New FIC- "Strange-Eyed Constellation"
This novella with pairings I've not really written before all started with a prompt from risiepookie. Many of you know that I'm drawn to threesomes, and this story explores that realm with its rather complex dynamics, especially considering the characters in this. Here's the summary and a few notes:
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: Overall NC-17, though not each section will be so. I'll let you know.
Status: WIP; I'll be posting probably once a week; it's currently a little over 23K words. Crossposted to deamus.
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
This story has two very short vignette prologues, which are actually the kernels which prompted me to keep going. The first is this: The Test of the Heart is Trouble. The second, a very short, untitled vignette set a couple of months later in the story arc is here. I'd recommend starting there as otherwise the rest may seem rather odd. ;)
Seamus muttered short bursts of invective-ridden phrases about his bollocky evening as he walked down the footpath. Normally he loved his job as a bartender at The Dove's Cry, but tonight had been one disaster after another, including, but not limited to: nearly breaking his ankle tripping over a customer's chair; knocking over a bottle of 200 year old Irish firewhiskey, and his regulars inexplicably being in cheesed off moods. Since eight o'clock or so he'd felt out of sorts and trying to suppress a relentless feeling of foreboding. If he'd not been dealing with near-catastrophes, he would have firecalled Dean just to hear a friendly voice, but there'd been no bloody time. It was a Tuesday, as well- not usually such a busy night.
"Snap out of it," he admonished inwardly, letting himself into the flat block where he and Dean had been sharing a place for the better part of a year. "Dean doesn't deserve your shite." He climbed up the stairs to their door, struck at how quiet it seemed. They tended to keep a low-grade silencing spell on all the time, but Dean usually had the Wireless on, or music, even this late at night, unless he was doing his hand-reading. Dean had learned Braille, the Muggle way blind people read, although he preferred to listen to dictated books. With his expressive voice, Dean had begun working a few hours a week recording wizarding novels for others in his situation, and seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.
Seamus took a healthy swig of firewhiskey from his flask before he shut and locked the door. Their flat was silent, eerily so, in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour of the morning. He didn't want to wake Dean up, but something was off. The hairs on Seamus' arms prickled uncomfortably as he treaded lightly through the living room. Glancing down the corridor to their rooms, he saw that the bathroom door at the end of the way was closed, implying Dean's occupancy. Relief flooded through him as he let out a breath he'd just realised he'd been holding.
"Dean! I'm home!" he yelled, clomping over to his room and taking another swig from his flask. When there was no answer, he hung in the doorway, one shoe toed off. "Dean?"
Panic buzzed in him like angry moths. He tossed his flask on the bed and rushed to the bathroom door, knocking loudly.
"Dean? You okay?"
After a few precious seconds of silence fluttered by, he threw open the door, privacy be damned. He flicked on the light, taking in a sharp breath as the debacle was suddenly illuminated. The shower curtain rod and red plaid curtain had been pulled to the floor, making a sideways halo of wet vinyl. Dean lay sprawled on his back in the tub, his head lolling against the porcelain, an arm curled up at an awkward angle against his chest.
"FUCK!" Seamus shouted, his mind racing as he frantically fell to his knees, shoving the shower curtain out of the way. Dean was breathing - thank Merlin - and he didn't seem to be bleeding, but he was definitely unconscious.
"Shite, Dean, what'd you do?" Seamus murmured as he carefully, with trembling fingers, eased a hand under his head. A quick glance over the rest of Dean's long limbs seemed to reveal only bruises, though he'd certainly be quite sore until he had a healing draught. Seamus tried not to think about the fact that while he'd been longing to see Dean naked for some time, this was certainly not the manner in which he'd wanted it to happen. The discovery of a palm-sized bump on the back of Dean's skull confirmed Seamus' guess as to what happened. He babbled quiet, soothing reassurances to Dean's unresponsive form. Dean had doubtless finished his shower and then slipped on something, grabbing at anything he could as he fell, cracking his head against the wall as he did. Dean usually took his showers at night, but even so, that meant he'd been unconscious for several hours now. Anxiety ricocheted through Seamus, frustrating him as he tried to revert to his war survival mode, calming his blaring thoughts.
