Year 3
Even as a pubescent young boy Seamus was quite in touch with his feelings. When people thought there was something between him and Lavender he just had to snog her once to know that there wasn't.
He just didn't like her like that.
He didn't really like her at all; she was so girly and so very annoying. Some people. especially Dean, gave him funny looks when he said that. Sure. Seamus talked a lot just like Lavender but that wasn’t what annoyed him about her. Even when he said so Dean kept giving him those funny looks.
Okay so fine, maybe Lavender was the female equivalent of Seamus Finnigan, but that was just more of a point not to date her. He wasn’t interested in dating himself.
Seamus was the happy Irish boy who was still short while his friends grew taller. He didn’t have a care in the world, even though some things blew up in his face every now and then… like literally.
It didn't happen as often as it used to though… at least Seamus thought he’d improved. When it came to magics involving fires he actually even excelled. The look on Hermione’s face as he mastered the incendio charm before her still lived in his head, on his happy memories reel.
Dean however had become quite the man during the summer; he still had boyish features but was tall and broad-shouldered in comparison to Seamus. Therefore he seemed manlier, at least in their peers' eyes. They were only thirteen but Dean could easily pass for at least fourteen now. Unlike Seamus who still looked twelve.
They were resting in the grass, it was still warm outside even though autumn was hiding around the corner. They enjoyed the last days of warmth and the last sun rays of the year.
And most importantly, they enjoyed them together.
Seamus and Dean.
Dean was drawing, something he'd become quite good at over the years. Seamus didn't know why Dean drew so much, didn’t understand what the point was. But he enjoyed watching him. Dean was talented and Seamus made it a game to guess what he was drawing before he was done. If he guessed it right he reworded himself by making Dean give him a backrub.
Seamus actually had no idea why Dean complied every time.
But today Seamus didn't guess what Dean was drawing; he just lay there at his side and watched as his hands worked on the paper. Those were skilled hands and the pencil left traces of coal on the fingertips that smeared all over the pages, causing Dean to swear.
It was mesmerizing to watch, made him feel drowsy. He sighed in content and closed his eyes.
Seamus knew Dean’s features very well so imagining him looking his way with a small smile on his lips, was easy.
"What?" Dean asked, voice slightly pubertal as it rose to a higher pitch at the end.
"Nothing, I'm just thinking about you painting me" Seamus answered with a broad smile "I'd like a portrait of me"
it wasn’t the first time he’d requested it, and it wouldn’t be the last. Seamus really wanted that portrait.
Dean chuckled and Seamus could feel him shifting next to him. Even though he had his eyes closed he knew Dean was changing position.
"Sure, I could paint you" Seamus didn't have time for a response before cold paint hit his cheek, but it soon warmed up as hands started smearing it onto his skin.
His eyes shot open and he saw Dean grinning broadly. Blue paint covered his left hand as he smeared it over Seamus' face.
"Blue suits you" he whispered "I like you in blue"
Like something out of a movie.
Seamus smiled back at his friend and closed his eyes again, letting his friend paint him. He only had himself to blame for being vague.
"Your lips look good red though" read from a script, it didn’t sound like something a thirteen year old boy would actually say. But it could be, if you pretended. A new hand ghosted over his lips and he parted them slightly with a small gasp. The paint felt so cold against his lips as those hands, now covered in red paint pressed softly against them.
It tasted earthy. Paint tasted earthy right? Or was it supposed to be more metallic?
The hands gently cupped his face, Dean’s shadow grew over him, blocking out the sun. Rough lips? No, soft lips? No, they tended to look a bit chapped; they'd probably feel a little rough... Either way they pressed softly against Seamus’ just like in the movies. The paint smeared out over both their faces as Seamus kissed him back, creating a lovely shade of purple.
He could almost taste a distinct taste of cadbury chocolate from Dean's lips.
"Seamus" Dean said and giggled, Seamus responded with a sigh as Dean dove back for another kiss.
It felt right.
Seamus.
The voice changed somehow, the tone wasn't swooning like in a romantic novel but firm and amused, it did not fit the picture at all.
