that the room had never gotten properly dark. He'd used to hate sleeping in the dark but nineteen years of Seamus insisting on it has changed the way that he sleeps. Damned Seamus, ruining things for him even though he's gone.
Finally following the guard and specifically not concentrating on Seamus, he finds himself in a lobby with Draco Malfoy. "I've secured your release. There are a few terms, of course, but, you're free of this place."
"How?"
"An amazing solicitor along with your record of service to the Wizarding world. Come along, I've secured quarters for you while your flat's unavailable."
"Thank you, Malfoy."
"All part of the service. Shall we?" Malfoy gestures towards the door and Dean trails along after him.
The flat's tiny, but at least it's something that's not covered in blood. Not that it helps Dean with envisioning the way that his flat had been covered in the blood. How he'd been covered in blood.
"This'll do until I can get your flat returned to you. I've petitioned to have some of your belongings released but, unfortunately, they're still part of the crime scene. As soon as I can, I'll get your clothes. Anything else that you'd like while this case is ongoing?"
"There's a…"
"Yes?"
"There's a photo of Shame and me. It's on the mantle, simple frame. I'd like that, if I could."
"Anything else?" Malfoy pulls out a small pad of paper and starts taking notes.
"It's just something dumb."
"Nothing's dumb. If you want it, I can petition for it."
"There's a bowl by the door, it's a small wooden thing, that I'd like. Shame, he's always forgetting his keys and…" and it really is a dumb thing to ask for. Who asks for a wooden bowl when he could be getting hundreds of other things? There's the Kestrals shirt that Seamus had got him and then there's the West Ham shirt he'd got for Seamus. There's the artwork and the coffee mugs and food and clothes and his shoes.
"Of course. Anything else?"
"Anything else I want is gone."
Eighteen Years and One-Hundred-Eighteen Days Later
"You see this?" Seamus waves the paper at Dean. "Goyle got himself killed. Wonder what Harry's doing with that?"
"Dunno. What makes you think Harry'd be involved?"
"Story says he'd been slashed to pieces. Sounds like Dark Arts to me." Seamus stands, drops the paper in front of Dean and then fetches them both a new cup of tea. Two sugars into Dean's mug and three into his own. A splash of lemon for Dean and a splash of milk for himself. When he turns back to the table, mugs in hand, Dean's got the paper in front of him. Seamus reaches over Dean's shoulder, putting the mug on the table before resting his jaw on Dean's head. They both read the article until a clock chimes and Seamus curses lightly. "Gonna be late," he says as he presses a kiss against the crown of Dean's head. "Love you."
"Love you, too," Dean says absentmindedly and flips the paper. As Dean hears the door close, he mutters his own curse before standing and hurrying to the dish by the door, grabbing the keys and shooting down the hall. "Oi! Forgot your keys!"
Seamus hurries back, snatching them from Dean's outstretched hand and then swipes a kiss across Dean's chin. "You're the best."
"I know," Dean agrees and then swats Seamus's arse." Better hurry. If you're late, you won't be able to leave early."
"Gallery opening. Right. Gotta get cleaned up."
"Damned straight."
"Bye!" Seamus brushes another kiss across Dean's chin and hurries off to work, the gallery opening forgotten by the time he reaches the stairs.
When he gets home that night, the flat's dark and Seamus calls out for Dean before calling again. There's no answer and worry kicks in until he remembers the gallery opening. Dean's big event and Seamus, like the complete arsewipe that he is, had completely forgotten about it.
There is no one in the world that could possibly hate Seamus more, right now, than Seamus himself. He drops his keys in the bowl by the door. There are no words that can possibly make this better, that can possibly appease Dean, if Dean reacts the way that Seamus would've.
He's still kicking himself when Dean comes home, dropping his keys into the bowl and then walking past the kitchen and into the bedroom. When Seamus follows him in, leaning against the doorjamb and watching the play of muscles along Dean's back as he strips out of his suit and tie, Dean ignores his presence.
"Sorry ain't gonna cut it and I know it but I'm still sorry that I forgot your opening."
"Don't," Dean says, still with his back turned on Seamus. Seamus stares at that back as it ripples in front of him and thinks about how, just last night, he'd traced those tattoos with his tongue and his hands, Dean crying out about how much he loved Seamus, the warm tone of his voice then in direct contrast to the cold, sterile tone he's using right now.
