Healing Hands

Seamus Finnigan was good at a lot of things. Blowing things up? Check. Getting under Harry’s skin? Absolutely. Making Harry laugh when he needed it the most? Without fail. But keeping things quiet? Not a chance.

Which is why, when Harry walked into the common room after another long night of studying healing texts in the Hospital Wing, he wasn’t at all surprised to find Seamus waiting for him, sprawled across the couch like he owned the place.

"Potter," Seamus drawled, grinning as he propped himself up on one elbow. "Burnin’ the midnight oil again?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. "Some of us actually take our studies seriously."

Seamus tsked. "And yet, here ya are, lookin’ half-dead. What kinda Healer’s gonna be workin’ themselves to the bone like this? Thought self-care was part of the job, love."

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand over his face as he dropped onto the couch beside him. "I’m fine."

Seamus hummed, unconvinced, then reached over and tugged at the sleeve of Harry’s jumper. "Alright, then. You’re takin’ a break. I refuse to be datin’ a walking corpse."

Harry froze. "What?"

Seamus blinked. Then—grinned, slow and lazy, like he’d just been waiting for Harry to catch up. "Oh, did I say that out loud?"

Harry’s heart was doing something weird. Something jumpy and fluttery and very, very unfair. "You—you can’t just say things like that."

Seamus smirked, leaning closer. "Why not? You gonna do somethin’ about it, love?"

Harry groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch. "You’re impossible."

"Aye, but you love it," Seamus said, far too smug for Harry’s liking. But instead of pushing him away, Harry let out a long breath and let himself relax. Just for a moment. Just long enough to feel the warmth of Seamus’s shoulder against his own.

After a few moments of silence, Seamus nudged him. "Hey."

Harry turned his head slightly. "Yeah?"

Seamus was looking at him now, properly looking, none of the teasing lilt in his voice. "You’re doin’ good, y’know. With the Healer stuff."

Harry swallowed. "You think so?"

Seamus nodded. "I know so."

Harry exhaled, something warm settling in his chest. "Thanks, Seamus."

Seamus grinned, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "Anytime, love."

Harry let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, here you are, sittin’ right next to me instead of runnin’ off to bed," Seamus pointed out, shifting slightly so that he was leaning against Harry more. "Face it, Potter. You like havin’ me around."

Harry didn’t reply right away, just sighed and leaned into the warmth beside him. He could pretend to be annoyed all he wanted, but Seamus was right. He did like having him around—more than he cared to admit most days.

Seamus nudged him again, but this time softer. "Wanna talk about it?"

Harry hesitated. "Talk about what?"

"This," Seamus gestured vaguely at the space between them, "us. You’ve been workin’ yourself half to death, avoidin’ me all day, and I know it ain’t ‘cause you don’t wanna see me. So, what’s goin’ on in that head of yours, Potter?"

Harry stared down at his hands, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of his jumper. He had been throwing himself into his studies, trying to stay ahead, but a part of him had also been using it as an excuse—to think, to process, to figure out how to handle this thing between them.

"It’s just… a lot," Harry admitted finally. "Not in a bad way, just… I’m still getting used to it."

Seamus nodded, not pushing, just waiting.

Harry exhaled. "I like you, Seamus. A lot. And that’s—new for me. I don’t really know how to do all this properly."

Seamus tilted his head, eyes warm with amusement. "Properly? Love, we’re makin’ it up as we go along. There’s no one way to do this—just us, figurin’ it out together."

Harry met his gaze then, finding nothing but sincerity in it. "Together, huh?"

Seamus grinned. "Yeah. Together."

Harry let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You’re ridiculous."

"Aye, but I’m your ridiculous now."

Harry’s heart did that stupid thing again, the fluttery, helpless thing that he was still learning how to deal with. He let out a long breath, then finally—finally—let himself do what he had been wanting to do all night.

He reached over, fingers curling into the front of Seamus’s jumper, and pulled him in for a kiss.

It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t teasing—it was slow, warm, grounding. The kind of kiss that said, I see you. I’m here.

When they pulled back, Seamus was grinning. "Merlin, Potter, took you long enough."

Harry huffed a laugh, nudging him playfully. "Shut up."

Seamus only laughed, tucking his head against Harry’s shoulder, and Harry—Harry let himself just exist in the moment, for once, with no worries of the future, no pressure, just the simple, undeniable fact that this, this was something real.

And he was finally ready for it.