"I need to get you to St. Mungo's, okay?" he said softly, tracing a gentle path across Dean's forehead before enacting his plan. It wasn't advanced Arithmancy to get someone to hospital, but given Dean's size versus his own, there were slightly more complicated logistics to be coordinated. Within minutes he'd draped a bathrobe on Dean and cast a modified Mobilicorpus that would protect his head and neck from any further movement. Drawing on the adrenaline zinging along his hyper-aware body, Seamus focussed on the one secure Apparition point in the hospital and side-along Apparated them both there.
Seconds after their arrival, two Junior Healers appeared. One carefully put Dean on a stretcher while the other, an olive-skinned witch, cast a perfunctory auralic on Dean and then rattled off a staccatoed barrage of questions which Seamus answered as quickly as he could. Once Dean had been placed in a room on a proper bed and Seamus had been assured that a Senior Healer would show up momentarily, the young witch looked sharply at him.
"You're " she asked, tilting her head and reminding Seamus of a wary bird, protecting its nest.
"His roommate. We're best mates," he explained, a bit surprised at the defiance in his own voice. He found that he was moving toward the bed to defend his right to be there when the towering presence of Ron Weasley appeared in the doorway.
"Seamus! What's happened?" he asked brusquely, striding to Dean's beside and casting a quick but elaborate auralic.
"Don't really know," Seamus replied, flanking Dean on the other side of the bedrail. He listened as Ron and the junior Healer exchanged a few comments. Seamus understood some of it - everybody who'd fought in the War had learned more about healing than they'd ever initially intended.
"Thanks, Hyacinth." Ron's voice was rather gravelly as though he'd been recently woken up. Given the hour of morning, Seamus recognised that may well have been the case.
After the junior Healer had been dismissed, Seamus told Ron what little he knew before blurting out, "Don't you think he's just got a concussion or something?"
Ron nodded his agreement, tracing slow circles with his wand several inches above Dean's head. "I should probably go ahead an Ennervate him, as his magic isn't damaged at all. And not his brain, either," he reassured Seamus. Ron's usual lopsided smile eased on to his lips.
"That's a relief," Seamus sighed. He forced his hands on the bedrail so that he didn't embarrass himself by smoothing Dean's forehead, though his fingers itched to betray him and do just that.
"You doing okay?" Ron asked, his own posture relaxing now that it was apparent Dean hadn't injured himself too seriously.
"Yeah. Busy." He looked down at Dean, still discomfited at not being able to talk with him. Ron was an excellent Healer, though, and Seamus opted not to rush him. "You? And Harry?"
"Great." Ron's recalcitrant smile widened nearly to breaking at the mention of his bondmate. "Busy as hell. But in a good way."
"Glad to hear." Seamus twisted the metal bar, hoping Ron would hurry up and cast the spell to bring Dean back to consciousness.
"He's going to be okay," Ron said, his voice soothing and professional in a way Seamus hadn't heard before. He glanced up, meeting the calm in Ron's blue eyes. Ron poised his wand at the top of Dean's chest. Dean's collarbones and arms were exposed above the pulled up sheet. "Not to pry," he went on, "but are you two " he asked provocatively, one thin eyebrow raised.
"What? Together? No," Seamus said, his small shrug meant to mask the remainder of his unspoken reply of "But it's about to make me batshite that we're not."
"Okay. Just curious." Unexpectedly, Ron's smile became impish. "Best friends, y'know- sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us."
"I'll let ye know if anything changes," Seamus said with a wink, forcing levity into his tone and easing away from the bed. "But Dean's more of a ladies man."
"You must do a lot for him," Ron said thoughtfully, rubbing at the coppery stubble on his upper jaw. "He's not in bad spirits, is he? Some people who've suffered physical trauma like he did with permanent scarring don't cope all that well."
Seamus' patience was fraying at an accelerated pace and he caught himself twisting the large leather band he always wore on his wrist. "If ye'll wake him, you can ask him yerself," he said pointedly.
"Good point. Rennervate."
