I can bring it down

      “What if I do, and they make it worse, or come after you instead?” Seamus sighed, taking the bottle, reluctant but aware that she as right. He couldn’t keep going like this, getting tortured every other day. Even trying to hang on for Dean was getting too hard, when he had no idea if his friend was even alive. Still, he took the bottle without complaint, and even offered a smile, small as it was. “Thank you, Ruby.”

     “--they’re my eyebrows!”

       “Wasn’t all that stupid, really. He’s my best mate, if anyone was        gonna know it’d be me, but Dean’s pretty private, y’know? We just        don’t ever talk about it. It’s not a big deal.” Sighing, he offered a weak        smile, still feeling guilty about the entire situation. Maybe he should        ask Dean, plant the idea in his mind, anything. He felt horrible about it,        after all. “I won’t tell anyone, don’t worry. I’m -- it’s not my thing to tell.        D’you still want to go find him? Or--?”

        Seamus’ eyebrows shot up, and for a moment, he stared,         incredulous -- he wasn’t entirely certain that he understood         the request, to be honest. No one had asked him to purposely         blow something up, especially for a distraction; it would work,         he was sure, but he was still vaguely shocked.                Someone wanted him to blow something up.           “What kind of compensation are we talking here, mate? I mean --           I get detention every time I blow something up, so I’mma need           something to make up for that -- but yeah, I can probably make           a distraction,and make it look like an accident. Why?”

   “I meant it, though -- we don’t really talk about girls all that often?”     It always got a bit awkward and through Seamus off when he    found out Dean had eyes for some one; he found himself acting a    bit weird with them afterwards, so it had become an almost unspoken    don’t ask, don’t tell sort of thing, though Seamus hoped his friend would    know he would be there if he needed him. “Don’t -- uh -- don’t give up, yeah?”

     “--Yeah? But I always destroy things in class.      You really mean it, you don’t think I should try      to get rid of it if I can? You don’t think it’s bad?”

      He wasn’t honestly sure what hurt more, his face, or the idea that this could’ve happened to first years if he hadn’t stepped in, that professors, adults they were supposed to trust were just -- hurting people. Eleven year olds who’d never see Hogwarts as home, like they had. It was horrible, and he was trying to choke down the emotion it brought up. “--bad,” he finally murmured, not bothering to argue when she pulled out potions. He needed something, some comfort, from the pain, from his memories, from his own mind, that kept whispering that he needed to stick with it, that dean was probably going through worse-- “Real bad.”

      “Well -- okay.           But you’ve gotta was ‘em off,           if they don’t look good, okay?”