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Everyone acted like they were lucky to know so early, like it made everything easier. Dean, however, would firmly disagree. Sure, Seamus and Dean had known since the moment they met on the Hogwarts Express that they were soulmates, but they still weren’t together, not really. They were friends, best friends, when they were eleven that’s all they’d wanted to be, and then they’d just stayed that way. You’d think knowing someone was your literal soulmate would take the pressure off of asking them on a date. Apparently it didn’t.
He’d stopped wanting to be Seamus’ best friend in third year, but he was too afraid to say anything. It might change things, and that was terrifying.
“Morning,” Seamus slid onto the bench across from Dean, grabbing a piece of toast.
Dean looked up briefly, still lost in his thoughts, “Morning.”
It seemed oddly loud in the Great Hall to Dean. He had decided to return to Hogwarts for an ‘eighth year’ to complete his studies, and Seamus had too. But after the previous year, which was full of terrified silences, both when he was on the run, and even in the safety of the room of requirement, every tiny noise felt out of place.
“Dean? Dean?” Seamus reached across the table and shook his shoulders, “Are you in there?”
The action was painfully casual to Dean, who was blushing like mad, Seamus’ eyes were happy, and his freckles scattered across his nose like cinnamon on a pastry. Dean wished he could say something about it, but his mind recited the worst ‘what ifs’ that it could think of every time he considered it.
Dean shook the thoughts away, “Oh, sorry,” and Seamus released his shoulders. If only he hadn’t.
“Mate, what’s wrong?” How did Seamus always know when something was wrong?
Dean waved his hand at the Great Hall, “the noise.”
Seamus glanced around, “d’ya wanna leave?”
“You haven’t even eaten,” Dean shook his head, “I’m fine.”
“I have toast,” Seamus brandished it, and then held it with his teeth as he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder, waiting for Dean to follow.
Dean watched him for a moment, Seamus was so ridiculous sometimes, “that’s not enough food,” he pointed out as Seamus took a bite of his toast.
Seamus glanced at the toast, “‘s plenty,” he was still just standing there, waiting for Dean to follow, “c’mon let’s go.”
Dean shook his head, “it’s fine, we can stay, you can eat.”
“I’m fine. I don’t want to be here if you don’t,” Seamus hesitated, that was usually when he’d drag Dean out of his seat, then muttered, “this is what I get for sitting across from you,” he took another bite of his toast, “alright, c’mon, I’m walking away now, we’re not saying if it’s too loud.”
Seamus was not bluffing, Dean hesitated, and grabbed an orange for when Seamus inevitably got hungry in the middle of the morning, before following him out of the great hall.
“Where are we going?” Dean asked as he caught up to Seamus, slipping the orange into his pocket.
“We’re not,” Seamus replied, “I mean, we could just wander, if you want,” he hooked his arm through Dean’s casually.
“Okay,” Dean started to smile a little as the noise of the great hall faded behind them, “Did you ever finish your charms essay?”
Seamus looked up at him suddenly, “what charms essay?”
Dean stopped walking, turning to Seamus in a panic, “I reminded you, so many times,” he exclaimed, “the one about the history of the Sonorous charm, Seamus! You cannot fail charms!”
Seamus burst out laughing, nudging Dean with his shoulder, “I’m only joking, of course I finished it.”
“I cannot believe you,” Dean crossed his arms to try to make it look like he was angry. He wasn’t, and his barely suppressed smile probably gave it away.
“C’mon, admit it was funny,” Seamus grinned, hooking his arm back through Dean’s.
Dean shook his head, “I refuse.”
“I’m taking that as an agreement that I’m right,”
Dean laughed. Maybe that’s why he could never say anything, everything was always so simple with Seamus. The conversation flowed, whether or not it was important, and being with Seamus took away his worries, so that it felt like nothing could ever, nor should ever change. Until…what I wouldn’t give to kiss him right now.
“We should head to Divination,” Dean blurted, seeking a distraction.
—
“Today we’ll be listening to the twisting tales of smoke.” Professor Trelawney was saying while putting a candle in front of each of them, “Smoke is mysterious, and often mischievous, to understand it you must clear your mind of distractions, and listen closely to the whispers of the flame.”
For once there were no sniggers bouncing around the room, by this point in their studies anyone who was still taking Divination was decently good at it, and believed in its importance. Dean was sitting at a table with Seamus as per usual.
