pleased as punch

One

It’s the grip that he has on Seamus the first time they shake hands. Seamus is over-eager in his seat in their train car, no doubt scaring the two girls sitting across from him and his new friend – Dean. Dean Thomas. The name plays on Seamus’s lips well, and he knows he’ll never forget it. Not the name, not the face, and, just as his father had told him, certainly not the firm handshake.

Two

It’s the urgent way Dean always has his hand on Seamus’s forearm throughout their second year. It starts out as a playful way to get the jittery Irishman’s attention, a light touch or even a quick swat in Potions when Snape’s not looking. But as the year progresses, and whatever it is in the chamber starts coming after Muggle-borns, the grip is tighter, the space between them becoming smaller and smaller. Dean is afraid. And all Seamus can do is clasp a clammy hand over Dean’s shaky one and crack jokes until everything is okay again.

Three

It’s Dean’s fingers around his pencil as he sketches the scene before them at the Great Lake. Students of all ages lounge on blankets and their discarded robes on the shore, chattering and eating picnic lunches in the sunshine of early fall while others splash about and skip rocks in the water. Seamus swallows hard and scolds himself internally for staring. It’s the first time he’s consciously caught himself, and he knows it certainly won’t be the last. Not with the way Dean’s hand flicks about the parchment, creating the most beautiful lines that take the Irishman’s breath away. Seamus’s eyes flick up to Dean’s face momentarily, just long enough to see a pink tongue poke out as Dean corrects the shading on the water in his sketch. Then Seamus’s eyes are back to being glued on Dean’s talented fingers, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice much anyway.

Four

It’s Dean’s warm hands on the sides of Seamus’s face the second Ireland wins the Quidditch World Cup. Seamus doesn’t even have time to celebrate before Dean’s lips are on his, hard and eager, and Seamus is hyperaware of the long fingers curling in on his temples and mussing his hair. It’s over in a matter of seconds, and Dean doesn’t spare him a glance afterward – just jumps in place and cheers as Seamus’s ma, none the wiser, cheers as well. A sly grin forms on Seamus’s face before he exudes his newfound energy in the form of whoops and hollers.

It’s Dean’s tentative grasp on his wrist as he leads Seamus to the dance floor. They hadn’t come to the Yule Ball together, but their dates – fifth year Hufflepuffs – both disappeared after only twenty minutes or so. Dean’s warmth – Merlin, why is he always so warm? – radiates through Seamus’s coat and dress shirt, both hand-me-downs from older boys in their house who had no interest in attending. Seamus was still reeling from the way Dean had asked him to dance. So quiet, so timid, so sincere. Seamus’s body heats up as Dean places a hand on his waist and intertwines the fingers of his other hand with Seamus’s before they’re swaying to the slow song – at an appropriate distance from one another, of course.

When the song ends a few minutes later – though it feels like mere seconds to Seamus – they stick together and bob their heads to the fast-paced rock music that the band begins to play. When Seamus gets really into it, starts jumping and doing his best attempt at dancing, Dean keeps their fingers locked together and laughs critically at his best friend.

Five

It’s the way Dean covers his face when Seamus brings up embarrassing anecdotes from their past years at Hogwarts. Dean’s gone through his biggest growth spurt yet, and it was the first thing Seamus noticed when they met up at the platform on September 1st. They stay up later this year, usually in Seamus’s bed with a silencing charm on so they gossip and giggle and not disrupt the precious beauty rest of their dormmates. Seamus casts Lumos and starts a competition of who can catch the most Bertie Botts in their mouth before they finish their stash for the night. He studies Dean’s long, nimble fingers as he reaches across the bed for more chocolates, as he rubs his tired eyes, as he groans and smacks his forehead when Seamus brings up the time Dean nearly pissed himself in their first year because he couldn’t find the bathroom.

It’s the hand that Dean holds up to say “goodbye” every time he’s due to meet up with Ginny. It’s always accompanied by an apologetic glance, but it doesn’t make things easier for Seamus. He stops looking at Dean’s hands, because they’re usually attached to some place on Ginny – her hand, her waist, her thigh, her flaming red hair. And it’s not that he hates her, no. He just hates that he can’t look at Dean without being reminded that he doesn’t have the tall Gryffindor all to himself anymore. Seamus does his best not to look anywhere near Dean when they’re not alone.

Six

It’s the way Dean grips his quill a little tighter after Ginny breaks up with him. Seamus stares only in concern nowadays. Dean said he wasn’t upset about it, but he’s broken more quills than Seamus can count ever since they both walked in on Ginny and Potter cuddling in front of the Gryffindor fireplace not too long after the breakup. He holds his fork and knife loosely as they eat breakfast, hardly even trying to cut his piece of ham.

Seamus gets used to Dean’s abrupt “goodnight”s before he draws the curtains closed on his four-poster. Things aren’t normal, haven’t been in a while, but Seamus doesn’t let himself get too down. Dean’s gone through hard times before. Although, it’s never been anything that Seamus couldn’t help with. Seamus leaves a small tin of hard candies and an enchanted paper crane on Dean’s bedside table to hopefully cheer him up in the morning.