A low groan escaped Dean's mouth as his eyes made two quick passes underneath his taut eyelids. His eyes snapped open, his arms flailing out and whacking into the metal rails.
"Shit! Seamus!" he called out, fear and panic in his voice, reflected in his jumpy limbs.
"It's okay!" Seamus cried, clutching at Dean's arms while Ron Accio'ed two bottles from a cart his assistant had placed just inside the door. "You're in hospital. I'm here, it's okay, you're okay." He had practically climbed in the bed in his effort to calm Dean's wild-flinging arms, letting Dean know where he was, and where Seamus' body was in relation to Dean.
"'Course I am. I fell, that's all. Bloody hell," Dean moaned, taking a hand to rub at the base of his skull. "Why'd you have to make such a big deal about it? Could've just " his voice trailed off, his sightless eyes focussed on Ron as he readied the two potions. "Who're you?"
"Ron. You know me, oooof!" Ron huffed as Dean suddenly hit him in the gut, establishing where he was. "Seamus did the right thing. You've got a concussion. Take it easy."
"What time is- Merlin, how long was I out? Did you leave work early?" Dean asked, tilting his head before his eyes scrunched up with pain. "Ow."
"Here. I've a calming draught and a pain potion with a sleeping agent to it," Ron said. "I'd like you to drink these." He brought a phial to Dean's lips and he started to tilt it into his mouth. Once Dean could grasp the glass himself, he swallowed both potions in turn. "It's a good idea for you to rest and let your mind stay quiet for a while. You hit your head pretty hard, from the looks of things."
Dean nodded, resting his head back against his pillow. "Which wing am I in?"
Ron told him the floor and room while Seamus pulled a chair up next to Dean's bedside. Dean turned his head at the noise.
"What're you doing?" he asked, stifling a yawn. "You can do your grand inquisition later. I'm fine, honestly. And thanks." The irritation seemed to have leeched from him as Dean smiled ruefully at Seamus before turning back to face Ron again. "Thanks to you, too. You 'n Harry are okay?"
The radiance in Ron's expression was enough to make Seamus nauseous.
"Never better. We should have you over. It's ridiculous that it's taken you almost cracking open your skull for me to see you," Ron said, resting his wide hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll be around tomorrow afternoon to do a final auralic and the paperwork for your discharge."
Though Dean couldn't see it, of course, Ron's evaluating gaze went from Dean to rest on Seamus. Ron's raised eyebrows and slight tilt of his head spoke volumes into the quiet room as Dean's breathing deepened. While Seamus didn't mind Ron poking about too much in his affairs, he had no desire for what he decidedly didn't have with Dean, or anyone, for that matter, to be fodder for Ron and Harry. Not that Seamus begrudged them their happiness. After the abrupt and painful end to his relationship with Fred, however, and the wearing on him of now living with the man he at long last recognised that he loved in ways far beyond what Dean could ever know, he just wanted to be left alone.
"See you then," Seamus said with a curt nod, focussing his attentions back to Dean. He straightened the blanket where it'd been pulled out by Dean's forceful awakening.
Ron left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sorry you had to find me like you did," Dean murmured, shifting slightly to his side so he was turned more toward Seamus. "That couldn't have been a pretty sight."
Seamus wasn't about to contradict him, though he suspected the vision of Dean, naked and vulnerable, would haunt his mind's eye and his wanking for months to come. "Ach, I've seen uglier."
Dean snorted softly, reaching to hold Seamus' hand up against his ribs. "I can always Obliviate you later, like a good mate."
"No need for that, you bloody badgerarse. Get some rest."
Dean's long, elegant fingers tapped a couple of times on Seamus' hands before he let him loose. "Yes, mum."
Seamus reluctantly sat back in his chair as he watched Dean slide inexorably into sleep. Eventually he engorged the lime green institutional chair into something he could curl up into, and closed his eyes until he, too, fell asleep.
..:~TBC~:..
Title: Strange-Eyed Constellation
Pairing(s): Past Fred/Seamus, Seamus/Dean, eventual Fred/Seamus/Dean, Ron/Harry
Rating: Overall NC-17, though not each section will be so. I'll let you know.
