Chapter Text
It finally happened. From an unbelievable proposal to a fervent nationwide vote and relentless political propaganda, the past few years had felt simultaneously too long—spanning from Dean’s teenage years to his graduation from Hogwarts and return to London—and too short, with the consequences of Brexit staring him starkly in the face before he could even react.
"Sorry, we’re only hiring EU portraitists. While I admire your French, Mr. Thomas, as of last week, you’re no longer an EU wizard." The French wizard with the earring tried to appear regretful, but held no real intention of offering help.
The only good news was that Seamus had recently come to England to visit old friends. Since graduating, he’d been holed up in some remote corner of western Ireland working on his house, and Dean hadn’t seen him in ages. After crawling out of the fireplace of the international Floo network, the first thing Dean did was get to meet Seamus at the nearest Wetherspoons.
“I didn’t vote for Brexit! But they still sacked me!” Dean knew he was probably drunk, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to smash his beer glass against the head of whichever idiot came up with the Brexit idea. Becoming a portraitist for the Europa Wizarding Committee Cultural and Educational organization had always been his dream, and now, thanks to a bunch of Muggles, that opportunity had slipped through his fingers.
Beside him, Seamus—who had promised to listen to his rant—was now red-faced, his eyes glassy and unfocused, rambling nonsense as usual. Seamus muttered something incoherent, then slumped against the bar, his light eyes hazily turning to Dean.
“So, what now?” Seamus’s words were slurred but cutting as ever. “No job, no dosh.”
Dean shot him a look. “I thought you were here to comfort me!”
“You don’t need comforting. Youse Brits’ll keep calm and carry on, won’t ye?” Seamus collapsed onto Dean’s shoulder with an exaggerated sigh.
“Oh, thanks for the kind words.” Dean drained his glass. “It’s not like Ireland’s left the EU.”
Seamus’s eyes suddenly lit up. He straightened, his signature foxlike grin spreading across his face. “Mate, you’ve hit the nail on the head. Ireland’s still in the EU.”
“And?”
“I propose,” Seamus announced, drawing out the word with a mockingly dramatic flair, “that you marry me.”
Dean spat his beer.
“I’m not joking.” Seamus said.
“Then you’re drunk.”
“That’s irrelevant. What matters is, if you marry me, ye’ll get back into the EU and land that job. All it takes is to live with me for three years. Meanwhile we both save a fortune on living costs. Life in an Irish village is far cheaper than London!”
Seamus wanted him to move to Ireland. And marry him. Dean was definitely drunk or hallucinating. Otherwise, why did this seem like such a brilliant idea? A visa, the EU, the job, saving money...
“Will ye?” Seamus asked lazily.
“I will.”
Dean didn’t tell his family he was now a married man counting down the days to baldness. He simply said he will stay with a friend in Ireland. Yet within a day, the news of his engagement spread like wildfire among his old classmates. Hermione sent him three congratulatory letters in a roll, Ron offered free joke products for the wedding, and Lavender jumped up and shrieked, “I knew it!”
“You don't know,” Dean muttered under his breath. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”
Lavender definitely heard him but continued screaming anyway. “Isn’t that romantic?”
His friends’ overenthusiasm left Dean mortified. No matter how much he explained, they were convinced he and Seamus were a couple. Fine, their assumptions weren’t completely nonsense. Dean had had brief relationships with both men and women. He still remembered nervously admitting to Seamus that he liked men too, fearing he’d be rejected, only for a tipsy Seamus to yell in front of all Gryffindors:
“Ah, mate! Why’d I care? To prove I’m not homophobic, I’d even shag ye myself!”
Seamus’s drunken episodes were always absurd, and no one should take him seriously.
But not now, not this time. When Dean moved to Ireland and land himself in Seamus’ little cottage, he finally realised Seamus was serious.
“Seamus, why there is a nameplate with my name on that door?”
“Artists don’t usually make much. I prepared it ages ago in case ye ended up on the streets,” Seamus declared proudly. “And look, it comes in handy now.”
Dean didn't know if he should be grateful. He carefully opened the door to unpack, only to find the bed already made, with a suit neatly laid out on the desk. Picking it up, he was startled to see it was his size. Stunned, Dean stepped back into the hallway to find Seamus, who had removed his jacket to reveal a suit underneath.