Professor Trelawney finally sat down, and let out a loud sigh, “please open your textbooks to the chapter entitled ‘Capnomancy.’” Her voice was resigned.
Professor McGonagall, now headmistress, had insisted that Trelawney actually use their textbooks in class. The students had gotten used to it, but Professor Trelawney never failed to show her exasperation.
Seamus started rummaging around in his bag helplessly, “I’ve forgotten it again!” He announced to Dean in a panicked whisper.
Professor Trelawney looked at them, eyebrows raised, and Dean pulled Seamus up by his arm, “just look at mine,” he said, trying to avoid getting scolded, “again,” he muttered under his breath, despite the fond smile on his face.
After a very short briefing on the history of Capnomancy, they, to everyone’s great joy, moved on.
“Now, light your candles with the provided matches, and align yourselves with the smoke,” Professor Trelawney said airily, lighting her own candle, “if you are able, please tell your partners what you see.”
The scrape of matches being lit echoed around the room, and Dean followed suit.
“Ow!” Seamus flapped his hand around frantically, he’d burnt himself, and his candle wasn’t even lit.
“Stop, stop,” Dean took hold of Seamus’ hand, pulling it closer to examine it, “are you okay?”
“Um…” Seamus muttered, “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he mumbled.
Dean looked up, and saw Seamus was blushing, why was he–oh…Dean looked at their hands, the way he was holding Seamus’ with both of his. He flinched away, like maybe he was the one who’d gotten burnt, “S-sorry,” he grabbed the matches, “I’ll just…” he lit Seamus’ candle.
He wished he could pull his knees close and curl up into a ball. How stupid could he be? He couldn’t look at Seamus; he just stared at his candle, his mind wandering through all of the things that Seamus could be thinking. He was stupid, he was annoying, he wished he’d just go away and–
There was a hand on his shoulder, “the smoke, dear, not the flame,” then Professor Trelawney wandered away, critiquing a few others along the way.
Right, Divination. Dean stared into the smoke, the tendrils curling and twisting. Why did it look so familiar? First he saw a window, then a door. There was a pair of worn shoes, and someone wearing them, with freckles. Who—Seamus, of course.
Dean knocked on the door of the compartment, finally, one with empty seats, “Mind if I sit here?”
The boy looked up, “go ahead,” then his eyes lit up, “are you a first year too?”
He nodded, “My name’s Dean,” there was an odd tingling in his left arm, by his elbow, was it falling asleep?
“Seamus,” the other boy said, “what house are’ya hoping for?”
Dean lifted his trunk up to stow it away, “Gryffindor, definitely,” his sleeve slid down his arm and—the hourglass, the swirly little mark that counted down until he met his soulmate, what? Not only had it stopped moving, but it was almost…shimmery? Dean took a second and much more curious look at the boy, Seamus, who was looking at his arm too.
“Blimey,” Seamus muttered, “well,” he gestured at his arm casually, like it was the most normal thing ever, “I hope you like me.”
Dean supposed they ought to be friends, they were soulmates after all.
“Dean?” Seamus elbowed him, “class is over.”
“Huh?” Dean asked, confused for a moment about where he was, wasn’t he just on the train…? Oh, it was just the smoke.
“Don’t forget to blow out your candles,” Professor Trelawney called, a tremor in her voice as she put out a small fire on one of the tables.
Seamus licked his fingers and put out both of their candles.
Dean would have scolded him, but he was still trying to ground himself in the present. Wasn’t the smoke supposed to show him important things?
“C’mon we’ll be late for Care of Magical Creatures,” Seamus said, tugging on Dean’s arm.
Still in a haze, Dean got to his feet, and followed after Seamus.
They climbed down the ladder.
They were hardly to the stairs when Seamus said, “u’know, I am hungry, maybe you were–”
Dean was already holding out the orange he’d grabbed, even though his mind was still trying to recalibrate itself to the present.
“Thanks,” Seamus grinned, “you’re the best.”
—
Later, tucked in a corner of the common room with Seamus, Dean was still stuck on what he’d seen in the smoke.
He hated that memory, when they first met, when he’d decided to become ‘friends.’ It made sense at the time, they were eleven, but after a few years…it felt like they were stuck there.
There were so many chances he’d missed. Like the Yule Ball, they’d gone together, of course they had, but Dean could have said something, he should have said something. Instead it was just like it had always been, goofy, but friendly, which made it far too serious.
