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“So… what do we do now?” Seamus asked softly, his fingers curling hesitantly between Dean’s. The pair of them were walking out in the sprawling forests that stretched behind the Finnigan’s home. The sun was setting fiery overhead and the scent of wood smoke hung in the pollen-heavy air, cloying and exciting and dangerous. Privately, Dean thought he’d had enough of ‘exciting’ and ‘dangerous’ to last him a lifetime.
All he wanted was calm… and Seamus.
“What do we do now?” Dean echoed and the wonder in his voice unfurled slowly, like a flower blooming after a cold night. It was a loaded question at best, an impossible one at worst… except it wasn’t really worse, was it? They’d already lived through worse – Voldemort, Death Eaters, fighting in the war, being on the run, almost losing each other.
Everything else was just epilogue now as the chips tumbled around them, forming into puzzle pieces that should have been slotted safely together all along.
The sky was purpling overhead as dusk fast approached and the golden sunlight dappling the leafy ground beneath their feet cut through the foliage like beams of wand light, like the biggest purest Lumos Maxima that Dean had ever seen.
What do we do now?
“We tell our parents how we feel about each other,” Dean began hesitantly before a slow smile curled his lips. His mother had figured it out years ago, Dean was fairly sure, as had his stepfather. For a moment, he allowed himself the idle curiosity of wondering what his late father might have thought before he realised it didn’t matter. Dean and Seamus loved each other. As if people hadn’t realised.
“Like they haven’t already guessed,” Seamus muttered, mirroring his best friend’s thoughts. The younger boy looked up at Dean with soft, cornflower blue eyes, his full lips twitching into a gentle smile. “What else will we do?” he asked and the joy on his face looked childlike in the dying light, and Seamus had never been more beautiful.
“We’ll get a house together,” Dean decided. “Somewhere we can be alone. Somewhere with forests and a magical community and a really good old bookshop for you –”
“Somewhere with beautiful views,” Seamus interjected quietly. “So you have inspiration for your art.” Dean’s lips curled up into a content smile as he pressed a tiny kiss to the corner of Seamus’ mouth.
“You say that like you aren’t inspiration enough,” the older boy said, making Seamus blush. The blond boy was almost beaming now though, the giddiness flooding through him and hiding the anguish the war had caused beneath the glow of him.
“What else, Dean?” Seamus demanded but he was practically skipping along beside him now, clutching Dean’s larger hand in both of his own as he tipped his head back, smiling as a butterfly fluttered past overhead.
“We’re going to go on holiday somewhere hot. We’re going to buy about ten million bottles of sun cream so you don’t get burnt and we’re going to feed each other ice cream and… and it’s going to be fantastic,” Dean said solemnly, hiding his smile with difficulty when Seamus giggled into his neck.
“Can the ice cream be mint choc chip?” Seamus asked hopefully and Dean struggled to contain his smile.
“Of course,” he said, fighting to continue sounding grave and not like he was trying not to smile along with his best friend. “I’m going to take you to see a West Ham game too,” Dean decided as Seamus held his hand more gently, letting his head fall to rest against the older boy’s shoulder. “I’m going to buy you a matching scarf and I’m going to teach you all the rules, and then I’m going to show you all the fun places I used to visit in London back when I was a kid.”
“Sounds brilliant,” Seamus said mildly but his tone was sincere. “Provided you come with me so I can show you Ireland? I want to show you where my Da grew up in Kildare.”
“What’s it like there?” Dean asked curiously. The scent of wood smoke was stronger now – sweeter like maybe it was wood from an apple tree that was burning – and a light breeze stirred the air, making the long swaying branches of a willow tree stir lazily. Somewhere nearby, a river bubbled.
“Streets are paved with gold, Dean,” Seamus joked with a firm nod of his head. “That’s what my Da used to say. Say, do you need any gold?”
“I’ve got all the gold I need right here,” the older boy said with a stupid grin on his face but it was worth it when Seamus collapsed into giggles, elbowing Dean while still clinging to him in an effort to remain upright.
“That was so cheesy!” Seamus gasped but Dean had said it on purpose. The war had stripped so much happiness from them; it had stolen their last years of childhood without their permission and seeing Seamus so happy now was all Dean ever wanted.
It reminded him of that breath-taking night at the Quidditch World Cup. Dean remembered the then-unfamiliar tug of the portkey and Seamus’ hand entwined tightly with his; he remembered the butterflies in his stomach and the dimples in Seamus’ cheeks and the delighted laughter that proved infectious; he remembered how loudly they cheered when Ireland beat Bulgaria and how Seamus looked so blindingly bright as his joy lit the stadium; Dean remembered Seamus’ lips on his and his searching hands in the tent that night –
And he purposefully didn’t remember anything else about it because he didn’t want to think about Death Eaters and the awful things they’d done to the muggles. He didn’t need to worry about being a ‘half-blood’ because those days were over now, washed away like so many of their friends’ lives…
Seamus was still here with him though, fingers curled protectively through Dean’s, the love blazing unspoken in his lovely blue eyes as Dean’s lips met his with a desperation that he hadn’t realised he was harbouring inside him because, thank god-thank god-thank god, they still had each other.
They’d won.
The fading sunlight made Seamus’ hair shine like burnished gold when they finally parted, noses bumping clumsily together, warm breath shared between soft lips. Dean was close enough that he could count every freckle on Seamus’ face… every eyelash.
Today was a day for happiness.
Seamus stroked Dean’s cheekbone gently with his fingertips, warm and safe and loving – everything Dean had ever needed - but the older boy felt small when Seamus drew him gently into the circle of his arms. Dean smiled faintly as he tucked his face away into the comforting curve of Seamus’ neck.
“What do we do now, Shay?” Dean whispered and Seamus held him tighter, like he knew without asking how untethered Dean felt in that moment.
Smiling reassuringly, Seamus drew back and took Dean’s hand gently in his own again, squeezing it comfortingly.
“What do we do now?” Seamus repeated and Dean’s heart was singing in his chest at the love inside him. “Now we live.”