“What’re ye gawking at? Get changed. We’re off to the registry,” Seamus said briskly.
“You are not this efficient.” Dean sighed.
“Nonsense, I am more efficient than three British PMs combined.” Seamus replied with a wink.
Hours later, with certificates in hand, the reality of his marriage finally sank in. Things went smoothly after that. He contacted the Europa Wizarding committee again and reclaimed his job. But when he stood before Louis, his new employer, and met his scrutinising gaze, his confidence wavered.
“Congratulations on the marriage,” Louis said politely.
It was obvious. He’d been rejected not long ago, and then he married some guy to obtain EU residency at lightning speed. It was just too suspicious.
Even so, Dean was thrilled with the job. He was here to paint, not date. As long as he excelled at his work, no one would care who he’d married, right?
After his first day, Dean instinctively walked to the Floo network fireplace leading to London. But today, there was no queue—only an unfamiliar middle-aged wizard demanding to see his papers in not-so-fluent English.
“What papers? ” Dean didn't really need to find out, but he was curious.
“Things’ve changed, lad. Britain is not in the EU now.”
So he was customs. Dean sighed, realising he no longer lived in London. Instead, he took the Floo to Dublin before transferring to another fireplace bound for Limerick City Hall, and then apparated home, and by home, he now meant Seamus’s cottage, which sat amidst sprawling green fields. The sunset bathed the land in a warm glow, complemented by the inviting light from the kitchen window. Dean couldn’t resist stopping to take in the view.
When he finally reached the door, the handle morphed into a hand—a replica of Seamus’s. This was one of Seamus’s quirky inventions, which required a handshake to grant entry.
“Welcome home, Dean,” The door said brightly in Seamus’s voice.
Seamus was cooking in the kitchen. Back at school, Dean would have never believed that Seamus could take care of himself. He always had too much of a knack to blow things up. But now Dean figured things have changed. He was indeed running this household, in his own not-so-tidy way at least. The clatter of pots and pans evoked memories of the lively scenes Dean had grown up with—parents cooking, sisters squabbling, the TV always blaring. But after he moved out, those things disappeared. It was good to live alone, in many ways, but when he relived his seventh-year on the run in nightmares and woke up in cold sweat, the silence of his empty London flat had been deafening.
“Hello!” Seamus greeted casually, his shirt as rumpled as ever, a strand of hay stuck in his hair. Dean plucked it out and tidied his clothes with a spell. Seamus shot him a bright grin, his sharp chin and mischievous eyes resembling a fox.
“You made dinner for me too?” Dean asked, surprised.
“Ah, I am after finishing the work today. And I am peckish anyway, so I figured I’d cook for ye as well.”
“Running this farm is that easy?”
“With magic, it is,” Seamus replied, laughing. “Though I’ve taken up a side gig recently helping folk declare their imports into Britain. When me mam sent me to Hogwarts, I never thought it’d lead to this kind of work.”
Dean made a face. “Middleman. Scalper.”
“Not my fault, mate. If youse darling Britis hadn’t left the EU, I wouldn’t have this extra income.”
“And now you’ve got an extra mouth to feed,” Dean shot back.
“Or an extra mate to keep me company,” Seamus countered, plating the fish he’d fried. “Tonight’s on me, but yer cooking tomorrow!”
“Deal,” Dean agreed.
Later, when he returned to his room, Dean saw a box near the bed. He opened it and froze. Inside was a notebook he hadn’t seen in years—one he’d used as a Hogwarts student. Dean’s hands trembled as he flipped through its pages. Seamus had kept it all this time.
The sketches flooded Dean with memories of carefree school days before everything fell apart.
He had loved to doodle Seamus. There was Seamus dozing off in History of Magic, blowing up a cauldron, head-to-toe in green on Saint Patrick's Day, downing pints of stolen Firewhisky. For all his love of drink, his tolerance had never improved, leaving Dean to look after him more times than he could count.
Since graduating, their meetings had grown fewer and farther between—so much so that living together again felt almost like a relationship-level commitment. But hadn’t they shared a dormitory from the age of eleven to nineteen? This was merely returning to that old familiarity.
A warm feeling rose in his chest. Dean was grateful they were back together now. In truth, he hadn’t felt such peace and contentment in years.