It’s Dean’s desperate hold on Seamus’s lapels as he kisses him senseless the moment they’re alone in the halls after returning from the winter holiday. Seamus is forced up onto his tiptoes, but he immediately throws his arms around Dean’s neck and deepens the kiss, one elbow catching on the hard suit of armor in the hallway next to them, but Seamus ignores the pain for the moment. The Irishman’s head spins, and he doesn’t quite know what’s gotten into Dean, but he knows not to question it – not right now.

One of Dean’s hands moves to Seamus’s jaw, the other knotting itself nicely in the shorter boy’s hair. Seamus enjoys the hesitant tug, and can’t help but smile into the kiss until it’s mostly teeth and not nearly enough of Dean’s soft lips on his own. Then both sets of eyes are open, and Dean’s staring at Seamus so intently, so happily that Seamus can’t believe he isn’t dreaming. Dean doesn’t let him go until Seamus reminds him that someone could round the corner at any moment and discover them.

Seven

It’s Dean’s strong arms around Seamus in the early hours of the morning mere days after the end of their sixth year. Things hadn’t been the same in their lives since Dumbledore was killed, but Dean vowed to spend the first two weeks of summer at the Finnigan household to try to ease the tension and uncertainty in the air. Seamus wakes with his head on Dean’s bare chest, a dark, protective hand splayed out across Seamus’s pale back. Dean’s been awake for a while, doesn’t sleep much at night anymore, but he’s got a lazy grin on his face when Seamus – his boyfriend – looks up at him.

It’s the way Dean caresses Seamus’s face at the tail end of Seamus’s rant directed at some Muggle product he spotted in the window of a store during an outing in London. Seamus is only here for the weekend, and Dean intends on making use of every waking moment with him. And Seamus huffs a little bit at his boyfriend, but smiles into the soft touch, nuzzles his cheek into Dean’s broad palm.

It's Seamus’s tears and spit and snot on Dean’s hands and clothes when he tells the Irishman he has to go. He has to run, and he doesn’t know when he’ll be back. He has to run, and he has no choice. Seamus tries to convince him otherwise, but the tears come so fast and frequent because he knows Dean’s right. He doesn’t let go of Dean the entire time the taller boy explains and comfort and coos and trembles.

It’s Dean’s long, pretty fingers opening Seamus up and stroking him through a teary-eyed orgasm on their last night together. Dean brings his hand up to his own mouth to stop himself from crying out as he reaches his own climax, but Seamus is quick to bat it away and lock their fingers away as the love of his life tumbles over the edge, then collapses on top of the Irishman. It takes them too long to clean themselves up, but soon enough, Seamus is fast asleep in the lean arms he loves so much. Dean is gone by the time the first ray of sunlight sneaks through the blinds.

~~~~~~~

It’s the look on Dean’s face when Seamus grabs his hands tight, so tight he thinks Seamus might bruise the bones.

“What say you and I get married when this is all over?” Seamus shouts over the commotion happening all around them as they stand in the middle of the staircase leading down to the ground floor of Hogwarts. They’re in the midst of a battle, and the question makes Dean’s world come to a crashing halt. He’s still reeling from his tearful, affectionate reunion with Seamus in the Room of Requirement, where they had less than a minute to try to fit as many words in as possible before they were assigned a task – both failing miserably under the weight of their emotions.

“Married?” Dean shouts back, heartbeat thrumming in his ears, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Seamus nods fervently and looks at Dean with eyes so full of love and hope that Dean is frozen in place – the only thing reminding him that he’s still here is the squeezing of Seamus’s hands around his own.

“I can’t bloody stand another minute away from ye, Dean, I really can’t,” Seamus projects, voice cracking in the middle of his confession. He leans forward and gets closer to Dean’s ear so he doesn’t have to speak as loudly. “An’ I’ve been dreaming about puttin’ a ring on yer pretty finger since third year.”

“Shay, is that even…could we even do that? I–”

“Dean, I love you, but I need you to stop thinking and give me an answer ‘fore we get blown to bloody feckin’ bits right here and now,” Seamus presses on with urgency, a dopey grin on his face as he watches the gears turn in Dean’s head, a bewildered yet excited expression plastered on Dean’s brilliant features. Seamus knows he’s given him a lot to think about in such a short amount of time. He knows Dean’s overwhelmed. But he also knows that if he doesn’t ask Dean now, he may never get the chance to. It’s not that he wants to think about the worst case scenario, but they are standing on the stairs as Hogwarts literally falls to pieces around them.

“Of course, Shay,” Dean answers with more certainty that Seamus had expected. “Of course I’ll marry you.” Dean almost can’t believe his own ears, but he means every word. Seamus squeezes his hands impossibly tighter before stealing a quick kiss that says so much, but entirely not enough given the fact that they’ve been apart for so long.