Seamus hissed in pain from the other side of the table.
Dean snapped to attention, “are you okay?” How many times a day did he ask Seamus that question? It had to be a lot.
“Paper cut,” Seamus held up his hand, revealing a thin cut about an inch long on the palm of his hand.
“How did you even…?” Dean took hold of his hand, looking at it in astonishment. He’d be willing to bet no one had ever managed to get a papercut right there. It was in the middle of his palm, it should have been impossible.
Seamus blushed from embarrassment, “I just turned the page–”
“You were turning a page?!” Dean couldn’t help but laugh, “how?”
Seamus pulled his hand away, pretending to be aloof, “if you’re going to act like that then I think I’ll go study somewhere else.”
“Absolutely not,” Dean reached for his hand again, but that dissolved quickly into a petty fight over possession of Seamus’ left hand.
Dean won. Then he didn’t know what to do with it. He looked at Seamus, who was blushing just as much as he was. How did this happen twice in one day? He didn’t let go this time. He held Seamus’ hand in one of his, tracing the lines of his palm with the other. Seamus’ hand had a few rough callouses, and several different partially healed injuries, and he admired them all.
It was weird, Dean knew that, but he just needed…he needed that moment, to know that Seamus was there, and to remind himself that the present was all that mattered.
“What are you…doing?” Seamus asked, stumbling over his speech.
Dean looked up, though he didn’t release Seamus’ hand, “dunno.”
Seamus was still blushing, and Dean liked how it looked, the pink went well with his freckles. Dean thought he looked cute.
Then the portrait slammed, and Dean looked around, seeing Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring at it.
“Who was that?” Dean asked Seamus, forgetting their hands entirely.
Seamus stared at Dean, “I- uh…” he hesitated, “I think it was Malfoy…”
That made sense, Malfoy was always upset about something or other. Seamus’ hand twitched, which brought Dean’s attention back to it. He didn’t want to let go, but…should he? They hadn’t been ready when they were eleven, was it possible they still weren’t ready, even then?
Seamus pulled his hand away, avoiding eye contact with Dean, “I uh…I need–” he gestured vaguely, and scurried out the portrait hole.
Dean put his head in his hands. Why had he done that? Why had he done any of it? Did Seamus hate him? Then he began to cry. Everything was wrong.
He looked up, absentmindedly staring at the smoke trailing through the air from a nearby candle…
Semaus flopped backwards onto Dean’s bed, “we should match.”
Dean looked up from his homework, “match?”
“To the Yule Ball,” Seamus paused, “we’re going aren’t we?”
Dean nodded, “I thought so,” he hadn’t; he’d actually been worried about asking Seamus.
“Well, me mam’s getting me dress robes, she says they don’t have to be plain,” Semaus paused, “I thought maybe—well I could get some sorta colour and you could wear a tie to match, but, well only if’ya want,” he was blushing, but smiling comfortably up at Dean.
—
Seamus jumped up and down, “I did it!” His patronus danced through the room of requirement.
“Wow,” Dean murmured, staring at the agile fox, before being attacked with a crushing hug that almost knocked him over, “Seamus!”
“I thought of you.”
—
The stands erupted with cheering, Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup. Dean had hardly set foot on the ground when Seamus knocked him over with a hug.
“You did it! You did it!” Seamus exclaimed, not caring that they were both sprawled on the ground.
Dean was grinning anyway, they’d won, “We won!” He sat up.
Seamus knocked him back to the ground with another hug, “you’re brilliant.”
—
The door to the room of requirement creaked open. Dean sat up, his chest clenching in fear, but it was just Seamus.
Seamus. It’d been months, Dean had been running, and hiding, but Seamus was here at Hogwarts. That was good though. He had been safer than Dean.
Dean didn’t get up at first, just watched Seamus, he’d missed seeing him just…exist.
Seamus looked tired. He had a small sack of rolls from the Great Hall that he began handing out, until he saw Dean, then his face lit up, and he dropped the rolls on the ground.
Seamus embraced him, toppling on top of where he sat and crying, “you’re alive,” he sniffled, his voice quiet.
Dean hugged him back, “close enough.”
—
The battle was over. Dean walked through the rubble, praying that he wouldn’t see Seamus among it. Dean could still hear the screams of grief echoing from the Great Hall, but Seamus…Dean hadn’t seen Seamus.
