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After the battle, they clear everyone out of the castle. The older students put up a fight; they want to stay and help with the clean-up, however long it takes. But they’ve all got families back home worrying for them, as Professor McGonagall reminds them, so in the end they agree to floo home one by one.
A few of them haven’t got homes to go to – Harry and Hermione, for instance – but the same can’t be said for Dean and Seamus. They’ve both got homes and mums fretting about them, each in their own way. But Dean’s been fretting about Seamus for just as long as his mum, and now that he’s seen the bruises and scars covering Seamus’ face and arms, he’s not planning to let Seamus out of his sight again.
He knows it’s all right now. He knows the Dark Lord’s gone, the remaining Death Eaters scattered and the Order already working on chasing them down. The knowledge doesn’t give him any comfort, though, not after months of hiding out in the woods and starting at every rustle of leaves, wondering how Seamus was getting on without him and hearing rumors of how much worse it was at Hogwarts than it was for him on the run.
The trouble is that he’s not sure how to say any of that. He doesn’t know how to tell Seamus that Dean can’t stand even the thought of letting Seamus out of his sight, that he wants to floo home with Seamus more than he wants to see his own mum, because he’s afraid that if he doesn’t stay with Seamus, somehow Dean will lose him again.
He’s still working out how to say it when they reach the front of the line, but before Dean can panic and drag Seamus aside for a fumbling, awkward confession that will leave him blushing and Seamus thinking he’s lost his mind, Seamus catches his hand and drags him forward.
“We’ll go together. My place first, mate, yeah?” Seamus says, turning to look at Dean.
“Yeah…uh…yeah,” Dean stammers, mainly because the relief flooding through him is making him shake so hard he can’t find his voice.
He watches as Seamus throws the floo powder into the flame, then he lets Seamus pull him forward into the grate. Seamus says the name of his house and Dean holds on tight as the fireplace starts to spin, grate after grate rushing past them until finally Seamus’ mum’s kitchen spins into view.
As soon as the fireplace stops spinning Seamus lets go of his hand, then he steps out of the grate and looks around the empty kitchen. “Mam!” he calls, then, “Da! I’m home!”
The kitchen door swings open, then Seamus’ mum appears, wide-eyed and looking like she’s seen a ghost. Or heard one, Dean reckons, stepping out of the grate just as Seamus’ mum sweeps him into a fierce hug.
“We heard about the attack on Hogwarts, it’s all over the wireless,” Mrs. Finnegan says. “Thought for sure you’d gotten your fool self killed.”
“I’m all right,” Seamus says, squirming out of his mother’s grip. “Only we can’t stay; we’ve got to go round Dean’s mam’s house, then we’re going back to Hogwarts to help with the clean-up.”
“You bloody well aren’t. Of all the pig-headed…after everything that’s happened at that school this year they ought to close it down.” She shakes her head and turns away from him, flicking her wand to send the kettle slamming into the sink. “Thinks he can just waltz in for a cuppa and then swan off again…”
“Dean needs to see his mam. He hasn’t been home in months…”
“Then what’s he doing here?” she asks, sending the kettle crashing onto the stove to boil before she turns to glance at Dean. “You needn’t go with him, Seamus. If he’s been gone for months, his mam certainly doesn’t want you underfoot as well.”
Dean thinks about telling her that his mum won’t mind, that she’s used to his sisters' friends running all over, and anyway Dean’s been gone so long without a word that she’d probably welcome the Dark Lord himself if he brought her son home safely to her. But he doesn’t say any of that, because he knows Seamus’ mum well enough to realize it’ll just make things worse.
“I’m not leaving him,” Seamus says before Dean can come up with anything to make his mum feel better, and when she looks from Seamus to Dean and back again, he knows that Seamus has just made it worse than Dean could have done.
He braces himself for the shouting to start, considers offering to go ahead to his own mum’s so Seamus and his mum can shout at each other in private. But that means leaving Seamus, and Dean’s not any more prepared to do that than Seamus is.
