Fic: Within These Walls (Part Two)

[hpraremod]

Part two

Snape stands in front them, his back to the wall and his face an icy mask. The only give away to his wrath are his eyes, which are glittering with fury. He’s letting the silence drag out, trying to intimidate them or maybe push them into breaking down before he says anything. Behind him, the foot high words, Dumbledore’s Army – Still Recruiting, glow dully in the light from the torches.

“Who is responsible for this?” Snape finally asks, voice calm and dangerous, and a thrill of trepidation runs down Seamus’s spine. Next to him Neville shifts from foot to foot. Neither says anything.

“Answer me,” Snape says through closed teeth, and he makes the words sound like separate sentences. Behind him, Malfoy is dithering on the spot, looking down at his feet and fidgeting uncomfortably.

“Me.”

Neville quickly turns his head to look at Seamus, before turning back to Snape and saying “both of us.”

Seamus would kick him if he could do it without being noticed. Solidarity is great and all that, but there’s no point them both taking the punishment when it could just be Seamus.

“How noble,” Snape says, sounding bored. “Draco,” he says, without turning his eyes away from Seamus and Neville. Malfoy edges forwards, looking sick.

“Who was it?” Snape asks.

Seamus stares at Malfoy, who is twisting his fingers together and looking at the floor again. Malfoy doesn’t know who it was – he only turned up just after they’d finished their minor act of vandalism. He’s not stupid though, so he could probably work out it was both of them. Inwardly, Seamus is praying that Malfoy blames him, and then maybe Neville can get away. It’s not lost on Seamus that luck isn’t on their side tonight; considering his peculiar behaviour as of late Malfoy might have just let them leg it had Snape not turned up ten seconds behind him-

Malfoy says something to his feet.

“What?” Snape snaps, and Malfoy cringes.

“Longbottom,” he says quietly, and the word is like a punch to the gut.

“No it was not!” Seamus shouts. “You liar-”

A flick from Snape’s wand and Seamus is silenced. “On your way, Finnigan,” he says with a curl of his lip. “Back to your tower whilst I have a word with Longbottom.”

Neville lifts his chin defiantly and Seamus feels a pang go through him. Neville is trembling and Seamus knows he’s scared but refusing to show it.

“Draco, kindly escort Finnigan back to where he came from,” Snape instructs. Seamus glances at Neville who nods fractionally, jerkily. Swallowing thickly and with no other choice, Seamus walks away, refusing to look back. He can’t bear the thought of Neville looking after him, expression betrayed and hurt because Seamus didn’t refuse to leave.

Silently, Malfoy falls into step beside Seamus, walking next to him like they’re mates or something. Seamus feels anger spike through him, suddenly wanting nothing more than to punch Malfoy right in his stupid pointy face. They’re almost at the tower when he chooses his moment; he stops dead in the corridor, and half a step later Malfoy stops too, turning back to look at Seamus with a frown on his face.

Seamus punches him. He hits him square in the jaw and Malfoy staggers back with a cry of shock and pain. Seamus doesn’t care, he’s just so fucking angry, and there’s nothing he can do to help Neville who is taking all the blame and punishment for the both of them. He grabs Malfoy and shoves him back against the wall, trying to grab his wrists and only managing to catch one, and in the blink of an eye Malfoy’s wand is digging into his chin, again.

“Get off,” Malfoy says, voice wavering.

Seamus shoves him back roughly into the wall with a silent cry of rage, not even caring that Malfoy could curse him.

“You should be saying thank you,” Malfoy shouts and Seamus goes to hit him again but Malfoy catches his wrist, gripping it tightly enough to bruise. His wand digs into Seamus’s skin. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Neville,” Seamus mouths, furious and angry at his helplessness.

“You’d rather I have said it was you?” Malfoy asks incredulously, and stares in disbelief as Seamus nods. “Are you insane?”

Seamus glares at him and opens and shuts his mouth and Malfoy flushes. He mutters something and Seamus clears his throat, relieved to find that it makes a sound.

“Stop interfering,” he snaps at Malfoy. “You can’t pick and choose when to be noble. You should have said you didn’t see anything.”

“Snape knew I’d seen something,” Malfoy replies, voice rough. “I had to pick one of you.”

“Why Neville? What has he ever done to you?!”

