Archive of Our Own

Seamus would know the smell of Exploding Charms and Blasting Curses anywhere. The scent catching his attention and pulling him down an empty corridor on his way back from supper, waving off his friends and wandering after it almost as if on instinct. Perhaps it was, perhaps his skin was itching to blow something up again, the sweet hum of his magic guiding his feet down a staircase to a second, darker corridor.

The thrill he felt when that bridge collapsed…Bloody Hell, it was better than a blowie, he’d reckon. Not that he’d had too many of those to compare it to. That’s the thing about a war going on during your most imperative developmental years. Things get a little wonky and out of sorts.

He wonders what it would feel like to be pressed against one of the cold stone walls, hard line of another body pressing into him, the only sound their shared breath and tiny gasps of pleasure. The images form before he can stop them. Suddenly the figure he’s imagining isn’t shapeless or nameless anymore.

Dean, tall and lean with beautiful, rich brown skin and soft eyes that Seamus could easily let himself fall in love with if Dean wasn’t so painfully straight and in love with Ginny. The hair turns from black to red, Ron’s freckled face looming above Seamus now. He’d filled out quite a lot between the end of the war and the start of their eighth year. He and Harry had started training so they were ready to join the aurors once they finished their NEWTs this year. Seamus had showed them the muggle weights he had stashed away and the three of them would work out together. They all had put on a good bit of bulk. Seamus particularly liked to watch Harry when he did squats and oh Gods, Harry. He had been on rotation in Seamus’ wank fantasies since he discovered he liked blokes in fourth year when he had accidentally walked into the Slytherin quidditch locker room looking for Harry and Dean. Theodore Nott was turned away from him. Bloody naked. Full, perfect arse on display and Seamus’ brain just kind of stopped working and he’s not sure he’s been the same since. In retrospect, it made his little obsession with Professor Lupin in third year make a bit more sense, too. Now that was one fit bloke.

Nott had merely turned towards him, tall, toned body on display. He shot him a devious smirk like he knew exactly what thoughts had started churning in Seamus’ head, before turning back to continue fixing his hair in the mirror without saying a word. Seamus had to physically tear his eyes away from Nott’s arse. Gorgeous bloody work of art, it was. He quickly retreated out into the crisp autumn air and pressed his palm to his cock, breathing hard and trying to convince himself it was normal to get hard from seeing a bloke naked.

Teenage hormones, that’s all it was.

It was not all it was, Seamus quickly found out. His eyes found Nott in every room after that. Years spent staring at the Slytherin table across the Great Hall, watching him laugh at something Zabini or Malfoy had said. The way Daphne Greengrass would lean just a little too close and Seamus’ spine would straighten, a chill washing over him before he forced his gaze away.

The way Nott had looked at him in the showers all those years ago still haunted him a bit, if he was being honest. He almost wishes Nott had been cruel about it. Sneered at him, thrown an insult, calling him a dirty half-blood, anything that would’ve been easier to stomach, easier to dismiss. But no, Nott had looked amused. Curious. Like Seamus walking in on him naked had been the most interesting thing to happen all week. And Seamus had hated him for that.

Hated the easy confidence of him. The pure-blood sharpness in his face. Hated how unaffected he always seemed by everything. Like the war hadn’t clawed through all of them and left only hollow shells.

Another explosion rattled the stones beneath his feet. Seamus grinned before he could stop himself.

“Oh, that’s gorgeous.”

The corridor narrowed before taking a sharp turn into an arched passageway half-concealed behind a large, torn tapestry. Finally, he stopped at an old wooden door. Faint orange light flickered beneath it. Heat licked through the crack near the floor. Someone had warded the room heavily. Seamus could feel it buzzing against his skin. Privacy charms layered over silencing spells layered over something darker and older that tasted metallic in the air.

He pushed the door open anyway. If he got hexed, well, it had to be better than whatever it was he felt now. Empty? Numb? No, he rather thinks a hex might feel good at this point, just to feel anything at all. But no such thing came.

When he walked in, the classroom looked like a battlefield. Desks overturned. Splintered wood everywhere. One wall blackened entirely with scorch marks. Glass glittered across the floor like ice on a particularly sunny day. A suit of armor lay in pieces near the windows, one gauntleted hand still twitching from residual magic.

And in the middle of it all stood Theodore Nott. His sleeves rolled to his elbows, tie gone, white shirt partially unbuttoned and smeared with ash. His wand was in a loose grip in his hand.

A bottle of rum sat on the desk beside him.

Nott turned at the sound of the door scraping against the stone floor and for one suspended second neither of them spoke.

Then Nott sighed. “You’ve got to be joking.”

Seamus stepped fully inside, shutting the door behind him. “I smelled a Confrigo.”

“That sentence alone explains so much about you.”

Seamus barked a laugh, the sound foreign to him after so many months of melancholy. He winced as it bounced off the walls, loud and abrasive in a way he was sure annoyed Nott, given by the look on his face as he swept his eyes up and down Seamus.

He wasn’t in his robes. Eighth years didn’t have to wear them, one of the perks of coming back this term. Instead, he was dressed in a solid grey jumper and muggle jeans. Of course Nott would have a problem with it. He and his family might have skated by and played the middle during the war, but Seamus knew a blood purity bastard when he saw one.

Still, there was something different about Nott up close. He still looked fit as ever, crisp white shirt snug against the muscles of his half exposed chest, fitted perfectly over his broad shoulders, and he had grown again, gaining another inch or two on Seamus since last year now almost a full head taller. Lightly tanned skin and olive-green eyes, dark brown hair that looked like it had once been neatly styled but was now falling over his forehead sticky with sweat, curling around his ears. But his features are a bit sharper than usual, like he hadn’t been eating properly and his cheeks had sunk in. There was also the unmistakable dark circles around his eyes that no amount of Slytherin arrogance could hide.

The longer he looked, though, he saw a spark of something alive in Nott’s eyes. Seamus knew what it was like he knew the back of his own hand. Frantic and raw, something Seamus knew intimately.

His eyes drifted towards the smoking crater in the center of the room. Seamus was desperate to break the tension building in the air, body trembling as his hand ached to reach for his wand and cast the first curse he could think of to send chunks of stone soaring through the room.

“What’d you use for that?” Seamus asked casually.

“Modified Blasting Curse,” Nott said curtly.

Seamus’ eyebrows shot up. Well, eyebrow and a half. The right one never grew back in properly after the incident in first year. Dean had said it made him look rugged. Dangerous, even.

“Modified how?”

Nott’s lips curved upwards, proud of himself. Seamus tried not to stare as Nott’s tongue darted out to wet them, biting down on his plump bottom lip for a moment before responding. That smile’s the most dangerous thing in this bloody room, Seamus thought.

“The explosion folds inward first.” Nott flicked his wand toward a broken chair near the wall.

“The hell does that mean?”

“You Gryffindor’s really are as thick as they say.”

Before Seamus could shout something in offense, Nott raised his wand and the chair imploded. Not exploded, imploded. Wood snapped inward violently before detonating outward half a second later with enough force to blast shards all across the room.

Seamus actually moaned. Nott stared at him.