But his mum doesn’t shout; for a long moment she doesn’t say anything at all. She just looks at Seamus, and judging by the set of his shoulders, Dean reckons in Seamus’ book, that’s a lot worse.
“Go on then,” she finally says, lip curving into something close enough to a snarl to make Dean want to step in front of Seamus. “Be glad your Da’s not here to hear this.”
They both know what she means, and Dean’s heart twists at the look on Seamus’ face. But the war’s hardened him in ways Dean doesn’t even understand yet, and a second later his face is blank and he nods at his mum. “Tell him I came round.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer before he turns back to Dean, reaching for some floo powder from the small dish next to the hearth. Dean doesn’t expect Seamus to take his hand again, not in front of his mum, so he’s surprised when Seamus’ fingers slide through his in the moment before he tosses the floo powder into the fire. They step in together, and Dean says his address as Seamus watches his mum turn her back on the hearth to fuss over the kettle.
The room starts to spin away from them, but not before Dean catches sight of her slight shoulders shaking, and when Seamus’ grip tightens, Dean knows he’s seen it as well. But there’s nothing to say, so Dean just hangs onto him and waits for the grates to stop spinning past.
When they finally reach his own flat Dean’s feeling a bit sick to his stomach, but he pulls Seamus out of the fireplace that appears in his mum’s living room wall before it disappears again and traps them behind the wall.
His mum and stepdad are sitting on the couch watching the news, his mum’s hand clasped over her mouth as the announcer goes on about a series of strange explosions somewhere in Scotland. When she hears the wall open up she gasps and jumps up from the couch, and a second later Dean’s being pulled into a tight hug.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she says, squeezing him so tight he can barely breathe. “I thought we’d never see you again.”
“I’m all right, mum,” he says into her hair, but he squeezes her back anyway. “I’ve brought Seamus.”
She lets go of Dean and reaches for Seamus instead, dragging him into a hug too. Dean catches a glimpse of Seamus’ surprised look in the moment before his stepdad reaches for him, then he’s being hugged again and clapped on the back with a, “Good to see you, son.”
His mum hugs them both a few more times before she hustles them into the kitchen, fussing over them and asking a hundred questions without waiting for the answers. When she goes for the kettle Dean reaches under the table for Seamus’ hand, and when Seamus’ fingers slide through his and hold on, Dean knows he’s thinking about another kettle in another kitchen somewhere in Ireland.
He relaxes a bit once Dean’s mum sets the first plates of food in front of them, and Dean realizes for the first time just how famished he is. They take turns filling his parents in on the past year between plate after plate of food, and once his mum’s forced two cups of tea each down them and run out of things to cook, she sends them both off to bed.
“We’ll have to share,” Dean says once they’re alone in his room, and he doesn’t mean to sound quite so nervous, but he hasn’t given much thought to this moment until it’s upon them. A year ago he wouldn’t have thought anything of it at all, but the past year’s brought quite a few changes for all of them.
Seamus just nods and pulls his robes over his head, tossing them over Dean’s desk chair. He toes his shoes off next, and when Dean realizes he’s watching his best mate undress he blinks and tries not to blush and turns away. He hangs his own robes in his wardrobe, reaching for a pair of pajamas before he unbuttons his trousers.
He keeps his back to Seamus while he changes, and it’s daft, because they’ve undressed in front of one another for the past seven years. But this time feels different, somehow, and not just because of the hand-holding. That would be easy enough to chalk up to the need for a connection – any connection – after all this time apart, but Dean knows it’s more than that.
He was there when Seamus said, “I’m not leaving him,” saw the look on Seamus’ mum’s face and the way Seamus squared his jaw as though he was expecting a row. He knows what that moment meant, knows Seamus chose him over his own parents, and Dean’s not going to let him regret it.