A look of discomfort crosses over Malfoy’s face. He lets go of Seamus’s wrists and tries to wriggle away. Seamus notices but doesn’t budge an inch, remaining firmly in Malfoy’s personal space. “Nothing,” Malfoy finally admits, his voice a mutter.

“Then why?” Seamus demands. “I can take a curse better than Neville – Christ, Malfoy. You know what happened to his parents, right?”

Malfoy shakes his head from side to side as if he can block out the words. “I know,” he says, voice trembling, and of course he does. “I didn’t think, alright, I just – I couldn’t – I didn’t want to see you get cursed again. Not again.”

Seamus gapes at him. “Since when have you taken such an interest in my wellbeing?”

The pink flush staining Malfoy’s cheeks deepens, his own skin a dead giveaway to his traitorous thoughts. He pushes Seamus away and edges away from the wall, his right hand hovering as if he can’t decide whether to raise or lower his wand. He looks up at Seamus, and the way he’s looking is wonderfully and horrifyingly familiar.

“Malfoy?”

“You don’t know anything!” Malfoy bursts out, and the panic in his tone does nothing but confirm the secret he’s just let slip. He makes his mind up, pointing his wand right at Seamus’s face. “You know nothing about me!”

“You’re dropping some pretty big hints,” Seamus says and Malfoy goes pale, looking terrified all over again.

He storms away, leaving Seamus alone.

***

“I’m okay,” Neville says shakily, leaning back onto the sofa, body still tense and shivering. Seamus crouches by his feet, a hand on Neville’s knee. The common room is warm and not as comforting as it usually feels. A group of second years are huddled together by the fire as if they believe there’s really safety in numbers.

Seamus hopes that Dean isn’t by himself, wherever the fuck he is. That lanky bastard won’t last ten minutes by himself.

“I’m so sorry,” he says to Neville, forcing his mind away from Dean. He can’t stop to think about him, shouldn’t think about it. “I had no idea Malfoy would…”

Pick to save my arse, he says mentally, still feeling unsteady about that fact. A small part of him that feels like he did in fifth year is laughing riotously over the fact that it appears that Malfoy fancies him. His seventh year self can’t find it as funny as he’d like because it’s just so fucking stupid.

“It’s okay,” Neville says. He tries to sit up a little further but gives up with a wince, sinking back into the cushions. Seamus passes him a glass of water and Neville accepts it, taking a careful sip. He looks exhausted. “He’s got more reason to hate me than you.”

Seamus looks at the floor. “I don’t think that’s it,” he admits, and Neville looks at him curiously.

“What do you mean?”

“He said…” Seamus still feels guilty that Malfoy chose to save him and not Neville, and the words are hard to get out. “He said he didn’t want to see me get cursed again. It’s not the first time he’s done it either. Saved my arse on purpose.”

“Really?” Neville looks surprised, intrigued.

Seamus nods uncomfortably. “That night you lot got caught when we were trying to get the sword. I ran into Malfoy, and he grabbed me and hid us in that alcove behind the tapestry on the third floor.”

“He hid you?” Neville asks in amazement. “Why on earth would he do that?”

Seamus shrugs and lies. “Haven’t got the foggiest.”

Neville eyes him carefully. Seamus feels both awkward and relieved that he’s admitted that there’s something going on with Malfoy, whatever that something might be.

“Do you think he wants to switch sides?” Neville asks, and Seamus is grateful that Neville has enough tact not to ask about him-and-Malfoy outright. He looks thoughtful, tipping his glass of water slightly so the liquid slides up the sides of the glass, closer and closer to the lip. His hand twitches and he hastily straightens it before the drink spills. “He doesn’t look happy at the moment. He’s barely with Crabbe and Goyle anymore. I haven’t seen them all together in ages.”

Seamus fiddles with a loose thread on one of the cushions. “I don’t know,” he says quietly, and he honestly doesn’t.

***

When Luna doesn’t return after Christmas, it makes Ginny cry. Seamus has never seen Ginny cry before and to him it’s as shocking as seeing third-years get cursed. She wipes her face angrily, staring at the fire in the common-room.

“We can’t give up,” she says fiercely, and she’s back to unbreakable, all red-hair and resilience. “There’s still me, you and Neville.”

“And Parvati and Lavender,” Seamus adds. “They’re not as useless as they seem.”