“That,” Seamus declared, “is the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Nott’s expression almost cracked, Seamus saw his eyes brighten for half a second before he shut it all back down. Which is unfortunate because Nott was rather beautiful when he laughed. Not that he’d ever laughed with Seamus, at him maybe, but Seamus had spent enough time watching him across the Great Hall or in class to notice the way his eyes crinkled and that he had a tiny dimple on the left side of his face that only made an appearance on rare occasions.

Seamus found himself determined to coax that dimple out of hiding.

“You’re deranged,” Nott muttered.

Seamus shrugged. “Takes one to know one.”

He walked further into the room when Nott didn’t respond or move to kick him out. He toed at a few pieces of debris.

“So, what is this exactly?”

“A room,” Nott deadpanned.

“A room where you commit acts of magical terrorism?”

“A room where things are allowed to break,” Nott said a touch quieter than before.

The words hit Seamus like a bludger. He understood exactly what Nott had meant. The castle expected them all to move on now. Smile again. Study for NEWTs. Pretend they weren’t eighteen with blood and death permanently etched into their cores.

Rage didn’t vanish just because the war did, though. It sat in beneath his ribs and festered, banging on the cage of bones he had made around it, scared to let it escape now that there was no safe outlet for it anymore.

Sometimes Seamus still dreamt about the bridge collapsing beneath the Snatchers. About the rush of adrenaline and power that had surged through him, tearing out of his throat in a frantic war cry. The terrible, glorious thrill of destruction.

After, he had thrown up behind a pile of rubble and cried so hard he nearly blacked out. But for that one perfect moment before the horror set in, he had felt powerful.

Nott was watching him now, scrutinizing like he could see every ugly thought in Seamus’ head.

“You can stay,” he said abruptly. “If you want. I won’t hex you unless you truly deserve it.”

Seamus swears Nott’s cheeks were tinged with the lightest dusting of pink.

Seamus looked at the bottle of rum, then at the destroyed classroom, then at Nott himself.

“Only if you let me blow something up.”

▪────────▪

They had spent hours in that classroom, taking turns throwing curses and drinking rum out of mugs Nott had transfigured for them. They didn’t say much to each other, at least not at first. The room itself did most of the talking.

The crash of splintering wood. The crack of each spell that flew from their wands. Heavy breathing, firelight, rum burning down Seamus’ throat, warming his belly. It became comfortable quickly.

A week after stumbling across the room for the first time, Seamus found himself unable to stop thinking about it. About him.

Nott hadn’t invited him back. Hadn’t said much more than a stilted goodbye and a head nod in Seamus’ direction as he slinked out of the room well into the night. That really should have been enough indication he wasn’t wanted there.

And yet.

Every morning at breakfast Seamus would catch dark eyes darting toward him from the end of the table before flicking away just as fast. In the eighth-year common room, Nott would look up from whatever book he was pretending to read whenever Seamus walked in soaking wet from their pick-up Quidditch games—since eighth-years weren’t allowed on the house teams—or laughing too loud with Dean and Neville.

If Seamus didn’t know better he would think Nott was checking, making sure Seamus was there. It did strange things to Seamus’ chest. Nott was a git, what did Seamus care if he was looking at him or not?

But by Friday evening he could practically feel the pull beneath his skin again. That familiar itch in his magic like an electric current humming somewhere deep in his bones. Without really deciding to, he found himself wandering the same corridors again. He crept down the dark staircase, past the ripped tapestry, toward the hidden classroom. The wards recognized him this time, he could feel them wrap around him like a silent acknowledgment and it sent a shiver down his spine. They peeled back almost lazily against his skin as he approached the door.

Seamus was surprised Nott added his magical signature to the wards. It filled him with a pleased sort of warmth. He shook it off, pushing open the door and stepping inside more confidently than he felt.

Nott was standing at the far wall with his sleeves shoved up again, wand raised toward an ancient wardrobe already hanging halfway off its hinges. He looked over at Seamus, expression unreadable.

“You’re back,” Nott said like it was a simple observation. Seamus could’ve sworn he sounded mildly relieved, though.

Seamus leaned against the doorway with a grin. “You saying that like you weren’t practically begging me with your eyes at supper?”

Nott rolled his eyes, but there was the faintest hint of color high on his cheekbones.

“Why would I need to beg you for anything, Finnigan?”

Seamus didn’t let Nott’s icy tone throw him, though it did burrow into his brain to pick apart later.

“You fancy me a little bit, is it?”

Nott flicked his wand and the wardrobe exploded violently beside Seamus’ head. Seamus burst into delighted laughter, the tension built up in his body slowly releasing.

“Oh, definitely fancy me then.”

Nott was smiling now despite himself, small and unremarkable, but real enough to send Seamus’ stomach twisting into knots. Godric. There it was again, that not unpleasant, but not quite comfortable warm feeling. It didn’t even dissipate as the smile turned to a scowl.

Seamus wandered further into the room, pulling his jumper over his head to reveal a plain white t-shirt underneath. He tossed the jumper over one of the few chairs left intact. “Right. What’re we destroying tonight?”

Nott nodded towards a stack of cracked stone busts piled near a wall. “Found those in storage.”

“Bit boring.”

Nott raised a haughty eyebrow in his direction. “You’ve been here twice and all of a sudden you’re an expert?”

“Absolutely.”

Seamus grabbed the rum bottle off the desk and took a long pull straight from it before handing it over. Their fingers brushed for half a second. Stupid thing to notice. Stupider thing for it to matter. But Nott noticed it too. Seamus could tell by the brief pause before he took the bottle.

“You know what this room needs?” Seamus said.

“What?”

“A chandelier.”

Nott blinked. “A chandelier.” He sounded bored. Seamus hated it.

“Yeah. Massive one. We hang it from the ceiling and see who can bring it down in the most dramatic fashion possible.”

Nott stared at him for a long moment. Sweat began to form at the back of Seamus’ neck. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Stupid idea. Why did he say that?

But then something beautiful happened. Nott snorted unexpectedly into the bottle, the sound startling both of them. It wasn’t the carefully restrained, polished, almost cruel laugh he’d heard from the Slytherin throughout their years at Hogwarts. Merlin, no, this was real and Seamus found himself staring before remembering himself and pulling his gaze back to the stone floor.

Nott had caught him though. “What?” The word sharp as daggers cutting between his lips.

“Nothing,” Seamus said, perhaps a little too quickly.

“You were looking at me strangely.”

Seamus looked up at him again. “You laughed strangely.”

Nott looked offended, scowling at him. “I do not laugh strangely.”

Fuck it, Seamus thought. Where’s that famous Gryffindor courage he was always going on about? He’d cross a bloody battlefield at seventeen. Survived explosions and curses and watching people die. Surely he could survive flirting with one miserable Slytherin.

Besides, recklessness had always been his thing.

“S’alright,” Seamus said in a low voice. “It was kinda cute.”

“I hate you,” Nott said, though there was no real venom to it. The heat blooming high across his cheekbones ruined the effect anyway.

Another tiny detail about Theodore Nott for Seamus to file away for later.

Nott turned away quickly after that, taking another long swallow of rum like he regretted letting Seamus come here at all.

“No you don’t.” The words slipped out lightly, teasingly. Like they would with any other mate. But he and Nott weren’t mates, were they?

Meeting twice in an abandoned classroom to blow shit up and drink themselves half-senseless didn’t exactly qualify for the title of mate. But it was something, because the silence that fell between them was heavier than it should have been.