Seamus’ short form crashed into Dean, already sobbing. “I couldn’t find you,” he mumbled through the tears.
Dean was back in the common room, the smoke curling away towards the ceiling. He finally understood.
—
Dean knew where Seamus would be, after all those years, how could he not? It was a hardly used corridor, with windows overlooking the quidditch pitch. Seamus would pace up and down that hall until he was too tired to keep thinking if Dean would let him. Even once he was calm, something about the quiet echo of his footsteps seemed to keep him there; it was Seamus’ go to spot.
As soon as Dean turned the corner into the corridor, Seamus heard him, and turned to him, his face downcast, “you found me,” he looked like he’d been crying.
“You aren’t very good at hiding,” Dean pointed out, fiddling with a scrap of paper he’d found in his pocket as he walked up to Seamus.
“I guess not,” Seamus forced a laugh, but he was still upset, Dean could tell.
Dean sighed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–” he gestured at the hallway.
Seamus shook his head, his voice unsteady, “it’s not really your fault,” he wiped his eyes, “I know I’m being ridiculous, it’s just when you–” he waved his hands around vaguely, “I just…I dunno.”
“Well, I’m still sorry,” Dean said, shoving the paper into his pocket, and giving Seamus a hug, “I shouldn’t’ve, I should have seen that you were upset.”
“No,” Seamus pushed him away, “don’t, I liked— well it was sweet, I just…I’m me sometimes, y’know? ‘s not your fault. Just overwhelmed.”
Dean hesitated, “okay,” he finally said, choosing to believe Seamus.
“What’s that?” Seamus bent down, and picked up, oh no, it was the torn scrap of paper.
Dean reached into his pocket, but sure enough, the paper wasn’t there, “it’s not–” but Seamus had already read it.
“What–” he looked up, his face red again, “what’s this?”
It was a torn corner that Dean had been forced to take off of one of his assignments. He had gotten distracted and thoughtlessly written Seamus’ name surrounded by little hearts.
Dean felt his face heat up, “it’s just–well I…”
Seamus smiled, “I’m keeping this, forever,” then he grinned, “I’ll look at it fondly when we’re old and grey and remember when you weren’t grouchy and–”
“Seamus–” but he didn’t know how to continue, Dean had been right, yet it was still jarring to hear it. How had he not known?
“You’re not getting this back!” Seamus danced away, putting the paper in his pocket.
“Seamus,” Dean grabbed his arm, Seamus stopped.
“What?”
Dean loosened his grip on Seamus’ arm, taking hold of his hand instead, “when did we start dating?” It felt like a ridiculous question to ask, but Dean genuinely didn’t know. They had been, he finally knew that, but he didn’t know when…
Seamus paused, “well, I’m not sure we ever said it, but I thought the Yule Ball was our first proper date,” he faltered, “why?”
“I didn’t know,” Dean admitted, “that we were at all.”
“You…what?”
“I didn’t know we’d started dating,” Dean clarified, “I thought we were still…” he hesitated, not sure how to describe it.
“You what?!” Seamus repeated, reasonably astonished, “I thought–well, I thought that we were…”
“I know that now!” Dean chuckled slightly, “I don’t know how I didn’t notice. I just…you never said it aloud.”
Seamus took both of Dean’s hands, “I didn’t think I had to, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault really,” Dean said quietly.
Dean smiled, examining his soulmate for a moment. He’d always loved Seamus’ freckles, and they were still slightly bold thanks to the summer sun. A piece of his hair was out of place, and Dean fixed it absentmindedly.
“I’m glad you’re my soulmate,” Dean said, squeezing Seamus’ hand.
“Well, that’s good,” Seamus squeezed Dean’s hand back, “you’re stuck with me.”
Dean kissed Seamus, he did it on impulse, he’d wanted to for so long
It was hesitant, slow and careful. He had to lean down more than he ever realised he’d have to. Then Seamus got on his tip toes, bracing his hands on Dean’s waist for balance. Seamus was still short, but the effort was cute.
Seamus was blushing deeper than Dean had ever seen him, but smiling too. Dean shook his head slightly, it’d turned out maybe they’d always been together. But he realised that it never really mattered, they were them, and that was perfect. He should have known really, he’d been told just that plain and simple back when he was eleven years old.