Ginny laughs at that, the sound thick with tears. “Yeah,” she says. “I suppose.”

“They’ll be okay,” Seamus says, and Ginny leans forwards and hugs him tightly. At that moment the weight of their missing friends weighs heavily on their shoulders, and Seamus would give anything to know that they were all safe.

***

“We’ll be looking at a new spell today,” Amycus Carrow says, walking to the front of the room. “A spell that can be used against enemies in defensive situations.”

Seamus hates that phrase. Defensive situations. It’s frankly ridiculous that they’re trying to pass off this sorry excuse for a class as Defence against the Dark Arts.

“It is highly effective at immobilizing an attacker,” Amycus continues, and a slight smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “In short, you use to kill.”

Next to Seamus, Parvati looks down, reaching up and pressing fingertips to her mouth. She blinks and tears fall right from her eyes into her lap. Seamus reaches under the table to hold her free hand and she squeezes it tightly.

“Slashing wand movement, and a single incantation,” Amycus says, sounding like he’s telling them how to conjure tulips rather than kill someone. “The incantation is Sectumsempra, and it’s a type of cutting curse that is especially effective on flesh-”

He breaks off as he’s interrupted by the screech of a chair being pushed back. Seamus looks up and to his surprise it’s Malfoy who has stood up so violently that he’s nearly knocked his chair over. He’s shoving his books back in his bag one by one and ignoring Pansy Parkinson, who is looking bewildered and trying to get him to sit back down.

“Sit down,” snaps Amycus. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Malfoy doesn’t reply. He just shuts his bag with violently shaking hands and then walks away, slamming the door on his way out.

***

Malfoy is so ridiculously pale, Seamus thinks as he silently watches him from the doorway at the top of the spiral staircase that winds up the astronomy tower. He knew he’d be here the moment he decided to go looking, wanting to find Malfoy to ask him about his hasty departure from their lesson earlier that day. Well, that’s the story he sticks with, choosing to ignore the part of him that wants to explore this thing that’s somehow developed between him and Malfoy.

Malfoy is standing next to the outer wall of the tower, in almost exactly the same place that he and Seamus stood all that time ago. He has his back to Seamus and is leaning forwards with his hands braced on the stone and his head bowed, but he’s unmistakable. He’s conjured a pair of glowing orbs of light that are hovering above his head, moving around in slow mesmerizing circles. The light is soft and underneath it Malfoy doesn’t look as sharp as he normally does.

Seamus pushes away from the doorframe he’s been leaning against, silently watching Malfoy for a couple of minutes. Frankly, managing to keep his mouth shut for that long must be some sort of miracle. Amazingly, some part of him doesn’t want to talk. It wants to stay quiet and watch Malfoy under his gently revolving lights.

“Now, what was that all about?”

Typically, Seamus’s mouth decides to go ahead anyway, despite what his brain might have wanted. Well, he supposes it’s as good a way to announce his presence as any other. Malfoy whips around looking frightened, but when he sees Seamus hovering in the doorway, something else that looks suspiciously like relief flitters across his face before he turns back around.

“Why do you care?” he says tonelessly as Seamus joins him, leaning on the wall on his elbows and staring out over the snowy grounds.

“Colour me intrigued,” Seamus admits. “Never seen anyone just bail on a Carrow like that.”

“I know what that curse can do,” Malfoy says, his eyes vacant and far away as he stares out at nothing. He looks almost haunted and it makes Seamus shiver. The lights above them dip and then dart away, making shadows fade and grow across Malfoy’s face.

“Used it on someone?” Seamus asks casually, eyes on the line of Malfoy’s jaw.

Malfoy shakes his head slowly and then blinks, seeming to come back to himself. “No,” he says, his voice much clearer, and he picks at the stone in front of him. “Someone used it on me.”

Seamus feels his eyebrows lift in disbelief. They’ve just received a very thorough education on the effects of Sectumsempra and frankly, he’s amazed that Malfoy is still in one piece if he has been on the receiving end.

“Who?” he asks, curious and wanting to know more. It’s as if every time they run into each other he finds more and more layers of Malfoy to peel away, more of a person hiding behind the front.

Malfoy laughs, low and bitter. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Who?” Seamus presses, never one to let go without an answer. Malfoy’s face twists into something ugly.

