Dean

The Yule Ball had only started an hour ago, but Dean already wished it was over.
The walls of the Great Hall glittered with artificial frost that he knew Professor Flitwick had charmed to keep it from melting, and the house tables had been replaced with smaller tables, all lit by lanterns and decorated festively. The teachers had gone all-out to impress the guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. Dean wished he was sitting with Seamus, so they could have a good laugh at how over-the-top it all was. But Seamus was a few seats down, and by the looks of it, engrossed in conversation with Lavender, who was his date.
Seamus had asked Lavender to go to the ball with him last week. He and Dean were among the last boys in the year to secure dates, apart from Harry and Ron. Bloody hell, even Neville had found someone before they did. Dean had considered asking Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff – he’d heard from Ernie Macmillan that no one had asked her yet – but something stopped him. A tiny sliver of hope, buried deep inside him that try as he might, he couldn’t ignore.
  But one night Seamus had come into the common room slightly flushed in the face, flopped into an armchair beside him and said, “Guess who just got a date to the ball?”
“Oh, bloody hell,” Dean had said. “Don’t tell me it’s Harry and Ron. If they did, we’re the only losers left with no dates.”
“Not them,” Seamus had said, looking at Dean’s shoulder as if determined to avoid eye contact. “Me.”
Dean had felt a plunging sensation in his chest, like something was falling very fast and very far inside him.
“You?” he’d said, and he’d been dismayed to hear the note of disappointment that had crept involuntarily into his voice.
“I asked Lavender just now, and she said yeah.” Seamus’ eyes had flicked up to meet his for a moment. For once, Dean couldn’t read the expression on his best friend’s face.
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, there’s still a few girls no one’s asked yet. You might even get a Beauxbatons one.”
“Yeah,” Dean had found himself saying. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”
They hadn’t discussed the topic of dates again, but the next day Dean had asked a girl named Céline from Beauxbatons if she’d go with him and thankfully, she’d agreed. She was nice enough, Dean thought, but sustaining a polite conversation with her was exhausting. Nothing like the easy banter between him and Seamus, which was effortless. He’d also noticed that Céline didn’t have much in the way of a sense of humour; he’d gotten so used to Seamus laughing his head off at every joke he told that he’d forgotten some people didn’t find the same things funny they did. He imagined how much he’d be enjoying himself if neither he nor Seamus had gotten dates; they could have stuffed themselves with all the delicious food being served, sussed out who was here with who, and laughed at Ron’s hideous dress robes. Instead, he just wanted the night to end so he could go back to the Gryffindor dormitory.
When everyone had finished eating, Dumbledore asked them all to stand up. He then waved his wand, making the tables shoot back against the walls and clearing the floor. He conjured up a stage on one side of the room. The Weird Sisters, who Seamus had introduced him to in their first year, climbed up on stage and began to play a slow, sad song. The lanterns dimmed as the dance floor lit up, and the four champions and their partners stood up. Dean saw Parvati Patil nudging Harry, who looked like he had no idea what was going on; he tripped over his dress robes when he stood up. Instinctively, Dean leaned forward and looked down the table at Seamus. As they made eye contact, they both grinned. Dean felt that flood of warmth that came with sharing an inside joke, and maybe with something else too.
As soon as the champions finished their first dance – during which Harry looked hilariously awkward – everyone else flooded onto the dance floor. Dean saw Hermione Granger, barely recognisable with sleek hair and a blue dress, dancing with Viktor Krum. His first impulse was to turn to Seamus and point this out, but Seamus and Lavender had left the table. In fact, everyone had, except him and Céline.
“Can we dance now?” Céline asked.
“Sure. Let’s go.” Dean tried to smile at her, but it fell flat.
As they weaved their way onto the crowded dance floor, Dean felt his eyes searching the crowd for Seamus.
“Is something wrong?” Céline said, watching him. “Did you lose something?”
Dean shook his head. He tried to dance with Céline like he was having a good time, but he couldn’t stop wondering where Seamus was. If he was dancing with Lavender. Why he’d even asked her to the ball in the first place. Did Seamus fancy Lavender? Surely he, Dean, would have noticed if that was the case?
After a couple of songs, Dean told Céline he had to go to the bathroom. He squeezed through the crowd and walked quickly away from the dance floor. The Weird Sisters were now playing a fast song with a pounding bass line that he could feel vibrating in his chest. He caught sight of Harry and Ron sitting at a table by themselves, looking thoroughly depressed. It seemed to Dean that their dates had abandoned them. He considered joining them for a split second, but decided against it.
Instead, he went to the nearest bathroom, locked himself in and sat down on the closed toilet lid, his head in his hands.