"I understand," Seamus says, pushing off the doorjamb and going to Dean, wrapping his arms around Dean's stomach and pressing his cheek to Dean's back. "You're pissed and too right with it."
"I said 'don't'." Dean grips Seamus's hands, gentle for all the controlled anger that Seamus can feel trembling under his skin, and removes Seamus's arms from his waist.
"All right, love." Seamus still presses a kiss to Dean's back and then heads into the living room to sleep on the couch.
In the morning, Dean doesn't hand him his keys and he has to scoop them out of the bowl himself, running back to the flat that echoes because Dean had been gone by the time Seamus had woken. It's a pattern that repeats for weeks until Seamus actually remembers the next gallery event.
Nineteen Years and One-Hundred-Three Days Later
Ginny massages the knots at the back of his neck, pressing the base of her palm into his flesh and rolling it until the knot gives way. Harry can't help the way that he moans with the relief. Ignoring the way that he's feeling overwhelmed at the cases, Harry concentrates on Ginny's hands on his body. Even after all these years, he can't seem to get enough of her. Finally unable to resist any more, Harry turns underneath her and lunges up, capturing her lips in a kiss.
"I love you," he says just before he kisses her again.
"I love you, too," she says when they break for air. “So what’s going on?”
"Just thinking how fast things change and, well…"
"And the way that Seamus just disappeared and Dean's accused of killing him?"
"He's not formally accused of anything."
"Yet."
"Yet," Harry agrees. "I hope never but not yet."
"You think he's capable of it?"
"Anyone's capable of anything. Hell, Oliver Wood never pissed off a single person in his life and look at what happened to him."
"And now Dean and Seamus."
"And now Dean and Seamus." He reaches up and pulls her down until her head rests on his chest. "Just makes me wonder, is all. What the hell is wrong with the world?"
"People do strange things."
"Malfoy thinks I'm too close to Dean and Seamus to investigate this case clearly," he whispers it against her hair as he breathes in deeply.
"Maybe you are but Dean trusts you and Seamus would, too. You ask him when you find him and he'll tell you."
"I don't think we're going to find him."
"What?" Ginny sits up and gapes at him. "But…"
"It's why the Aurors still have the case. Way too many dark spells off Dean's wand."
"Oh, Harry," she says as she drops to his chest again and embraces him. He's never been more thankful. These moments of quiet support and love shore him up like nothing else.
Eight Years and Sixteen Days Later
Seamus looks at Dean's sketches for the memorial and can't quite put his finger on what's wrong with it. There's just something slightly off. The marble is a perfect choice and will match Dumbledore's Tomb perfectly.
"Something's missing." Seamus leans across Dean's shoulders where he works at his desk in the Ministry for Memorials and Remembrances. He can't resist pressing his chest against Dean's back while his chin rests on Dean's head.
"Like what?"
"Dunno. There's…" his voice trails off as he looks at the drawing once more. It's decent, got a good size and the crests for all the houses but it's just not right. "There's no life. It's cold, yanno?"
"It's a memorial to the dead," Dean says as if Seamus is a particularly slow child.
"They're not just 'the dead'. They're our friends." Seamus leans in even closer, putting his arms around Dean. It's still new and exciting that they can do this, that there's this new level of intimacy between them. And, in the midst of all of that, just a hint of gratitude that they're both here and not being commemorated in that memorial.
"You're right."
"Spent months in the Room of Requirement with some of them." Seamus speaks quietly, as if he says it too loud and the ghosts will swarm in and take him away. "Wouldn't trade being free for the world but, every once in awhile, I wish…"
"Ted kept me safe."
"You should've seen MacMillan. Never would've thought him capable of being such a badass."
"Even Griphook was kind to me."
"Wonder who has Colin's pictures? Kid took a thousand photos. Got the shite beat out of him for it but he kept doing it. 'Have to record it so people will know'." He says the last in a facsimile of Colin's voice.
"I'm just glad it wasn't you." Dean stands abruptly and embraces Seamus. They hold on tightly, so tightly that Seamus can't think of anything but Dean. He's surrounded by Dean and he'd go back to the Carrows' torture again if it meant coming out to this.