“Potter.”

Time seems to stand still as Seamus stares at Malfoy, not quite believing what he’s just heard. There’s only one Potter, and whilst Harry can be a bit of a tosspot on occasion, Seamus doesn’t think he’d ever do something like that.

“No way,” he says, shaking his head.

The reply is startling and to the point in a way Seamus didn’t expect. Malfoy stands up straight and reaches for the hem of his jumper. The lights above his head twirl together as he pulls it off jerkily and then reaches for his tie. Seamus’s eyes go wide and thankfully he doesn’t say anything about how long it’s been since anyone stripped off in front of him. Malfoy unbuttons his school shirt to reveal a plain white t-shirt underneath, and then without warning he lifts it up, revealing a flat stomach and hairless chest to Seamus’s eyes.

Seamus isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be seeing, and then Malfoy moves slightly and something shines weakly in the faint light. A scar. A long mark that goes from Malfoy’s left collarbone, across his chest and down to his bellybutton. The orbs of light drift closer, throwing Malfoy’s body into stark relief.

“Holy fuck,” Seamus manages, staring and not able to look away. “Harry did that?”

Malfoy nods and drops his t-shirt, pushing it down and then going to button up his school-shirt. “We were fighting,” he says unnecessarily, looking at his fingers as he fiddles with the buttons.

“No wonder you hate him,” Seamus says, and Malfoy laughs shortly, and the sound is thick and wobbly. His fingers stall on the buttons for a moment and then he forces himself to continue.

“And he’s supposed to be the good guy,” he says, and he’s trying to keep his tone light but it comes out bitter.

Seamus takes a step forwards, not sure why he feels compelled to be a bit closer. “Harry’s no bad guy,” he says quietly. “He can be a right tosser at times, but yeah. I don’t think there’s definitive good guys and bad guys anyway. I mean, you’re a spectacular twat but I don’t think you’re a bad guy.”

“Not even with a Mark?” Malfoy asks.

“I don’t know, do I?” Seamus says, watching as Malfoy does up the final button that sits in the hollow of his collarbones, something strange flickering through him. “Like you said, I don’t know anything about you.”

“Thought you said I was dropping hints,” Malfoy says, and he lifts his eyes to meet Seamus’s, the question of how much Seamus thinks he does or doesn’t know unspoken but obvious.

Seamus doesn’t know why he does it, but going with his usual policy of do now, think later, he steps forwards and carefully puts a hand on Malfoy’s chest, right where the scar is. Malfoy sucks in a breath and Seamus looks up to see that Malfoy is so very close to him, looking at Seamus with wide eyes, breathing shallowly in his chest.

“A few hints,” Seamus replies quietly. His thumb moves slightly, tracing a path over the cotton of Malfoy’s shirt.

“And is this…” Malfoy asks, struggling to find words. “Are you dropping a hint in return?” he asks carefully.

“Maybe,” Seamus says, and something strange twists around his spine as he admits to Malfoy that yes, there is indeed something that they have in common.

They stand very still, and Seamus doesn’t move his hand. He can feel Malfoy’s heartbeat under his palm, and it’s an oddly soothing thing to feel, a steady thump amidst all the uncertainty. He looks up and Malfoy’s wide grey eyes are on him again, looking scared and vulnerable and confused. Belatedly, Seamus realises that touching Malfoy like this is possibly a very bad idea, but as he stares back at Malfoy he realises that bad idea or not, he’s still not moving his hand away and he’s still right up in Malfoy’s personal space.

Malfoy’s eyes flick to his mouth and back and it’s so quick that Seamus almost misses it. He draws in a sharp breath and without even thinking about it, moves marginally closer. Malfoy does that little flick of his eyes again, and then he moves slightly closer. Seamus barely has time to register how insane this all is before Malfoy twitches and then seems to come to his senses.

His eyes get, if possible, even wider. He jerks away and stumbles back a step, looking stunned. He stares at Seamus as if he’s a ghost and then rather predictably, runs away.

Seamus is left at the top of the tower by himself. He breathes out deeply and runs a hand over his chin.

“Wasn’t going to fucking kiss you anyway,” he calls, even though Malfoy is long gone. Seamus huffs, angry with himself, and all he can think is, Malfoy. Really?