Status: WIP; I'll be posting probably once a week; it's currently a little over 23K words. Crossposted to deamus.
Summary: War can make strange bedfellows; peacetime allows kindred spirits to join together. Seamus discovers both, and in being true to the baffling desires of his heart, believes that love needn't come exclusively in pairs.
A/N: my thanks to auntee_mame for the written beta; exceeding gratitude to wolfiekins and callumjames for letting me read aloud and giving me insightful feedback while I write this; also for their enthusiasm over what's certainly a rare trio. The title comes from Thomas Hardy's poem "Drummer Hodge."
This story has two very short vignette prologues, which are actually the kernels which prompted me to keep going. The first is this: The Test of the Heart is Trouble. The second, a very short, untitled vignette set a couple of months later in the story arc is here. I'd recommend starting there as otherwise the rest may seem rather odd. ;)
Seamus muttered short bursts of invective-ridden phrases about his bollocky evening as he walked down the footpath. Normally he loved his job as a bartender at The Dove's Cry, but tonight had been one disaster after another, including, but not limited to: nearly breaking his ankle tripping over a customer's chair; knocking over a bottle of 200 year old Irish firewhiskey, and his regulars inexplicably being in cheesed off moods. Since eight o'clock or so he'd felt out of sorts and trying to suppress a relentless feeling of foreboding. If he'd not been dealing with near-catastrophes, he would have firecalled Dean just to hear a friendly voice, but there'd been no bloody time. It was a Tuesday, as well- not usually such a busy night.
"Snap out of it," he admonished inwardly, letting himself into the flat block where he and Dean had been sharing a place for the better part of a year. "Dean doesn't deserve your shite." He climbed up the stairs to their door, struck at how quiet it seemed. They tended to keep a low-grade silencing spell on all the time, but Dean usually had the Wireless on, or music, even this late at night, unless he was doing his hand-reading. Dean had learned Braille, the Muggle way blind people read, although he preferred to listen to dictated books. With his expressive voice, Dean had begun working a few hours a week recording wizarding novels for others in his situation, and seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.
Seamus took a healthy swig of firewhiskey from his flask before he shut and locked the door. Their flat was silent, eerily so, in a way that had nothing to do with the early hour of the morning. He didn't want to wake Dean up, but something was off. The hairs on Seamus' arms prickled uncomfortably as he treaded lightly through the living room. Glancing down the corridor to their rooms, he saw that the bathroom door at the end of the way was closed, implying Dean's occupancy. Relief flooded through him as he let out a breath he'd just realised he'd been holding.
"Dean! I'm home!" he yelled, clomping over to his room and taking another swig from his flask. When there was no answer, he hung in the doorway, one shoe toed off. "Dean?"
Panic buzzed in him like angry moths. He tossed his flask on the bed and rushed to the bathroom door, knocking loudly.
"Dean? You okay?"
After a few precious seconds of silence fluttered by, he threw open the door, privacy be damned. He flicked on the light, taking in a sharp breath as the debacle was suddenly illuminated. The shower curtain rod and red plaid curtain had been pulled to the floor, making a sideways halo of wet vinyl. Dean lay sprawled on his back in the tub, his head lolling against the porcelain, an arm curled up at an awkward angle against his chest.
"FUCK!" Seamus shouted, his mind racing as he frantically fell to his knees, shoving the shower curtain out of the way. Dean was breathing - thank Merlin - and he didn't seem to be bleeding, but he was definitely unconscious.
"Shite, Dean, what'd you do?" Seamus murmured as he carefully, with trembling fingers, eased a hand under his head. A quick glance over the rest of Dean's long limbs seemed to reveal only bruises, though he'd certainly be quite sore until he had a healing draught. Seamus tried not to think about the fact that while he'd been longing to see Dean naked for some time, this was certainly not the manner in which he'd wanted it to happen. The discovery of a palm-sized bump on the back of Dean's skull confirmed Seamus' guess as to what happened. He babbled quiet, soothing reassurances to Dean's unresponsive form. Dean had doubtless finished his shower and then slipped on something, grabbing at anything he could as he fell, cracking his head against the wall as he did. Dean usually took his showers at night, but even so, that meant he'd been unconscious for several hours now. Anxiety ricocheted through Seamus, frustrating him as he tried to revert to his war survival mode, calming his blaring thoughts.