Seamus

When Seamus had asked Lavender Brown to the Yule Ball, he’d forgotten one small fact: Lavender was a giggler.
She giggled at everything. Everything he said, even “Blimey, these are good potatoes”, was apparently funny enough to make her giggle for twenty seconds straight. And when she caught sight of Ron’s dress robes, she giggled so hard she had tears in her eyes. Okay, sure, the dress robes were hideous, but they weren’t that funny.
It was better when they started dancing. The music was so loud he couldn’t hear anything over it. But after three or four songs, Parvati appeared out of nowhere and dragged Lavender off the dance floor. Lavender caught hold of Seamus’ wrist, pulling him with her. The three of them sat down at a table in the corner, where Parvati started telling Lavender about how Harry and Ron didn’t even want to dance with her and Padma. She ignored Seamus the whole time, and so did Lavender.
“I mean, why did he ask me to be his date if he was just going to ignore me all night?” Parvati said.
“Boys are stupid,” Lavender replied solemnly.
“I’m right here,” Seamus said. Neither of them seemed to hear him.
As they continued their conversation, Seamus leaned back in his chair and looked around the Great Hall, trying to spot Dean. They’d been sitting at the same table for dinner, but had gotten separated when the dancing started. He supposed Dean must be somewhere in the crowd that filled the dance floor. He wondered if he was dancing with that Beauxbatons girl. Seamus didn’t even know her name. Still, he’d decided he didn’t like her.
Twenty minutes later, Lavender and Parvati were still too wrapped up in their conversation to notice him. He stood up and walked away, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. Neither of them realised he’d gone.
The night had suddenly stopped being fun. Or maybe it never had been.
All he wanted was to go back to the dormitory.
Well, actually, there was something else he wanted more. But he couldn’t think about that.
As he passed the dance floor, he saw Neville dancing with Ginny Weasley. Even Neville’s having a good time, he thought sourly to himself. He hadn’t expected the night to go like this. He’d thought maybe…
It was his own fault. Why had he asked Lavender to come to the ball with him? He supposed it was partly because she’d been one of the few girls left without a date. And because he’d known her since their first year. But mostly…mostly it was because he’d wanted to see how Dean would react. He’d wanted to see jealousy, maybe even anger, in Dean’s eyes. But he hadn’t. And Dean hadn’t said anything.
As he was leaving the Great Hall, he bumped into someone and opened his mouth to apologise, until he realised it was Dean. He froze, lips parted, staring at his best friend. Dean looked as unhappy as Seamus felt.
“Where were you?” Seamus asked.
“Bathroom,” Dean muttered. Then he narrowed his eyes at Seamus. “Are you leaving?”
Seamus shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “This ball thing is dumb. So overrated.”
“I know,” Dean said. Then he grinned suddenly. “But it was worth it to see Harry dancing.”
Seamus cracked up. “And tripping over his dress robes when he tried to stand up.”
Dean snorted, and before they knew it, they were both roaring with laughter. Something in Seamus’s chest grew wings and soared. This was what he loved about being friends with Dean; a single glance between them could make him laugh until he cried. It didn’t have to be something especially funny. Most of the time, it wasn’t that funny. But one of them would always set the other one off, and they’d laugh until their stomachs cramped up.
This time was different, though. They both stopped laughing abruptly, a wedge of awkwardness between them. Dean looked at Seamus, and Seamus saw fear in his familiar face. Someone who didn’t know Dean well wouldn’t have spotted it, but to Seamus it was as obvious as a glaring neon sign.
Dean opened his mouth slightly, as if to speak, then bit his lip.
“What?” Seamus said.
Dean exhaled slowly, steeling himself. Something writhed in Seamus’s stomach at the thought of what Dean might be about to say. Was he nervous? Why was he nervous?
“Look, Seamus –” Dean started, but at that moment, Dean’s date from Beauxbatons appeared beside them out of nowhere, as if she’d Apparated to their side.
“Céline,” Dean said, stunned.
“Dean!” she said, smiling at him, her face flushed from dancing. “Where did you go?”
Seamus looked at her wide blue eyes, her dimples, her Cupid’s bow lips. He looked at her and he hated her. For reasons he couldn’t explain, she stirred a feeling of visceral dislike in him. He wondered if it showed on his face.
“I – I just went to the bathroom,” Dean said. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, but Céline didn’t seem to notice.
“Oh,” she said brightly. “Okay. Come on, let’s dance. I love this song!” And just like that, she grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him back towards the dance floor. Dean glanced over his shoulder at Seamus as he was dragged away, his expression apologetic.
Seamus was left standing alone by the doors. He felt himself scowling and quickly smoothed his features into a neutral mask. Why was he so angry anyway? Because Dean was dancing with his date while Lavender was more interested in Parvati than him? But he wasn’t just angry. Even though he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was upset.
“Seamus? Are you all right?”
It was Neville, red-faced and beaming, Ginny Weasley beside him. He was clutching two Butterbeers while Ginny massaged her feet. Seamus had seen Neville stepping on them clumsily while they danced.
“Fine,” Seamus said sourly. The scowl was back.
“We’re just going to sit down and have a drink,” Neville said cheerfully. “Want to join us?”
“No,” Seamus snapped. Neville’s smile slipped. Seamus knew he was being rude, but he couldn’t help it. He was dealing with his anger the only way he knew how; by lashing out at anyone near him.
Before Neville could respond, Seamus turned on his heel and stormed out of the Great Hall. He walked alone through the silent castle, up empty staircases and along deserted corridors, until he reached the Gryffindor Common Room. There, he sank into an armchair by the fire and stared into the crackling flames, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