***

“I cannot believe that you would do this to another student,” McGonagall shouts, and as furious as she is, her vitriol holds no weight anymore. Out of the four Slytherins, the only one who looks scared is bloody Malfoy, and he wasn’t even part of it anyway. Crabbe is staring insolently at McGonagall, Pansy Parkinson looks as if she’s not even listening and Goyle is looking blank. Seamus would happily tell her who is to blame, but seeing as his mouth has been hexed away, he can’t.

“It is unacceptable behaviour, and you will each be getting a detention. If I find out who cast the spell-”

As much as Seamus appreciates McGonagall shouting at the Slytherins, his jaw aches and she’s missing the point that he could tell her who it was if she’d just remove the hex. Seamus clears his throat and thankfully, it makes a sound although it’s awkwardly loud. McGonagall rounds on him and all the Slytherins but Malfoy also turn to look at him.

She pauses and then draws her wand, jabbing it in his direction. To his relief, the skin of his lower face parts and his mouth re-appears exactly as it should be. He stretches his mouth out, rubbing at his jaw with his fingers.

“So, who was responsible?” McGonagall asks him.

“I don’t know who cast, but Malfoy wasn’t there,” Seamus says honestly. “It was one of the other three.”

“You weren’t involved?” McGonagall asks Malfoy. Pansy and Crabbe turn to look at him. Crabbe is frowning and Pansy’s expression is shrewd and calculating. Goyle still looks blank.

“Yeah I was,” he says hurriedly.

“No you weren’t!” Seamus exclaims, and why the fuck is Malfoy trying to get himself in trouble now? Seamus is offering him a get-out-of-Azkaban-free card and instead of taking it and running he actually wants to be punished?

There is a pause. McGonagall looks from Malfoy to Seamus and back again. Finally, she sighs. “Mister Malfoy, you may go. Seamus, you go too.”

“No!” Malfoy says desperately, and Parkinson is still watching him with narrowed eyes. “I-”

“You may go,” McGonagall repeats loudly over him, her nostrils flaring. Malfoy gapes uselessly at her and then turns on heel and walks away without another word, his expression torn. Seamus waits half a second and then darts after him. He waits until they’re alone before calling out to him, his voice echoing along the corridor.

“Malfoy-”

“What the hell are you playing at?” Malfoy shouts, coming to a halt and whipping around to face Seamus. He looks furious; his hands are balled into fists and he’s shaking.

“What am I playing at?” Seamus asks incredulously, taken aback by the venom. “I was trying to keep you out of trouble!”

“And like that’s not suspicious!” Malfoy shouts. “You’re going to get me killed!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Seamus retorts, disbelief etched into his face. “Your mates aren’t going to kill you just because I did something decent for you-”

“Not them, you idiot,” Malfoy snarls, and Seamus has never seen him so angry. “But if word gets out that there’s anything between me and you, or if anyone says that I’m not loyal, the Dark Lord-”

“Oh, like he cares about you,” Seamus scoffs.

“He does-”

“I’m sure,” Seamus says in disbelief. “I’ll bet he’s got ‘keep up correspondence with a sixteen year old coward’ right above ‘take over the world’ on his to-do-list.”

Malfoy’s face has gone white. “Shut up,” he shouts, and his voice is trembling as much as his hands. “You don’t know anything-”

“I know no-one cares about you!” Seamus yells back. “You’re not important to anyone, let alone You-Know-You-”

“HE’S IN MY HOUSE!” Malfoy bellows, and Seamus freezes. “What the fuck am I meant to do? You think it’s bad here?! You haven’t seen shit!”

“Who is the where now?” Seamus asks stupidly, unable to process what he’s just heard.

“Who do you think?” Malfoy says almost hysterically. “I don’t like any of this but he’s in my house, so if I don’t do what they say…”

“You Know Who is in your house?” Seamus asks, horrified. “Christ.”

Suddenly, Malfoy makes perfect sense. No wonder he looks like he’s going to either cry or throw up most of the time. Seamus would bet his broomstick that Malfoy hadn’t anticipated that when he signed up to be part of the gang. Seamus stares at him and as he takes in how miserable Malfoy looks, he realises that he feels sorry for him.

“Regretting that tattoo, I take it?”

Malfoy laughs bitterly. “You have no idea.”