"I need to get you to St. Mungo's, okay?" he said softly, tracing a gentle path across Dean's forehead before enacting his plan. It wasn't advanced Arithmancy to get someone to hospital, but given Dean's size versus his own, there were slightly more complicated logistics to be coordinated. Within minutes he'd draped a bathrobe on Dean and cast a modified Mobilicorpus that would protect his head and neck from any further movement. Drawing on the adrenaline zinging along his hyper-aware body, Seamus focussed on the one secure Apparition point in the hospital and side-along Apparated them both there.
Seconds after their arrival, two Junior Healers appeared. One carefully put Dean on a stretcher while the other, an olive-skinned witch, cast a perfunctory auralic on Dean and then rattled off a staccatoed barrage of questions which Seamus answered as quickly as he could. Once Dean had been placed in a room on a proper bed and Seamus had been assured that a Senior Healer would show up momentarily, the young witch looked sharply at him.
"You're " she asked, tilting her head and reminding Seamus of a wary bird, protecting its nest.
"His roommate. We're best mates," he explained, a bit surprised at the defiance in his own voice. He found that he was moving toward the bed to defend his right to be there when the towering presence of Ron Weasley appeared in the doorway.
"Seamus! What's happened?" he asked brusquely, striding to Dean's beside and casting a quick but elaborate auralic.
"Don't really know," Seamus replied, flanking Dean on the other side of the bedrail. He listened as Ron and the junior Healer exchanged a few comments. Seamus understood some of it - everybody who'd fought in the War had learned more about healing than they'd ever initially intended.
"Thanks, Hyacinth." Ron's voice was rather gravelly as though he'd been recently woken up. Given the hour of morning, Seamus recognised that may well have been the case.
After the junior Healer had been dismissed, Seamus told Ron what little he knew before blurting out, "Don't you think he's just got a concussion or something?"
Ron nodded his agreement, tracing slow circles with his wand several inches above Dean's head. "I should probably go ahead an Ennervate him, as his magic isn't damaged at all. And not his brain, either," he reassured Seamus. Ron's usual lopsided smile eased on to his lips.
"That's a relief," Seamus sighed. He forced his hands on the bedrail so that he didn't embarrass himself by smoothing Dean's forehead, though his fingers itched to betray him and do just that.
"You doing okay?" Ron asked, his own posture relaxing now that it was apparent Dean hadn't injured himself too seriously.
"Yeah. Busy." He looked down at Dean, still discomfited at not being able to talk with him. Ron was an excellent Healer, though, and Seamus opted not to rush him. "You? And Harry?"
"Great." Ron's recalcitrant smile widened nearly to breaking at the mention of his bondmate. "Busy as hell. But in a good way."
"Glad to hear." Seamus twisted the metal bar, hoping Ron would hurry up and cast the spell to bring Dean back to consciousness.
"He's going to be okay," Ron said, his voice soothing and professional in a way Seamus hadn't heard before. He glanced up, meeting the calm in Ron's blue eyes. Ron poised his wand at the top of Dean's chest. Dean's collarbones and arms were exposed above the pulled up sheet. "Not to pry," he went on, "but are you two " he asked provocatively, one thin eyebrow raised.
"What? Together? No," Seamus said, his small shrug meant to mask the remainder of his unspoken reply of "But it's about to make me batshite that we're not."
"Okay. Just curious." Unexpectedly, Ron's smile became impish. "Best friends, y'know- sometimes we don't see what's right in front of us."
"I'll let ye know if anything changes," Seamus said with a wink, forcing levity into his tone and easing away from the bed. "But Dean's more of a ladies man."
"You must do a lot for him," Ron said thoughtfully, rubbing at the coppery stubble on his upper jaw. "He's not in bad spirits, is he? Some people who've suffered physical trauma like he did with permanent scarring don't cope all that well."
