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The ending summers were always beautiful time. That afternoon in August was made for spending outside at the green school-yard, under an old and dinky beech. The elder had been standing there for a whole eternity, reaching for skies above and gangling its fragile, yet verdant branches. Dean was sitting under it, sketching. If someone knew, that every moment of the day was a good one to draw, it was him. He fished his ideas from dawning mornings and misty grass, the blueness of middle-day and the shadows which twilight made long. He carried his aged sketchbook everywhere he went; it was, with its worn leather covers, his best friend, the most precious thing on this Earth.
Well, after Seamus.
"What are you drawing, Dennie?" asked a perky voice, full of smile.
Dean lifted his head towards sunlight and had to blink a little. Seamus was standing close to him, smiling angelically. Dean was pleased to have his skin close to coffee beans in colour; the blush wasn't too unforgivingly visible.
"Portraits." It was a tiny, white lie. He had drawn and was about to draw only Seamus. Seamus was his dearest muse. The long-haired one was about to burst in his wide grin, even wider than the one before. He snatched the book from his friend, examining it closer. Yes, his eyes did widen.
"It's so alike!" huffed Seamus in disbelief. "Almost as handsome as the natural one!"
Dean blushed in pleasure. He wanted to say that he wasn't able to do that, not ever in this world, but that was when a third voice joined their conversation somewhere in their left. This voice was squishy and fraudulent and dribbled with ill will. Dean recognized this voice and couldn't have liked it less.
"Is there a gathering of the Maladroit Peasants Club under this very tree?"
Dean and Seamus turned their gazes to the infamous Slytherin trio, which made the blood of every Gryffindor boil in all times of the day with their presence.
"Get lost, Malfoy", Seamus snarled with a shrill voice. Crabbe and Goyle chortled behind their lanky leader. Malfoy lifted his other brow just slightly.
"Such straightforwardness, Finnigan. One couldn't make you a Slytherin even by force."
"As if I cared for your nasty crowd of filthy vipers!"
Crabbe and Goyle looked like they were ready to beat Seamus into a pulp, but Malfoy disregarded the idea by a delicate move with his hand. He leered wickedly at Seamus.
"As it happens, we do not find naive twats qualified to participate. Does your father find it as unbearable task as you do, simply boiling some water in a pot, Fnnigan? Perhaps muggles have invented fire just few years ago?"
Dean had been quiet for a long moment, but now he felt himself getting angry and stood up, eyes burning.
"Go crawling back to your hole, Malfoy! Your company here is as wanted as one of a tapeworm!"
Dean himself felt bemused about his sudden burst. It was rare of him to blow up, as he was the rational and calmer one of the two. Dean was waiting for Malfoy to spit something insulting and was astonished, as the boy only gave a bleak sneer. Before anyone had time to process it, he had filched Dean's sketchbook from Seamus’ hands.
"What's in here then? Does the little man have so ugly doodles that he dares not publish them to critic?"
Dean and Seamus were standing side by side, a strong tickle teasing their lips. Neither had any idea what to do. Malfoy gave a long glance at Dean's draft and started cackling.
"Look!" he let Crabbe and Goyle see the picture. "He has drawn his boyfriend!"
All three of them laughed maliciously. Seamus turned to Dean, who was bravely holding his head up despite the flush on his ears. "Give it to me", Dean demanded, biting his lip. Malfoy looked him straight in the eye.
"I don't take orders from filthy mudbloods."
And it was preciously that, the thing that made Seamus take a step towards Malfoy.
"What did you say?" asked the Gryffindor, barely moving his lips.
Malfoy was one bright ray of smile. "Does Finnigan need it spelled out loud?"
Seamus stepped against Malfoy, glaring the taller boy and fuming with silent rage. "What did you call him?"
Malfoy tilted his head, almost pouting a little. His face was a picture of most sincere compassion. "I said that I won't lower myself to speaking with mudblood filth, nor returning their garbage. Do choose your partners with care, Finnigan - you'll never know about that folk and their diseases -"
Crabbe, Goyle, Dean and Malfoy all drew a shocked breath as the short Irish boy attacked the blond with his whole weight, knocking him down. Malfoy yelped, colliding with hard ground, his lungs emptying like a broken air cushion. In a second Seamus was on top of him, banging his fists wherever he made it.
"Take it back, you wretched scumball! You're not worthy of even licking his shoes clean! C'moon and slither back under your rock where you came from and stay away from him, do you hear me, you bastard?!"
Crabbe, Goyle and Dean were staring at the odd scene almost as if they had all fallen from tree on their heads. The latest cleared up first.
"Shey! Shey, stop it! Shey! You're hurting him!"
It was, of course, obvious. Clear as a crystal or midday in June. But Seamus seemed to need some kind of awakening from his blissful fit. And sure, Malfoy was one obnoxious brat, but it was still wrong thing to do, beating him when he was being pressed down. A true Gryffindor didn't fight like that.
Seamus became aware of his surroundings, and apparently feeling astonished from the pleasure fighting had caused, picked the sketchbook from the ground, stood up and stepped backwards. Malfoy stumbled up, terrified. He was wiping his bloodied nose furiously and trying to make his scowl look menacing.
"Get yourselves a bunch of mudblooded brats for all I care, Finnigan! But you better watch out for my father when he gets you for this!"
He took off quickly, hustling over the yard and towards the school. Crabbe and Goyle understood to follow the example. Seamus was bustling with anger and triuph while shouting after him:
”Do your worst, Malfoy, send your whole family! I eat petite bastards like your father for a breakfast!”
They had stalked off and peace had fallen again. For a moment a light breeze was the only audible thing, breathing gently under the beech. Seamus turned to his friend and handed his book to him.
”It’s okay. He hadn’t got time to ruin it.”
Dean was looking at him with round eyes, for the first time completely stunned.
”I’ve never seen you like that”, he admitted at last. ”Meaning… You do blow things up often, but rarely yourself.”
Seamus gave a weak chuckle, fingering his auburn strands nervously. ”I guess there’s something surprising in me, also.”
Dean shook his head disbelievingly. ”I probably sound like Hermione, ranting like this, but violence is seldom a good solution.”
Seamus blushed. Dean wanted to memorize the moment and admire it over and over again. Unbelievably adorable. Where was Colin when you needed him?
”He deserved to be battered. Nobody calls my best mate slurs without consequences.”
Dean was having hard time ignoring the odd warmth which sparked deep inside of him.
”Oh well, Malfoy did manage to dodge a bullet that one time, avoiding Ron’s charm. Perhaps it does some good to him, getting a thank you for his courtesy.”
Seamus split into a wide grin. ”Oh, how I would’ve loved to see Malfoy vomiting slugs!”
Dean couldn’t keep it together, and both of them gave in to the bubbling laughter. ”It’s a brilliant drawing idea!”
They sat under the old tree, two of them, and started sketching, sides pressed together. Dean smiled happily, feeling the warmth and comfort radiating from his friend, protecting him from all unfortunate things on the Earth.