“Christ,” Seamus says with a low whistle between his teeth. “Talk about being stuck between a troll and a hard place.”

Malfoy laughs and this time sound is twisted and hysterical. “See. I’ve got no choice but to do what they say.”

Seamus carefully steps forwards so they’re almost touching. “There’s always a choice,” he says, his voice low.

Malfoy stares at him. “Shut up, Finnigan,” he finally says, but it’s quieter and softer than Seamus anticipated. They stand still for a long drawn out moment, and then Malfoy walks away. He looks exactly the same as he did ten minutes ago but now that Seamus knows why he’s been acting so strangely, he looks completely different.

Seamus finds himself wishing that Malfoy had stayed, just so Seamus could look at him a little while longer.

***

“Are you going to behave?”

Seamus can’t even answer the question. He’s trying to breathe, gasping in air like he’s drowning and coughing in the dust from the floor. Something trickles down his forehead, and he hopes it’s sweat but judging by the dull pain in his temple he suspects it’s probably blood.

“Well?”

A foot prods at him and he tries to push it away. All he can think about is his dad saying ‘you might be bent but you better not be a wimp,’ and he hopes wildly that he’s living up to expectations.

“Enough,” says another voice, and Seamus recognises it as Snape. He sounds bored as ever, like the violence of the Carrows is beneath him. “Draco, pick him up. Take him back to his common room. Here – wait, take his wand.”

Seamus hears more talking but he doesn’t register any words. He’s hurting and aching deep down in his bones; Parvati’s healing charms barely take the sting out of his skin anymore. He wishes Dean were here.

Something bumps against him and fucking hurts. He makes a noise somewhere in his throat and tries to shove whatever is touching him away. He hits something warm and solid and human.

“Get away,” he manages to choke out, shoving at what he thinks is someone’s knees. A hand touches his shoulder, hesitant and shaking.

“Stop touching him and pick him up!” a voice snaps, and the hand on his shoulder takes a firmer grip on his jumper and tugs half-heartedly.

“Finnigan, get up,” a whispered voice says, sounding panicked. Seamus recognises it and stops pushing the person away.

“Can’t,” Seamus breathes, and his whole body is shaking and he’s not sure his legs would even hold him. He hears Malfoy mutter something and then feels himself being hauled up, presumably by magic. He comes to rest with his feet skittering across the floor and then Malfoy grabs hold of him, one arm around his waist and the other on his wrist, heaving Seamus’s arm over his shoulders.

“Oh how lovely,” he dimly hears Amycus Carrow sneer. “Do you like touching up dirty half-bloods then, Malfoy?”

“You told me to pick him up,” Malfoy replies, sounding abashed and angry.

“You’re a wizard, a pretty pathetic one if you can’t move someone without resorting to putting your hands all over them-”

“Enough,” Snape says again. “Get out of my sight.”

Seamus staggers and slips as Malfoy moves forwards, holding onto him tightly. Dizzily, he realises that Malfoy’s magic is still supporting him, taking most of his weight. With that in mind he makes himself move, one wobbly foot in front of the other.

It takes what feels like years. His chest is hurting more than ever, and every time he breathes in something stabs through his side. He looks up blearily and then comes to a stop, tripping and stumbling.

“Goin’ the wrong way,” he says, and he knows Malfoy can probably barely understand him, his accent and slurred voice making words almost indistinguishable.

“Not,” Malfoy says tightly. “Hospital wing first.”

Seamus doesn’t even have it in him to make a joke or witty retort. He just lets Malfoy half-carry him along, wondering how stupid everyone has to be to miss this bizarre behaviour of Malfoy’s. Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy. It’s always bloody Malfoy at the minute.

“You’re always turning up at the minute.”

It’s not until Malfoy replies that he realises he said anything out loud. “Well, yes. You insist on running around like an idiot, it’s bound to happen.”

Seamus laughs, and then winces. “And you insist on running around with that lot.”

“We’ve been through this,” Malfoy says sharply, and he tugs on Seamus’s wrist with rather more force than strictly necessary. “I’m not the one insisting.”

Two more corridors and one hellish staircase and Seamus sees the familiar archway that leads to the hospital wing. The torches inside are lit and flickering and the sight is achingly welcome. Seamus doesn’t even care to think about why Malfoy has bought him here instead of just dumping him at the Fat Lady. He just wants skele-grow and to pass out on his face.