The room smelled like rum and smoke and magic. Their magic, mixed together and filling the room til it was suffocating. Seamus had the strangest urge to reach out and touch the Slytherin. Dangerous thought. Very dangerous thought, indeed.

When Nott finally turned to look at him again, his face was schooled back into one of unreadable indifference. The same one he wore for everyone at Hogwarts now. Seamus is beginning to think it’s less natural composure and more like armor.

Maybe the war wasn’t as easy on him as Seamus originally thought. Not that Seamus had ever believed Nott had escaped it untouched exactly, but there was a difference between knowing something happened to someone and truly seeing what it left behind.

Nott looked how Seamus felt most days, like someone had taken a blade and carved out everything soft inside that made them human, leaving only scraps and gaping, angry looking hollow pockets.

Nott carried himself like a man holding his own ribs together.

Seamus doesn’t imagine it’s been easy—people whispering about his father, about the Death Eaters, about where he had been during the battle and whether he’d fought and for whom. Seamus had heard enough muttered conversations in corridors to know plenty of people thought Nott got off easy. But nobody talked about the way Nott moved through the castle now like a ghost haunting his own life.

Only two other Slytherin’s had come back for eighth year. Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass. Much to Seamus’ displeasure on the latter especially. Daphne still draped herself over Nott in the Great Hall and in the corridors. Nott never looked particularly pleased about it but he had never shrugged her off either.

The three of them tried to walk to and from classes as quick as possible to avoid being vulnerable. Malfoy had it worst by far. People stared at him openly in the corridors, the first and second years looking particularly afraid like he might turn and cast an Unforgivable on them. Most people sneered, some whispered loud enough for him to hear. A few particularly brave idiots had started throwing hexes the first week back until Harry cornered half the eighth years in the common room one night and informed everyone he’d personally remove their bollocks if another spell so much as grazed Malfoy’s robes.

Things improved after that. But Seamus wasn’t an idiot. He knew people were angry. Hurt. Grieving. Some of them had buried parents over the summer. Some had buried siblings. Fred’s memory still felt like a physical wound every time Seamus walked into the Great Hall. Hatred didn’t disappear just because the battle ended and some people were never going to stop taking it out on the ones they blamed for it. They were just getting smarter about hiding it.

Nott never reacted when it happened. That part especially made Seamus’ concerns worse. A muttered Death Eater Scum in the corridor or someone shoulder checking him hard enough to send his books tumbling from his arms. Even a tripping jinx shot right at his feet, only being stopped by Daphne’s quick wand work casting a shield charm. Nott had endured it all with the same cold, detached expression. Like he thought he deserved it.

Seamus hated that look on him. He was so lifeless outside of this classroom. But here, with smoke curling through the air and broken furniture scattered around them, Nott almost resembled a real person again. Here he rolled his eyes and sneered and got flushed from rum. Here he looked at Seamus like he wanted things.

Maybe that’s why Seamus knew he was going to keep coming back. Not because of the explosions or the deeply satisfying thrill of getting Nott to lose control enough to smile. But because Seamus recognized that emptiness in him. That rage. The awful restless feeling beneath the skin that made you want to scratch until you bled.

Most people at Hogwarts wanted to forget the war ever happened. Seamus thought maybe Nott was one of the only people who understood it wasn’t possible.

Seamus hadn’t realized how close he had wandered to the other boy until Nott took a few measured steps back, expression tightening like Seamus had crossed some invisible line. Nott’s face pinched together, nose wrinkling in that pureblood sort of disdain that always made him look unbearably posh.

Seamus decided to leave the heavy thoughts alone for now, he didn’t much imagine Nott would be open to talking about the war with him. They barely discussed anything at all, really. Every conversation was either a sneer, a deflection, or some polished little insult meant to shove people back to where they belonged.

Seamus casually stretched his arms over his head, his spine giving a few satisfying pops. Nott’s eyes followed a path down Seamus’ body until they landed on the trail of soft brown hair below his navel that disappeared into his jeans. Nott’s eyes darkened almost imperceptibly, but Seamus was paying close enough attention to notice.

Seamus knew he looked good, is the thing. Quidditch with the lads helped, but most of it had come from the war. He had put on at least fifteen kilos of muscle over the last two years, spending entire afternoons in empty classrooms lifting the Muggle weights he’d shrunk and brought to Hogwarts. He had proper abs now and oh, did he love to show them off.

“Like what you see?” Seamus asked innocently.

“Hardly,” Nott sneered at him but once again that pretty blush was back on his cheeks. “You Gryffindors are all built like overexcited Crups.”

Seamus folded over with laughter. “Christ, that was a bit rude.”

“And yet accurate.”

The pretty blush spreading across Nott’s cheeks ruined the whole cutting aristocrat act somewhat.

Liar.

Seamus couldn’t get enough of it, the rosy pink shade of Nott’s cheeks like Amortentia. Strange, that. He couldn’t remember a time someone blushing because of him had felt more important than the actual flirting. Was this flirting? Or was it just normal banter? Was Nott just like this with everyone? No, Seamus would have noticed. Merlin, he was losing it. He didn’t even know if Nott was into blokes. Probably not. Pureblood families seemed the type to arrange marriages fresh out the womb to preserve their precious bloodlines and horrifying levels of generational repression.

But the way he looked at Seamus sometimes, like right now, well, he couldn’t quite convince himself it was purely platonic. Nott’s cold face and cutting words put on a good show, but his eyes kept betraying him every few seconds.

Seamus had always liked a bit of flirting, playful and harmless and easy. He liked attention. Always had. He liked making girls laugh. Liked making blokes flustered even more, though there had been precious few opportunities for that.

But this felt different somehow. Maybe because Nott looked annoyed by his own reactions, like every inkling of interest was something he needed to crush beneath the heel of his expensive little dragon-hide shoes.

Seamus was eager to see how far he could push him. The thought filling him with a heady rush of excitement. He could make it a game. He loved games. He loved winning them even more.

“Y’know,” Seamus teased, leaning back on the desk behind him, hands propped behind him holding him up, his shirt still riding just above his jeans, a sliver of sun-kissed skin exposed, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time staring.”

Nott reached for the rum again, scoffing before taking a swig. “You’re just unfortunately difficult to ignore. Like an Erumpet. Or a pixie infestation.”

“You wound me, Nott.”

Nott shrugged elegantly. How the fuck do you even shrug elegantly? Seamus doesn’t know except somehow Nott seems to do just that.

“If it helps, I find most people unbearable. You’re not unique.”

“And here I thought we had something special.”

Nott looked him over once more, slow and assessing. It shouldn’t have felt as intense as it did.

“You talk too much to be special, Finnigan.”

“I’m devastatingly handsome though, yeah?”

Nott scoffed softly into the rim of the bottle, pulling it away from his lips that Seamus was definitely not staring at to say, “Please. You look like you wrestle trolls recreationally.”

“And yet you keep looking.” Seamus’ voice was silky smooth despite the rapid beating of his heart that he was sure Nott could hear across the room.

Nott’s jaw ticked. For one brief second, Seamus thought he might actually say something honest. Instead Nott sneered and looked away first.

“Merlin,” he muttered. “You really are a Gryffindor. No survival instincts whatsoever.”

Nott tipped the bottle back for another drink, throat working as he swallowed. Seamus’ eyes tracked the movement against his will.