Dean

Dean danced with Céline until his feet ached. Every time she looked at him, he plastered a false smile onto his face and pretended to be having a great time. When she looked away again, he felt his face fall. Everyone else looked happy. Why was he the only one not having fun?
He knew why. Because he’d been about to tell Seamus the truth – he’d been so close – and he’d been interrupted. He’d felt the words on his tongue, clamouring to escape. He’d felt himself about to be unburdened, for better or for worse, of his secret. But it was still lodged in his chest like a stone, heavy and solid. He’d never get another opportunity like that again. He’d never get a rush of courage like that again.
It wasn’t his feelings for Seamus that he was afraid of. It was how Seamus would react if he knew. What if he didn’t feel the same way? Then their friendship would be ruined, and Seamus’s friendship was the most important thing in Dean’s life. He’d never sacrifice it for anything. But if there was a chance that he wasn’t the only one keeping a secret…
Suddenly Dean couldn’t take it anymore. He stopped dancing. Céline looked at him, puzzled. He beckoned her to come with him, and weaved his way carefully off the dance floor. When they were out of the maze of sweaty bodies and flailing arms, he turned to her. She was wearing a baby blue dress, and she really did look very pretty. He hadn’t noticed before.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, frowning.
“No,” he said. “I just – I don’t feel well. I think I should go. Call it a night. I’m sorry.”
She scrutinised him for a moment, her head tilted to one side. “Dean,” she said. “Did you want to come here with me tonight?”
“What do you mean?” Dean said, taken aback.
“You wanted to come with your friend, didn’t you?”
“My – what friend?” Dean couldn’t believe she was so perceptive. Were his feelings that transparent? He’d thought he was good at hiding them; had he been wrong all along?
“It’s okay,” Céline said, smiling. “I’m sure I can find someone else to dance with me. Bonsoir, Dean.” She rose up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then she turned around and dissolved back into the crowd on the dance floor. Within seconds, a boy from Beauxbatons was dancing with her.
Dean turned around slowly, still reeling from that unexpected exchange, and scanned the Great Hall for Lavender. He found her in a corner, deep in conversation with Parvati.
“Hey,” he said. “D’you know where Seamus is?”
Lavender blinked at him, as though she hadn’t even noticed Seamus wasn’t there. “Oh,” she said. “Um. I don’t know. Maybe the bathroom?”
Dean felt a prickle of irritation. “He didn’t say where he was going?” he asked.
Lavender shrugged, shook her head, and turned back to Parvati.
“Are you looking for Seamus?” Neville asked. He was sitting at the next table with Ron’s sister Ginny. He had a Butterbeer moustache on his upper lip but didn’t seem to know or care.
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Have you seen him?”
“He left,” Neville said. “I think he was going back to the common room.”
“Thanks, mate,” Dean said, and walked quickly towards the doors. Outside the Great Hall, the castle was silent and deserted. The only movement, apart from Dean himself, was the staircases moving every so often. As he passed a suit of armour, it burst into the chorus of “God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs”.
“Oh, shut up,” he said half-heartedly.
He climbed the stairs until he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She seemed extremely tipsy, lolling against the side of her frame, red-cheeked and giggly.
“So you left early too, did you?” she asked, focusing on him with difficulty.
“Is Seamus in there?” Dean asked her.
“Seamus?” she said, scrunching up her forehead. “Remind me again who – hic – Seamus is? He’s not the – hic – ginger one, is he?”
“Oh, forget it,” he said impatiently. “Just let me in, will you? I forgot the password.”
She winked at him. “Only because it’s – hic – Christmas.” She swung open, and Dean climbed through the portrait hole into the common room. At first he thought it was empty, but then he saw Seamus in an armchair by the fire.
He approached slowly, dropping into the closest armchair without making eye contact with his best friend. “Hey,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the fire.
“Hi,” Seamus said.
“You left early.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Wasn’t much fun, really.”
“What about Céline?” Seamus asked, with an unusual tinge of coldness.
“She’s dancing with some other guy,” Dean said. “I wasn’t really up to it anymore.”
They were silent for a few seconds. Dean snuck a glance at Seamus. He couldn’t read his expression, but he knew every freckle on Seamus’s face like the palm of his hand. As that thought flitted across his mind, he wondered where it had come from.
“So,” Seamus said eventually. “Were you trying to tell me something earlier?”
“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat, heat rushing to his face. He’d never felt more uncomfortable in his life, but he knew he had to come clean. He’d kept things to himself for too long. That was another thing he loved about his friendship with Seamus; before he met Seamus, he was always closed-off and remote, unwilling to discuss how he felt, even with his family. Seamus made him open up like a flower unfurling its petals towards the light.
“I’m listening,” Seamus said.
Dean tried to form the words in his head before he said them. They had to come out just right. If he’d only rehearsed this earlier… Why hadn’t he thought of that? Now he looked like an idiot, mouth open but nothing coming out. Seamus raised his eyebrows. Dean suddenly remembered how Seamus had managed to burn off his eyebrows in Charms in their first year, when a simple spell to levitate a feather had gone wrong. They’d laughed so hard once Professor Flitwick restored Seamus’s eyebrows with a quick spell.
“Before you say anything, I want to ask you something,” Seamus said abruptly.
“What?”
“Who did you want to go to the ball with?”
Seamus was looking him straight in the eye. Dean faltered under his piercing gaze. “I don’t know.” He paused. “Did you want to go with Lavender?”
“I don’t know,” Seamus said, throwing Dean’s answer back at him.
Dean swallowed. His throat was dry. “Look, Seamus, I –”
“You didn’t say anything,” Seamus said. There was anger in his voice now, too.
“When?” Dean asked.
“When I asked Lavender to the ball,” Seamus said. “You could’ve said something. If you had a problem with it.”
“Why would I have a problem with it?” Dean said, then cursed himself internally. This was the perfect opportunity to tell Seamus the truth; why was he still keeping it bottled up? What was the worst that could happen? If Seamus didn’t return his feelings, he could just pass it off as a joke, say he’d had a Firewhisky at the ball, pretend he hadn’t meant it. It didn’t have to be the end of their friendship.
“I don’t know,” Seamus said, sitting up angrily in his armchair. “Why would you?”
They glared at each other for a moment.
“If you want to ask me something, just ask me,” Dean said.
“You first,” Seamus shot back. “You wanted to say something. Say it.” When Dean didn’t speak, Seamus leaned towards him slightly. “Go on, Dean. Say it. Stop being an idiot and say what you really mean.”
Dean felt a sudden burst of courage inside him, and without giving himself time to change his mind, he leaned forward and kissed Seamus full on the mouth.