“Oh my – what on earth have you done to him?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s voice is shrill and shocked but Seamus is still glad to hear it. She runs over and grabs hold of Seamus, propping his other side up.

“I didn’t do it,” Malfoy says, and he’s not yet let go of Seamus. If anything, the arm around his middle tightens.

“I shouldn’t let you anywhere near this wing-”

“I didn’t do it, alright?” Malfoy snaps. “Do your job and help him.”

Seamus doesn’t remember much more after that. He remembers collapsing down onto a bed, being fed potions sip by sip. He remembers shaking hands checking him over and then the pain subsiding into a dull ache. His head is spinning and he feels like he did when he and his cousin Fergus had nicked and drank that bottle of Firewhiskey a few Christmases ago. He wishes Dean were here.

As if in reply to the thought, a hand slips into his, long fingers tracing his palm, tips coming to rest on the skin of his wrist. He lifts his head and the world tilts nauseatingly.

“Dean?” he says, and opens his eyes. He blinks hard, fighting down the urge to be sick.

Slowly, the world comes into focus. He looks at the person sat in the chair next to his hospital bed and the first thing he thinks is that it’s clearly not Dean. The second thing he thinks is that it’s Malfoy.

Malfoy is leant forwards, hunched over. His elbow rests on his knee and his pointed chin is cupped in his palm. His other hand is still holding Seamus’s, resting atop the standard issue hospital wing sheets. He’s so pale and there’s a smear of blood on his face, smudged across his cheekbone. He’s staring at their joined hands, face blank.

“Is that my blood?” Seamus asks, and Malfoy’s eyes snap up to his, a confused frown drawing his eyebrows together. “On your face.”

Malfoy sits up a little and wipes his face with his forearm. He looks at the red which now stains his school shirt and then he laughs hopelessly, looking up to Seamus.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, and tears fall from his eyes as he blinks, spilling over and falling out of sight, barely even brushing his cheeks as they disappear.

“Don’t cry, you fuckin’ wuss,” Seamus says and Malfoy just laughs again, more tears falling. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

“Why can’t you just stop winding them up?” he says helplessly.

“Why are you holding my hand?” Seamus counters with a potion-happy grin. It’s strained and hurts to move his cheeks.

“Why are you still making jokes?” Malfoy whispers, but he doesn’t let go of Seamus’s hand and his fingers are oddly comforting.

“I’ve always made jokes. They’re not going to stop me,” Seamus says.

Malfoy coughs out another almost laugh. “I know,” he says. “I noticed.”

“Don’t go,” Seamus says, and he knows it’s probably the potions talking but he can’t be arsed to care. “Just sit there and stay blond.”

“What?” Malfoy looks confused again. “I’ve always been blond.”

“Well you’re changing every fuckin’ thing else about you,” Seamus says tiredly , shutting his eyes and feeling exhausted. “At least leave the hair the same.”

“Shut up, Finnigan,” Malfoy says, and his fingers tighten around Seamus’s. Seamus cracks an eye open and Malfoy’s blurry form is looking at him strangely, almost like he’s pleased with what Seamus has said.

“Are you going to kiss me, or what, then?” Seamus says lazily as he shuts his eyes again. “There’s a war on, y’know. Might be my last chance for some action.”

“Stop talking like that,” Malfoy replies tersely.

“Make me,” Seamus retorts and then Malfoy does exactly the right thing and shuts him up by kissing him, pressing his mouth to Seamus’s. He’s breathing unsteadily through his nose and his body is pressing against Seamus’s aching ribs but Seamus doesn’t care.

It lasts somewhere between a second and a lifetime and then Malfoy pulls back. He hovers for a moment, breath whispering over Seamus’s face, and then he pulls away. Seamus wants to tell him to stay the fuck where he is but he doesn’t need to. Malfoy sits back down and lifts Seamus’s hand, clasping it in both of his own and holding it to his face.

“Knew you liked me,” Seamus laughs, and he’s halfway to blissful sleep, his mind drifting away towards nothing.

“You know fuck all,” Malfoy replies, but he sounds somewhere between exasperated and forlorn and as Seamus drifts away he’s still there, holding Seamus’s hand.

Part Three