Unfair how attractive Nott had become, honestly.

He’d always been good-looking in a posh, untouchable sort of way. Pretty rich boy with expensive robes, venomous insults, and piercing green eyes that looked through people rather than at them. But the war had changed him too. Carved away whatever softness had once been there, if there had been any at all. Now Nott looked dangerous.

Lean muscle beneath rolled sleeves, rings glinting silver off long fingers wrapped around the bottle, shadows beneath his eyes that somehow only made him prettier. He’d gotten his nose pierced. Twice. A small silver hoop through one nostril and a ring through his septum. Fuck. Fuck. It should be illegal to be this bloody fit. The piercings transformed him somehow. He looked meaner. Less polished pureblood heir and more something lethal dragged out of the dark. Seamus couldn’t stop staring.

And his mouth—

Seamus abruptly dragged his gaze away. Bad idea. Very bad idea.

The git had noticed anyway, because of course he did. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of Nott’s mouth, Seamus’ eyes forced back to it like a magnet.

“Like what you see?” Nott asked lazily.

A laugh escaped Seamus then. “Oi! Now you’re stealing my lines?”

“You say enough for the both of us. Thought I’d borrow one.”

“Careful, Nott. Next thing you know, you’ll develop a personality.”

Nott’s expression went magnificently unimpressed. “Perish the thought.”

God, he was such a prick. Seamus was beginning to suspect that was part of the appeal.

“You’re insufferable,” Nott added.

“Yet you invited me back.”

“I never invited you at all, actually.”

“Ah.” Seamus nodded seriously. “So the wards recognizing me was just coincidence then?”

Nott froze, dark eyes widening briefly before his expression shuttered closed again.

And isn’t that so very telling. The wards had been adjusted for him. Nott wanted him to come back. Something hot and addictive curled low in Seamus’ stomach at the confirmation.

“You charmed them for me,” Seamus said softly.

Nott looked away as if he’d been burned, jaw clenching. “Don’t make it weird,” he muttered.

“Oh, I think we sprinted past weird ages ago.”

Nott scoffed, though it sounded thinner than usual. “You Gryffindors insist on attaching emotional significance to absolutely everything.”

“And you Slytherins pretend nothing means anything until you’re halfway to a breakdown.”

Nott’s eyes cut sharply toward him. Too close, maybe. But instead of lashing out properly, Nott only took another drink, gaze fixed somewhere over Seamus’ shoulder.

The room fell silent again, magic lingering thick in the air around them, buzzing faintly beneath Seamus’ skin. The remains of half-blown up chairs and desks and stone littered the floor, charred bits of wood still smoking in some places.

Nott moved first this time. He stepped around Seamus toward the far side of the room where an old cabinet sat against the wall. The doors burst open to reveal and stash of stolen objects from around Hogwarts.

More broken chairs, rusted cauldrons, a cracked vanity mirror. And, bizarrely—

“A suit of armor?” Seamus asked, a hint of amusement laced with his words.

Nott glanced over his shoulder, his expression carefully blank. “You seemed intrigued by the one last week. Thought it might explode nicely.”

Seamus grinned helplessly. “You romantic bastard.”

Nott rolled his eyes but Seamus caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward again.

“If this qualifies as romance to you,” Nott said dryly, “your standards are alarmingly low.”

“Only for emotionally constipated Slytherins.”

Nott actually chuckled at that. And, Godric, there it was again. That laugh.

Seamus wanted to bottle it. Capture the sound so he would never have to go without it again. He wanted to drag it from him properly. Wanted to pin Nott against one of these cracked stone walls and make him laugh until he forgot to look haunted. The thought hit him so suddenly he nearly choked on air.

Finding Nott attractive wasn’t new. But this other feeling? This persistent warmth that sat low in his gut and spread out to all his extremities? That was new. And Godric help him, he didn’t mind it.

Nott glanced back at him then, catching him. “You’re doing it again,” he drawled lazily.

Seamus didn’t even bother denying it this time. “Can you blame me?”

Nott’s mouth twitched around the rim of the bottle before he took another drink. Torchlight flashed against the silver rings on his fingers as his throat moved slowly with the swallow. Then, he held the bottle out toward Seamus. It occurred to him only then that Nott had been shamelessly hogging the rum the entire evening. Though Seamus supposed it was Nott’s bottle. He took it anyway, Nott was careful to keep their fingers from brushing this time.

“You’re staring like a confused kneazle,” Nott informed him coolly. “It’s deeply embarrassing for you.”

Seamus laughed around the rim of the bottle, taking a long drink. “Careful, Nott. Almost starting to sound fond.”

Nott looked revolted by the mere suggestion. “I’d rather throw myself off the Astronomy Tower.”

Seamus grinned, the warmth back and stronger than it had been before. He’d been here for over an hour and they hadn’t even destroyed anything, yet Seamus is sure this is a night he’s going to remember.

Merlin’s saggy ballsack, he was properly fucked now, wasn’t he?

▪────────▪

The next few weeks played out in much the same fashion—Seamus shamelessly flirting with Theo and Theo pretending he hated it while still having to turn his face away every bloody time to hide the blush creeping across his cheeks.

It quickly became one of Seamus’ favorite hobbies.

He’d push just enough to get a reaction and then sit back and watch Theo try to claw his dignity together afterward. A hand brushing accidentally-on-purpose against Theo’s wrist when passing the rum. Calling him pretty after particularly nasty insults. Leaning too close while demonstrating a spell just to watch Theo lose track of what he was saying halfway through an explanation.

He never took the game outside of their classroom, though. He liked to push Theo’s buttons, but he didn’t want to cross the line and scare him away completely. Their classroom was free reign though and Theo always retaliated like it was second nature.

“You dress like a divorced father trying to reclaim his youth.”

“Do all Gryffindors flirt like they’ve suffered severe head trauma?”

“Truly, you’re an embarrassment to your family.”

 But his ears would go pink while he said it and Seamus would glow inside.

And somewhere along the way, Nott became Theo.

Seamus didn’t remember exactly when it happened. Maybe after the third bottle of rum. Maybe after Theo nearly blew up an entire wall trying to combine a Cutting Curse with a Bombarda and Seamus laughed so hard he fell off his desk.

Regardless, the first time Seamus said his name aloud—

“Oi, Theo mate, pass me that cauldron—”

Theo choked on his drink. Absolutely spluttered everywhere. Very undignified and Seamus was eating it up. Theo’s entire face flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears as he coughed into his sleeve, glaring daggers while Seamus doubled over laughing.

“Oh my God,” Seamus wheezed. “Was that all it took? Your first name?”

Theo hurled a half-charred book directly at his head. Seamus barely ducked in time.

“Shut up,” Theo grumbled.

“Theo.”

Another furious blush. Seamus laughed harder.

“You’re unbelievable,” Theo snapped.

“Oh, you like me.”

“I liked you better when you weren’t speaking.”

“You never liked me before.”

Theo froze for half a second at that. Then he looked away pointedly, expression flattening back into something cooler.

After that, the name stuck. And so did Seamus, apparently.

The room changed around them over time. Or maybe they did.

It started as little more than a wrecked classroom full of broken furniture and smoke stains, but gradually the space became theirs in a strange, possessive sort of way. Theo added more wards. Stronger ones. Some so advanced Seamus could barely feel where the magic ended and the stone walls began. They stole things from around Hogwarts constantly now—not valuable things, just objects no one would miss.