Nineteen Years and One-Hundred-Four Days Later
It's the silence in the rented flat doubling as a jail cell that melts the numbness. He'd thought that, perhaps, he wouldn't mind the silence. It'd make a change from the way that Seamus would natter on about every bloody thing that would possibly enter his head. It's one of the things he'd appreciated about Seamus from the very beginning - you'd always know exactly where you stood with him. The man didn't have a thought that didn't get said somewhere.
After thirty years (oh Christ, thirty years. Thirty. When did they get so old?) of listening to Seamus nattering on at him, a spot of silence should've been appreciated. Dean can hear himself thinking, can feel him reasserting himself as an individual and not part of DeanandSeamus or SeamusandDean as he's been thinking of them. He'd been longing for it, they'd been fighting over it lately, the way that Seamus seems to dominate everything in their lives, Seamus's wants supersede his own, Seamus's needs supersede, Seamus supersedes Dean every sodding time anymore.
But now that Seamus is gone, the silence only tells Dean how wrong he'd been. He hates the silence, wants it to stop because, right now, it feels like something's boring in to his head and eating his brain alive. It's the silence, the bloody, fucking silence, that's killing his brain and driving him insane.
He hurries to the radio and turns it on but the newscast is all about how Seamus has been murdered by his boyfriend of twenty years. Him. They're talking about him and how he's murdered Seamus. With a bitten off cry, he turns the radio off once more and lets the silence devour him.
When Harry pops in the next morning, he finds Dean curled in a ball on the floor, hands covering his ears. "Mate?"
"Make it stop," Dean pants. "Please, make it stop."
"Make what stop?" Harry's baffled at what could possibly be happening to Dean. There's not a thing attacking him, as far as Harry can tell. With a suspicious look around, he casts a few revealing charms and still finds nothing living in the room other than Dean and himself. At a loss, Harry sits on the floor and touches Dean's shoulder blades. He's gobsmacked when Dean pushes himself into Harry's lap, pressing into his stomach as he clings. "Mate?"
"I didn't kill him, Harry. I know what they're saying and what you're thinking and I know what it looks like. I know what you think but I didn't do it."
"We'll figure it out," Harry says, brushing across Dean's scalp like he's done a million times to his kids.
An owl pecks on the window, startling them both out of their silence.
"I'll get that," Harry offers, sliding out from under Dean. The owl drops a letter at Harry's feet and takes off once more.
[insert graphic of letter:
Harry,
Please go to 7 Hamberdeen Court. I think this case ties in to your current one.]
The address is familiar but Harry can't think of why as he tells Dean, "I have to go."
"Sure, Harry, thanks."
Transcription: Dean,
You ever think why we were spared and others weren't? You think maybe there were things we were supposed to do? You ever wonder if you're fucking up a chance that other people died so you could have?
I think I am, sometimes. I think I am.
Seamus
Ten Years Later
Seamus stares at the monument as it soars into the sky. It's beyond a work of art, it's a living, breathing symbol of life. Dean's really outdone himself as far as Seamus is concerned. The round, white marble, matching Dumbledore's Tomb, has vines of flowers climbing up its sides.
"What do you think?" Dean asks as he stands behind Seamus. Dean's hand reaches out and covers Seamus's where it rests over the Gryffindor Crest.
Rather than answering Dean, Seamus entwines their fingers and leans back so that his head rests on Dean's shoulder. He turns slightly so that he presses his face into the curve of Dean's neck and breathes in.
"That good, huh?" Dean's chest rumbles with his words.
"You're amazing, absolutely amazing. I…" Seamus can't think of how to put his thoughts into words that make sense when strung together. He's got too much churning around in his head and his gut. Finally, he whispers, "I don't know what would've happened to me if your name was on here."
"Didn't happen, Shame." Dean pulls Seamus close.
"Hey, guys," Dennis says as he steps up beside them. "Interesting design."
"Thanks but, really, the way that Seamus laid out the names and the crests and things, that's the best part."
"That was just my idea. You did the main part of it, mate."
"So everyone that we lost has their name up there?" Dennis says as he reaches out and traces some of the names with his fingertips.
"Every single person lost in both the wars."
Dennis yanks his hand back from the memorial before turning on his heel and storming off, muttering and cursing under his breath.
"The hell was that about?"
"Dunno."
Continue to part 2