That doesn’t make him any less nervous, though, and when he turns away from the wardrobe to find Seamus perched on the edge of the bed in his y-fronts, Dean swallows hard and wonders if he should have put a shirt on. He thinks about offering Seamus a pair of too-big pajamas, but before he can find his voice to force the words out, Seamus jerks a thumb over his shoulder at the bed.
“Which side?"
“Sorry?”
“Which side do you want?” Seamus asks, then he grins like maybe he knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. He probably does; Seamus knows him better than anyone in the world, after all, and if anyone can read Dean’s mind, it’s him.
Dean rolls his eyes and takes a few steps forward. “Shove over, then.”
He waits until Seamus slides under the covers, rolling onto the far side of the bed to make room for Dean. Once he’s settled Dean turns out the light, then he takes a deep breath and climbs into the bed next to Seamus. And there’s no reason to be nervous, because it’s just Seamus, but that doesn’t stop Dean’s heart from pounding so hard in his chest that he’s sure Seamus will hear it.
They’re not touching, but Dean can feel him there anyway, feel his warmth under the sheets and the way the mattress dips between them, as though it’s trying to draw them together. Dean wants to laugh at the thought, but the sound sticks in his throat, and it’s just as well, because he wouldn’t be able to explain when Seamus asks to be let in on the joke.
“I think she knew, even though I never said,” Seamus says, his voice soft in the quiet of the room, and Dean feels him shift onto his side. “Not because I was ashamed. I didn’t tell her because if she knew she wouldn’t have let me go back, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t be away from you.”
“She’ll come round, mate,” Dean answers, and it’s not at all what he means to say. He doesn’t even believe it, and when Seamus lets out a bitter laugh, Dean knows he doesn’t believe it either.
“She won’t.” Seamus moves again, pushing up on one elbow to look down at Dean in the dim light coming through the window. “But I don’t mind, as long as…”
He pauses, and Dean can’t be sure, because it’s mostly dark in the room, but he thinks Seamus bites his lip to hold back whatever he’d been about to say. Only Dean knows Seamus just as well as Seamus knows him, so he can guess what Seamus leaves out.
Dean reaches up, fingertips just tracing the line of Seamus’ jaw in the dark. When he doesn’t pull away and ask what Dean thinks he’s doing, Dean leans up and slides his hand into Seamus' hair to pull him close.
“I won’t leave you,” he whispers, then he presses forward to brush his lips against Seamus’.
When he pulls away to look Seamus’ eyes are shining, and when he opens his mouth to answer, no words come out. Finally he gives up on talking and just nods, then he tugs Dean close and kisses him like he’s been waiting for this moment far too long. Later Dean might even apologize for making him wait, for being thick enough not to realize what he had until he nearly lost it.
But for now he’s busy learning the way Seamus fits against him, the way his lips part under Dean’s and the way his hands warm Dean’s skin as they trace his shoulders and back. His own fingers seek out scars that weren’t there just a year ago, marks left behind by monsters Dean wouldn’t have been able to protect Seamus from even if he’d been there.
“Your mam,” Seamus whispers when they come up for air, forehead pressed against Dean’s and his eyes closed as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.
“She’ll be all right,” Dean says, though the truth is he’s not sure. They’ve never talked about it before; there’s never been a reason to, and now that there is…well, Seamus chose him over his own mum, and Dean wouldn’t hesitate to make the same choice.
“What if she’s not?”
Dean shrugs against the mattress, tugging Seamus down to curve into his side. His arm slides around Seamus’ shoulders to pull him close, and when Seamus rests his cheek on Dean’s chest he gives in to the urge to run his fingers through Seamus’ mop of sandy hair.
“We’ll be going back to Hogwarts soon. After that, we’ll work it out.”
Seamus nods against his chest, pushing back into Dean’s touch, and Dean smiles in the darkness. He hasn’t got a plan any more than Seamus has, but it doesn’t seem so frightening when Seamus is here next to him, his heart beating in time with Dean’s and his breathing slowly evening out as he drifts off to sleep.