Once, disastrously, an entire grandfather clock that blew up so aggressively it shattered three windows and left them both coughing through clouds of dust for nearly twenty minutes.

Seamus laughed so hard he fell over. Theo called him a fucking idiot while unsuccessfully hiding his own grin.

The room smelled permanently of smoke now. Burnt wood and ozone and spilled rum soaked deep into the ancient stones. The room felt as if it had come alive with their magic constantly buzzing around.

Some nights they talked.

Most nights they didn’t.

But the silence stopped feeling awkward surprisingly quickly. There was something oddly comforting about sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the floor amidst wreckage while passing a bottle back and forth. They didn’t bother with mugs anymore, not after that first night. Sometimes Theo would read through old spell books he’d nicked from the Restricted Section while Seamus lazily practiced wandless magic beside him, blowing apart scraps of wood with flicks of his fingers.

Sometimes they argued for an hour straight about Quidditch.

Sometimes they destroyed things until their magic burned themselves empty. And Merlin, it helped. That was the truth of it all. Seamus hadn’t realized how much anger he still carried until he started letting it out here.

The war lived inside him like rot sometimes. He’d feel it crawling under his skin during classes or meals or quiet moments before sleep. Restlessness. Fury. Grief so heavy it made him want to scream.

Fred should still be alive. Lavender should still be here. Half the people in the cemetery outside Hogwarts should still bloody be here. Most days Seamus coped by talking louder than everyone else. Laughing harder. Acting lighter than he felt.

But here—

Here he got to stop pretending.

There was relief in destruction. In the crack of a Blasting Curse leaving his wand. In watching something shatter apart and burst into flames under the force of his anger instead of swallowing it down until it poisoned him from the inside out.

Theo understood all of that without it needing to be explained. Seamus saw it every time Theo cast with vicious precision. Theo didn’t throw magic wildly the way Seamus did. Everything he did was controlled down to the smallest movement, but there was rage buried beneath it all the same.

And slowly, over those weeks, Seamus watched him change too. Not completely. Theo still walked around Hogwarts like he expected someone to hex him at any moment. Still wore that detached aristocratic sneer like armor. Still flinched almost imperceptibly whenever people raised their voices too suddenly nearby.

But in the room—

In the room Theo laughed more now.

They were tiny sounds at first. Quick smirks hidden behind bottles or dry comments muttered under his breath. But it gradually turned into real laughter, the kind that made his entire face transform.

And Godric, Seamus became addicted to causing it.

He learned things too.

Theo liked muggle rock music but pretended not to. Theo hated cinnamon. Seamus discovered that when he brought a bottle of Firewhiskey one evening. Theo also got aggressively competitive over absolutely ridiculous things and he knew terrifyingly advanced magic for an eighteen-year-old. Theo paced whenever he was anxious, long restless laps around the room while rolling rings between his fingers.

And Theo looked at Seamus differently now too.

Less guarded sometimes. Worse other times.

There were moments Seamus would catch Theo staring at him from across the wreckage with this strange raw expression, like he wanted something badly enough to resent it. Then Theo would notice himself doing it and become the coldest bastard alive for the next hour.

It was honestly a bit adorable, in a deeply emotionally damaged sort of way.

Perhaps the best part of it all was the way Theo still pretended to find him insufferable, but had started looking for him in the Great Hall at meal times. Started watching the door around the time Seamus usually arrived, smiling—small and quick and gone in a blink—whenever Seamus walked into the room covered in snow and immediately started talking too loudly.

Seamus pretended not to notice. Mostly because every time he did notice, that warm feeling in his chest got worse.

▪────────▪

The room looked catastrophic even by their standards. Smoke drifted lazily through the air in pale gray ribbons, curling around the hanging remains of what had once been a chandelier before Theo managed to blast it so incredibly that if there had not been charms to keep it from bursting clean through the ceiling, it would have. Half the stone wall near the windows had collapsed inward, rubble scattered across the floor amongst splintered wood and twisted bits of metal.

Seamus was getting good at repairing spells, for that wall in particular, and it actually felt nice to fix things instead of destroy them for once. Even if he was only fixing them so they could destroy them again.

At some point during the evening, Seamus had accidentally set a curtain on fire, subsequently catching himself on fire before Theo shot a very precise Aguamenti at him then proceeded to laugh so hard he slid down the wall.

Now they sat side by side against the base of an overturned desk, sweaty and exhausted and pleasantly buzzing from too much magic and too much rum. Seamus’ entire body ached. His t-shirt clung damply to his back, sleeves pushed up over his shoulders. Beside him, Theo looked equally wrecked. Dark brown hair plastered to his forehead, collar open, soot smeared across one sharp cheekbone.

Pretty git. Annoyingly pretty git. Seamus’ entire body was itching with the urge to reach out and wipe the soot from Theo’s face. Their small, seemingly accidental touches used to be enough for him. But Seamus’ heart ached as the weeks went on, the warmth spreading and transforming to a blaze without his consent.

Theo tipped the bottle back for another drink before handing it over without looking. The gesture had become natural between them now. Seamus took it carefully, their fingers brushing for half a second. Theo still pulled away too quickly afterward. It still made a pang of rejection shoot through Seamus each time. Some habits died hard.

“You nearly killed us with that chandelier,” Seamus informed him, throat a little raw, voice rough. Sometimes they screamed themselves hoarse in here. Neither of them mentioned it after. It was cathartic.

Theo looked unimpressed. “But I didn’t. Did I?”

“It nearly exploded through the ceiling. Even with wards!”

“Yes,” Theo said dryly. “That was the objective.”

Seamus snorted into the bottle. Theo stretched one leg out with a quiet groan, knocking his shoulder lightly against Seamus’ as he settled back again. Neither of them moved away. Seamus stared out at the ruined room for a long moment before speaking again.

“You’ve changed.”

Theo’s head turned slowly toward him, expression guarded, olive-green eyes hard as steel.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Seamus shrugged the shoulder that wasn’t touching Theo’s. He pulled a joint out of his pocket. He’d gotten it from Neville who had started growing it in his dorm. He lit it with a snap of his fingers, Theo’s breath hitching slightly beside him. That seemed to happen every time Seamus did wandless magic which he tried to do as much as possible these days. Seamus inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs as he passed the joint over to Theo. Their fingers didn’t brush this time.

Seamus blew out a stream of smoke before speaking. “Just mean…” He gestured vaguely toward Theo. “The muggle stuff.”

Theo went still beside him, wary. Seamus pressed on carefully before he could lose his nerve.

“You wear jeans now. You have that stash of muggle CDs even though there’s no way to play them here.” He nodded toward the little stack of cases near Theo’s bag. They’d taken to stashing other things in here too. Not just stuff to destroy. Things that were theirs, things they wanted to share. “And you were reading Stephen King at breakfast this morning.”

Theo stared ahead at the smoke curls floating in front of him until they dissipated. Passing the joint back to Seamus without looking at him.

“And?”

“And,” Seamus said slowly, “you used to say some pretty shite things.”

That got a reaction. Theo’s jaw tightened, muscles in his neck popping out, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Right,” he said flatly.

“I’m not trying to start anything.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Seamus sighed. “I just wanna know if you actually believed any of it.”