Seamus

Dean kissed him. For a second, Seamus was stunned. Too stunned to react. Then he kissed Dean back, his anger evaporating on the spot. After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, they broke apart.
Seamus stared at his best friend, and Dean stared back. Silence swelled between them. They’d crossed from something they’d always known into completely new territory; neither of them knew what to say.
“See?” Seamus said, with a shaky laugh. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“So you…” Dean looked down at the floor. Seamus wanted to reach out and tilt his chin up, but he restrained himself. “You fancy me?”
“Yeah, you idiot,” Seamus said. “And you obviously fancy me too. Who could’ve guessed you’d make the first move?”
“How long?” Dean asked.
“About a year,” Seamus said. “You?”
Dean nodded. “Same.”
They lapsed back into silence. Dean looked at Seamus, then away, then back again.
“I’ve made it weird now,” he said, his eyebrows knitting together.
“Get over it,” Seamus said lightly. “There’s no going back now, is there?”
“It just felt so wrong,” Dean said. “Going to the ball with Céline, I mean.”
“Yeah, with Lavender too.”
Dean pressed his lips together. They met eyes, and burst out laughing at the same time. Seamus couldn’t believe how much lighter he suddenly felt, as if he’d been untethered from a great weight and was now floating freely. He wanted to kiss Dean again. The first one had ended too quickly.
“Before we do anything, let’s make a deal,” Dean said suddenly. “That no matter what, we stay friends.”
“You had to make it cheesy,” Seamus muttered.
“I’m serious,” Dean said. “I – I can’t lose you.” He looked down as he said it, embarrassed. Seamus was embarrassed too, but he felt exactly the same way. He’d wanted Dean to be his boyfriend for a long time now, but if for some reason it didn’t work out, he’d always want him to be his best friend.
“Okay,” Seamus said. “Okay, deal.”
When they kissed again, Seamus thought his heart would burst.