Seamus' patience was fraying at an accelerated pace and he caught himself twisting the large leather band he always wore on his wrist. "If ye'll wake him, you can ask him yerself," he said pointedly.
"Good point. Rennervate."
A low groan escaped Dean's mouth as his eyes made two quick passes underneath his taut eyelids. His eyes snapped open, his arms flailing out and whacking into the metal rails.
"Shit! Seamus!" he called out, fear and panic in his voice, reflected in his jumpy limbs.
"It's okay!" Seamus cried, clutching at Dean's arms while Ron Accio'ed two bottles from a cart his assistant had placed just inside the door. "You're in hospital. I'm here, it's okay, you're okay." He had practically climbed in the bed in his effort to calm Dean's wild-flinging arms, letting Dean know where he was, and where Seamus' body was in relation to Dean.
"'Course I am. I fell, that's all. Bloody hell," Dean moaned, taking a hand to rub at the base of his skull. "Why'd you have to make such a big deal about it? Could've just " his voice trailed off, his sightless eyes focussed on Ron as he readied the two potions. "Who're you?"
"Ron. You know me, oooof!" Ron huffed as Dean suddenly hit him in the gut, establishing where he was. "Seamus did the right thing. You've got a concussion. Take it easy."
"What time is- Merlin, how long was I out? Did you leave work early?" Dean asked, tilting his head before his eyes scrunched up with pain. "Ow."
"Here. I've a calming draught and a pain potion with a sleeping agent to it," Ron said. "I'd like you to drink these." He brought a phial to Dean's lips and he started to tilt it into his mouth. Once Dean could grasp the glass himself, he swallowed both potions in turn. "It's a good idea for you to rest and let your mind stay quiet for a while. You hit your head pretty hard, from the looks of things."
Dean nodded, resting his head back against his pillow. "Which wing am I in?"
Ron told him the floor and room while Seamus pulled a chair up next to Dean's bedside. Dean turned his head at the noise.
"What're you doing?" he asked, stifling a yawn. "You can do your grand inquisition later. I'm fine, honestly. And thanks." The irritation seemed to have leeched from him as Dean smiled ruefully at Seamus before turning back to face Ron again. "Thanks to you, too. You 'n Harry are okay?"
The radiance in Ron's expression was enough to make Seamus nauseous.
"Never better. We should have you over. It's ridiculous that it's taken you almost cracking open your skull for me to see you," Ron said, resting his wide hand on Dean's shoulder. "I'll be around tomorrow afternoon to do a final auralic and the paperwork for your discharge."
Though Dean couldn't see it, of course, Ron's evaluating gaze went from Dean to rest on Seamus. Ron's raised eyebrows and slight tilt of his head spoke volumes into the quiet room as Dean's breathing deepened. While Seamus didn't mind Ron poking about too much in his affairs, he had no desire for what he decidedly didn't have with Dean, or anyone, for that matter, to be fodder for Ron and Harry. Not that Seamus begrudged them their happiness. After the abrupt and painful end to his relationship with Fred, however, and the wearing on him of now living with the man he at long last recognised that he loved in ways far beyond what Dean could ever know, he just wanted to be left alone.
"See you then," Seamus said with a curt nod, focussing his attentions back to Dean. He straightened the blanket where it'd been pulled out by Dean's forceful awakening.
Ron left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sorry you had to find me like you did," Dean murmured, shifting slightly to his side so he was turned more toward Seamus. "That couldn't have been a pretty sight."
Seamus wasn't about to contradict him, though he suspected the vision of Dean, naked and vulnerable, would haunt his mind's eye and his wanking for months to come. "Ach, I've seen uglier."
Dean snorted softly, reaching to hold Seamus' hand up against his ribs. "I can always Obliviate you later, like a good mate."
"No need for that, you bloody badgerarse. Get some rest."
Dean's long, elegant fingers tapped a couple of times on Seamus' hands before he let him loose. "Yes, mum."
Seamus reluctantly sat back in his chair as he watched Dean slide inexorably into sleep. Eventually he engorged the lime green institutional chair into something he could curl up into, and closed his eyes until he, too, fell asleep.
..:~TBC~:..