Theo laughed once under his breath, he sounded tired.

“That’s a dangerous question.”

“Why?”

“Because there isn’t a satisfying answer.”

The room fell quiet again. Theo leaned his head back against the wood grain of the desk behind them, eyes fixed somewhere high above.

“When you grow up like that,” he said eventually, voice strangely detached, “you don’t really realize there’s an alternative.”

Seamus listened carefully without interrupting, for once in his life he wanted to keep his mouth shut.

“My father hated muggles,” Theo continued. “Half the people we associated with did. It just… normal when you’re raised around it.” His mouth twisted up. “Normal to hear people talk about them like animals. Or entertainment.”

Seamus glanced sideways at him. Theo’s face remained frustratingly unreadable, but there was something raw underneath the calm tonight. Maybe exhaustion had worn his defenses thinner than usual.

“I parroted whatever I was supposed to,” Theo admitted, his voice soft. “Most children do.”

“But you don’t anymore.”

Theo was silent for a while then he shrugged. “Turns out the world didn’t end the first time I listened to a muggle CD.”

Seamus huffed a laugh. The corner of Theo’s mouth twitched faintly before settling back into a thin line.

“My mother used to say muggles were primitive,” he said after a pause. “Then I watched one pull her injured husband out of a collapsed building during the war with her bare hands.”

Something shifted in his expression then.

“She couldn’t use magic. Could barely stand properly herself. But she still went back for him.” Theo swallowed, his expression taking on that haunted look Seamus knows so well. “Most wizards I know would’ve run. Slytherin self-preservation and all that.”

Seamus stayed very still beside him like maybe if he didn’t move Theo would keep talking. Maybe open up even a fraction to him. Theo rarely spoke about the war directly. When he did, it was always careful and detached like now. Like he was talking around something too painful to touch head-on.

“I started noticing things more after that,” Theo said. “Books. Music. Films.” A dry laugh escaped him. “Muggle technology is absurdly good, by the way. Do you realize they went to the moon? The bloody moon.”

Seamus grinned. “Blew your pretty pureblood mind a bit, did it?”

Theo shot him a withering look. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” Seamus nudged his shoulder lightly against Theo’s. “It’s cute.”

Theo looked deeply offended. “Don’t call me cute after I’ve been emotionally vulnerable to you.”

“That was emotional vulnerability?” Seamus gasped dramatically. “Merlin, Theo, you’re practically an open book. Save some secrets, would ya? Don’t go giving the whole mystery away now.”

Theo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth lifted anyway. Then, quietly, he said, “I was horrible, you know.”

The words hung heavily between them. Horrible isn’t a word Seamus could ever associate with Theo. Not the Theo in this room. Not the one he saw behind those carefully guarded eyes.

Seamus frowned. “You were a prat.”

Theo laughed under his breath, real smile back on his face.

“A pretentious, occasionally evil prat,” Seamus amended.

“There it is.”

“But you were also sixteen.”

Theo’s smile disappeared.

“That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” Seamus agreed gently. “But it explains some of it.”

Theo looked at him then, properly looked at him and something unreadable flickered across his face.

“You always this forgiving?” he asked quietly.

Seamus thought about the graveyard outside Hogwarts. About sleepless nights and screaming and all-consuming grief. About anger that still had a home beneath his ribs.

Then he looked at Theo sitting beside him in the wreckage they made together, soot-smudged and exhausted and trying so hard to pretend he wasn’t changing.

“No,” Seamus admitted. “Just with you, apparently.”

Theo turned his head to hide his blush again. It was ridiculous how fond Seamus had grown of that particular reaction. Seamus had the sudden overwhelming urge to grab Theo by the jaw and turn him back. To force him to stop hiding every soft thing the second it appeared. The moment felt charged with something he couldn’t quite place.

His eyes caught briefly on Theo’s mouth again. The silver ring through his septum glinted in the low firelight, drawing attention to the sharp line of his nose, the slight part of his lips as he breathed. Seamus’ stomach flipped unpleasantly. Or pleasantly. It was getting hard to tell anymore.

He was just beginning to lean closer before Theo abruptly spoke.

“I miss music,” he said sullenly.

Seamus blinked, more than a little shook from what he almost did. Merlin, he needs to get a grip on this little crush before it ruins everything between them.

“Celestina Warbeck doesn’t do it for ya?” Seamus teased automatically.

Theo turned to him, genuinely horrified. “I’d rather die.”

Seamus laughed, Theo shoved him.

“Have you ever heard of Radiohead?” Theo asked after a moment.

“Have I ever—yes, Theo. I’ve heard of Radiohead.”

Theo eyed him skeptically. “Name three songs.”

“Fuck off,” Seamus chuckled, elbowing Theo in the ribs.

One corner of Theo’s mouth twitched upward.

“OK Computer was the first CD I had ever listened to,” he admitted after a pause.

That caught Seamus off guard. He glanced sideways at him. “Seriously?”

Theo shrugged. “Yeah. After the war, before Hogwarts was rebuilt and we came back…” His fingers turned one of the silver rings absently around and around. “Well, the wizarding world wasn’t too kind to me and Draco, right?”

That was putting it mildly.

Theo continued before Seamus could say anything.

“We started going into Muggle areas more. Mostly because no one knew who we were there. Turns out muggles don’t particularly care about your family’s political affiliations when you’re buying fags at two in the morning.”

Seamus smiled to himself at the image. Theo in some dingy corner shop looking offended by fluorescent lighting.

“Maybe it was some sort of delayed teenage rebellion,” Theo muttered. “Bit pathetic really.”

“You?” Seamus scoffed. “Rebelling? Never.”

Theo ignored him.

“At first I just liked being somewhere people weren’t staring all the time,” he admitted quietly. “Then I started liking…other things.”

“Like?”

Theo hesitated.

“The noise,” he said eventually. “Cities. Book shops. Record stores.” His mouth twitched faintly. “There’s this one place in London where the owner kept assuming Draco and I were together.”

Seamus didn’t want to feel a sick curl of jealousy at that, but he did.

His mind supplying the image of Theo and Malfoy walking through London together in dark coats, shoulders brushing in cramped record shops while some muggle shopkeeper smiled knowingly at them before he could stop it.

Did Theo introduce Malfoy to music? Did they laugh together? Move closer until their hands brushed? Did Theo pull away then too, or did he keep his hand there and let Malfoy take it?

The jealously startled him with its intensity. It wasn’t like he had any claim to Theo. Gods, they weren’t even remotely anything yet. They spent most of their evenings blowing shit up and flirting around each other like idiots. That was hardly grounds for possessiveness. Still… the thought made the supper in his stomach curdle.

Theo must have noticed something was off because one eyebrow lifted lazily.

“You look like you’re plotting a murder.”

Seamus recovered quickly, scoffing. “Please. Malfoy couldn’t handle all this.” He lifted the bottom of his t-shirt, revealing his abs and gesturing to himself.

Theo snorted softly even as his face flushed and his pupils went wide. He shook his head, eyes snapping away from Seamus.

“True,” he admitted. “Draco complained the entire time anyway.”

“About?”

“Everything.” Theo counted off lazily on his fingers. “The tube. The smell. The crowds. One pigeon that apparently looked at him disrespectfully.”

Seamus burst out laughing.