It got difficult to ignore.
"Seamus!" Seamus' eyes shot open, back in the real world looking up at his real best friend. not daydream Dean. Surprise shone in his eyes to match the wonder on Dean's face. No paints in his hand, just charcoal.
"Are you alright?" Dean knitted his eyebrows together in concern. "You look a bit red"
Seamus' face turned even brighter. It was hardly the first time he had experimented with the thought of kissing Dean, but it was the first time he felt caught.
"I-I'm fine" he sputtered out. He was so very embarrassed.
"You don't have a fever do you?" Dean's large hand landed on his forehead, it did not make it better.
"No, I'm fine!" Seamus exclaimed and sat up, he was very thankful that he had put his sweater in his lap when he lay down. He held it tightly in its place and rose from the spot. Although a light breeze could’ve easily put him in the same predicament, Seamus could probably explain it away, it didn’t make it any less embarrassing.
"We have class! McGonagall is gonna kill us if we're absent again"
Dean seemed surprised that Seamus actually cared about that, but nodded nonetheless and started packing up his art supplies.
"You're right, we should hurry"
"I need the bathroom so I'll run ahead and see you there. Okay?" he didn't wait for Dean's response but ran as fast as he could back to the castle. Hopefully strengthening the farce that he just desperately needed to piss or something. He had to hide away for a bit before anyone saw him. Further embarrassment he could do without.
Was he ashamed? Yes. Could he help it? No.
Seamus was very much in touch with his feelings and he was quite sure that he liked Dean a little more than he cared to admit.
The reason that Dean painted… well he wasn't quite sure himself.
It was partly because he wanted to show his little sister all the wondrous things he saw at Hogwarts, and a magic camera was way too expensive. He wasn't sure a muggle one would work at Hogwarts either. So other than showing her an already existing book illustration or two, drawing the things he saw was the next best option.
He had lately taught himself a spell that could make his drawings come alive and rise from the paper, for a little while at least. Like a short animation projected over his parchment. As soon as he turned seventeen he would show his sisters this trick, but for now he could prepare them at Hogwarts and hope they survived the trip home. Before deflating back into a two dimensional drawing. So far he hadn’t managed to keep them up for more than a few hours.
He had also learnt that said spell proved to be a good party trick.
Another reason was that it was something his older cousins couldn't do. And he liked that.
They were all profiscent footballers, they were studious, but they couldn’t draw like Dean could. Sure enough, they couldn’t do magic either but Dean wasn’t allowed to show them that. No drawing was what set Dean apart from the others in his family. It was the one thing his grandmother bragged about him with.
Then there was also Seamus who in their second year once told him that he'd like a portrait of himself, only not a magical one. He thought it would be creepy to be able to speak to himself. Dean knew that they only had inanimate paintings in Seamus' house, due to the fact that his muggle father got the creeps from moving paintings as well.
The photographs were bad enough, he had told Dean when he visited.
So Dean drew a lot, and painted and sometimes even sculpted.
And he never thought it strange that most of his work were of Seamus. He was his best friend after all and they spent almost all their time together. In an early stage of an artist’s career, when you were still learning, the artist sketched what was nearby - and what was nearby was always Seamus. So naturally Dean's drawings would be of the Irish boy. And did you ever really finish learning anyway? Perhaps Dean would just draw Seamus for the rest of his life. Just like how Monet painted hundreds of versions of the same bridge. Seamus was Dean’s japanese footbridge over a pond of lillies. Except it was Milkshake stretched out on a grassy knoll.
There was nothing strange about that.
They had a normal third year, the dangerous occurrences that almost always seemed to affect their classmates went by them almost unnoticed. It was of course hard not to notice that Sirius Black was on the run, especially when it turned out he’d been inside their dorm, but other than that they weren't affected. Honestly they had started to get desensitized to these sorts of things.
They hung out, relaxed and didn't pay much attention to anything that hadn't something to do with them personally.
If they had known that this would be their last normal and relaxed year at Hogwarts, perhaps they would have cherished it more…