“I’m not even joking,” Theo said, looking amused now. His eyes were bright and Seamus wishes he could capture this moment in a photograph. “He spent ten minutes threatening it.”

“Merlin, yeah I can see it. Pointy posh face all wait til my father hears about this.”

Theo’s smile lingered another second before fading slowly.

“He hated being recognized,” he admitted after a moment. “In the wizarding world, I mean.”

Seamus’ laughter died. Theo stared ahead at the wreckage instead of looking at him.

“People would whisper when we walked past. Parents pulling their children away.” His jaw tightened. “Some days it felt easier to disappear into the muggle world where nobody knew what our names meant.”

Something heavy settled in Seamus’ chest. Because he remembered that summer too. The papers. The trials. The way everyone spoke about Slytherins afterward like they were contagious. Maybe most of them deserved it. But Theo sitting beside him now didn’t feel monstrous at all.

“So you and Malfoy became muggle enthusiasts together then?” Seamus asked lightly, trying to pull them back toward easier ground.

Theo looked horrified by the phrasing. “Don’t say it like that.”

That sent Seamus into another fit of laughter. Theo rolled his eyes, though there was warmth beneath the annoyance now.

“I liked that no one cared,” he said more quietly once Seamus settled again. “No one expected anything from me there. I could just… I don’t know. Exist, I guess.”

Something about the way he said pulled at Seamus’ chest.

Exist. Like that had become a luxury.

“What’s your favorite song on it then?” Seamus asked.

Theo thought about it for a moment. “Exit Music (For a Film).”

Seamus stared at him. “Christ.”

Theo looked mildly defensive. “What?”

“That’s the most depressing answer you could have possibly given.”

“It’s a good song.”

Seamus laughed under his breath, shaking his head. Only Theo would pick the song that sounded like the musical embodiment of a depressive episode.

“You’re such a miserable bastard,” Seamus informed him fondly.

“And yet you remain obsessed with me.”

Seamus opened his mouth automatically with some smartarse reply ready, but the words caught somewhere on the way out because Theo was looking at him again. Really looking at him. Green eyes half-lidded from rum and exhaustion, his hair was dry now, curling around his ears and falling messily over his forehead, his mouth curved up in a tiny smile just for Seamus.

That same word echoed through his head. Pretty. God, unfairly pretty.

And suddenly Seamus could picture it too clearly—

Theo in London after the war, lingering in cramped record shops and pretending not to care while secretly falling in love with music that understood him better than the people around him did.

“You know,” he said, “I think sixteen-year-old you would hex current you on sight.”

Theo huffed a soft laugh, never breaking eye contact. “Sixteen-year-old me was an idiot.”

“Current you still is, to be fair.”

“Mm. But now I have better music taste.”

The room had gone quiet around them again. Neither of them made to move away from the other. Seamus was suddenly hyper aware of every inch separating them. Not much, as it turned out. Theo’s eyes flicked briefly towards Seamus’ mouth before darting away.

There.

That.

That stupid little look Theo kept giving him like he wanted something and hated himself for it. Seamus’ pulse kicked harder beneath his ribs, his ears filled with the sound of rushing blood.

He wondered what would happen if he kissed him. Whether Theo would shove him away. Or kiss him back hard enough to bruise.

He didn’t get a chance to find out. Theo stood so abruptly it made Seamus flinch.

“It’s late,” he muttered, his tone pivoting quickly to clipped and callous.

Before Seamus could even process what had happened, Theo was already moving. He grabbed his wand from the rubble-strewn floor and started shrugging back into his coat.

Seamus blinked up at him, disoriented by the flurry of movement as Theo gathered his things. “Theo—“

“I should go.”

The words practically flew from Theo’s mouth. He avoided looking at Seamus entirely now. His face had boarded itself up again, every soft edge disappearing behind that cold pureblood mask like someone slamming a door. The second things became too real, Theo ran. Seamus watched him cross the room feeling strangely winded.

“Alright,” he said, careful to hide the disappointment currently tying his stomach in knots. “See you tomorrow then?”

Theo paused near the door. Seamus thought he might actually turn around. Instead Theo only nodded once, sharp and quick. Then he was gone, the wards sealing behind him with a low hum, leaving Seamus alone amongst the wreckage.

Seamus leaned his head back against the overturned desk with a long exhale.

“Well,” he muttered to the ceiling. “That could have gone worse.”

A broken bit of chandelier chose that exact moment to fall from above and smack him directly on the shoulder.

“OW—“

▪────────▪

Most of the eighth years had stayed at Hogwarts over the winter hols. He and Theo had started spending nearly every night tucked away in the space they’d carved out for themselves. For such a large castle, Hogwarts had the tendency to feel suffocating anywhere else. They didn’t talk about the way Theo had ran out of the classroom last week, Seamus didn’t want to ruin anything. When Theo was ready, he’d stop running.

Christmas Eve found Seamus in their classroom earlier than usual, having skipped supper. Seamus had a surprise for Theo. Their conversation about music had stirred something in him. He wanted to give Theo that piece of himself back. The day after their conversation, he snuck into the Gryffindor common room and nicked the record player that sat collecting dust under the stairs, determined to figure out how to get it to play Theo’s CDs. Three days later and he was convinced there was no solution.

Eventually he broke down and decided to ask Hermione for help. They had mixed all the houses up when they assigned the eighth-year dorms. Seamus roomed with Zacharias Smith but he would have rather been roomed with a Hippogriff. Probably would have smelled better. Hermione fared far luckier than he did, sharing her dorm with Daphne Greengrass, who still occasionally hung off Theo and drove Seamus up the bloody wall. Lately though, Theo had started shrugging her off. Seamus tried not to think too much into it.

“Just a minute!” Hermione had called.

When she opened the door, her cheeks were flushed and her hair even bigger than usual. Daphne was posed on her bed in a way that looked like she meant to be casual but her cheeks were also red and her shirt was on inside out.

Seamus’ eyes widened as he took them both before he cleared his throat. “Right, sorry to interrupt.” He scratched the back of his neck, shifting his weight to one leg. “Mione, I was wondering if you’d help me with some bit of magic I can’t figure out.”

Hermione glanced behind her to Daphne who refused to meet her eye. “Sure, Seamus,” she said, turning back to him. “I’ll meet you in the library in a few moments.”

It was surprisingly easy to figure out. He was just looking at it from the wrong angle. Instead of getting the record player to play CDs, he simply had to turn them into records. Hermione helped him learn the charm to duplicate the CD and then transfigure it into a record. That part took him a while. Transfiguration still isn’t his strong suit, but they worked at it until he got it right.

The wards hummed as they recognized Theo’s magical signature, Seamus felt the magic welcoming him before the door flew open. Theo looked a bit panicked until his whole body visibly relaxed once his wide eyes found Seamus’.

Seamus was stood at a desk near the windows, he had turned it right side up and placed the record player and newly transfigured records on top of it. He’d also brought a couple board games he’d had stashed in his trunk for years and never taken out—Jenga, Battleship, Candy Land.  A brand new bottle of rum sat in the middle of it all.

“You weren’t at supper,” Theo said, dragging a hand through his hair. He suddenly looked unsure of himself, off-balance, breathing uneven and face flush like he’d been running. Did he run all the way here simply because Seamus wasn’t in the Great Hall this evening? He tried not to think about what that might mean.

Seamus looked down sheepishly at his hands. He was leaning forward, bracing himself against the table. He steeled himself before looking up. He wasn’t sure how Theo was going to react to all of this. Whether it was too much, if it would send Theo running.

“Missed me, did ya?” Seamus quipped, shooting Theo an over-exaggerated wink. He cringed internally. Merlin, can he please just be normal for once? Theo made his insides twist up and his brain melt into gelatinous goo with just one look.

Theo regarded him coolly as he took a few careful steps forward, assessing the items on the desk as he approached.

“What’s all this then?” Theo mused, skillfully ignoring Seamus’ goading.

“You said you missed music,” Seamus said easily, like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t spent days preparing for this.

He picked up the needle and placed it on the record he had picked first. The chords to Airbag by Radiohead began to drift through the room. Theo’s eyes went wide and intense, breath hitching as he realized what he was hearing.

“This is—Seamus, you…”

Fireworks exploded from Seamus’ chest, each one brighter and more colorful than the last, shooting sparks through every tingling nerve ending. Seamus may have been on a first name basis with Theo for a while now, but Theo’s never called him Seamus before.

“How did you do this?” Theo asked almost in awe, reaching out to gently run a finger tip over the edge of the record player.

“Nicked the record player,” Seamus shrugged. “It’d been in the Gryffindor common room forever. It’s got some initials scratched into the side but no one’s sure exactly where it came from. The records—well, Hermione helped me figure out how to duplicate the CDs and transfigure them. It was simple, really.”

Seamus watched as one of Theo’s long, slender fingers traced the initials carved into the wood.

RJL+SOB

“Why?” Theo asked.

Seamus had turned to look out the window, back to Theo but he could hear the way Theo’s voice sounded thick, wobbly. He was afraid if he didn’t look away from Theo he might do something stupid like walk around the table and kiss him. It was growing harder to resist the urge every day.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Seamus said. “Music seemed so important to you and you’re—Gods, you’re important to me, okay?”

Seamus didn’t hear Theo’s footsteps until they were right behind him, the heat from Theo’s front barely there against him. He held his breath as those same delicate fingers stroked lightly across the back of his neck and over his shoulder. A shiver ran down his spine and he barely suppressed it, skin tingling as goosebumps rose up.

“Why are you doing this to me?” Theo murmured low, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear. He sounded wrecked, like he was fighting a war within himself and losing. His fingers traced slow circles on Seamus’ biceps.

“Doing what?” Seamus whispered, clenching his fists at his sides so he wouldn’t turn around and do something to ruin this moment.

“You know what.” Theo pressed the side of his face into the crook of Seamus’ neck, inhaling deeply.

“I don’t deserve to have this, Seamus,” he said and he sounded so wounded, so convinced that he was right that Seamus couldn’t take it anymore.

He spun around so quickly he almost gave himself vertigo. Theo pulled back in surprise, frowning down at Seamus. Before he could talk himself out of it, Seamus grabbed Theo by the collar of his shirt and tugged him down until their lips met.  

A choir of angels could have came straight down from the heavens and started singing and Seamus wouldn’t have noticed. The room could have caught on fire and still the heat of it wouldn’t compare to the flames licking up his spine and spreading through his body.

Theo’s lips on his were soft and warm and everything Seamus had imagined. He tasted like vanilla and pumpkin juice and a hint of spice. Seamus was instantly addicted. Theo didn’t pull away like Seamus thought he would. Instead, he surged forward with burning intensity, his hands landing firmly on Seamus’ waist as he pushed him back against the stone wall.

Seamus gasped as Theo broke the kiss to mouth along his jaw, hot, wet tongue licking down his throat.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Theo breathed, rolling his hips into Seamus’ to reveal he was already half-hard when their cocks pressed together. “You’ve been driving me bloody crazy for weeks.”

Seamus let out an incredulous laugh, though it sounded a little thin as Theo sucked and nibbled at the skin just below his ear.

“Then why—ah—why didn’t you say anything?”

Theo pulled away from him then, Seamus had to bite back a whine at the loss. Not enough. It wasn’t enough.

Large, warm hands came up to cup Seamus’ face, tilting it up so he was looking right into Theo’s beautiful green eyes. They were sparkling in the rays of the  setting sun filtering through the windows. He looked radiant, fucking breathtaking. Seamus wasn’t convinced that this was real life and not some hyper realistic dream.

“Because you are too good for me, Seamus Finnigan. I may be better than I was, but I’m still not a good person. My past will follow me everywhere. I couldn’t drag you down with me.”

“Theo…” Seamus said. He wanted to tell him that the past didn’t matter. That none of it mattered except the way Seamus felt when he looked at him. The softness and warmth he hadn’t known still existed in himself until Theo brought it back to life was the only confirmation he needed that this was right. He wanted to tell Theo that he could drag him anywhere and Seamus would follow.

He didn’t get the chance to because Theo cut him off with another desperate kiss. Theo licked across Seamus’ bottom lip in question and Seamus opened in answer, allowing Theo’s tongue to invade his mouth and now—now—Seamus was well and truly fucked because he will never be able to forget the weight and feel of Theo’s tongue swirling around his and the way it sent charged bolts of electricity straight to his cock.

He brought his hands up to bury in Theo’s silky hair, gripping the strands between clenched fists as he pulled Theo impossibly closer. Theo groaned into his mouth and Seamus’ knees went weak, the only thing keeping him upright Theo’s hands on his waist and his body pressing him into the cool stone.

They stayed like that for a while, kisses growing more heated until they were both flushed and panting. When they parted, Theo’s pupils were blown so wide the green was barely visible. Seamus started to say something but it came out a garbled bunch of sounds when Theo unceremoniously dropped to his knees and started unbuttoning Seamus’ jeans. Seamus could only stare at the way those long, gorgeous fingers moved deftly to pull the zipper down and yank his jeans and pants to his thighs.

Seamus’ hard cock sprang free, smacking against his abs. Seamus quickly rid himself of his shirt and Theo ran his hands up Seamus’ thighs, over his hips, across his stomach. Fingers reverently tracing every dip and curve of muscle.

“You’re so fucking fit it’s insane,” Theo murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to each of Seamus’ hipbones, licking a long strip from one to the other before moving on to lave wet kisses up and down Seamus’ stomach. Theo’s blunt nails were scratching softly over the tops of his thighs.

“Theo,” Seamus said in a low moan, threading his fingers into the hair at the base of Theo’s skull, pressing his face down into him as Seamus’ hips thrust up out of his control. “Please.”

Long, elegant fingers wrapped around the base of Seamus’ cock, flushed pink and leaking from the tip as the ruddy head peaked out over the foreskin. It was a decent sized cock, long and thick and it looked perfect with Theo’s fingers stroking it.

Seamus’ vision blacked out and he saw stars the moment Theo’s tongue licked up the thick, blue vein on the underside of Seamus’ cock. Theo’s lips wrapped around the smooth head of his cock, tonguing at the slit while his hand stroked him slowly. Seamus couldn’t fight the sounds escaping him if he wanted to. Theo was looking up at him, eyes glistening with pride each time a tiny gasp or moan left his lips.

When Theo finally took his cock in deeper, letting Seamus slide into the soft, wet, warmth of his mouth a low groan punched out of him and his hips jerked as pleasure washed over him. Theo placed one hand on Seamus’ hip, pinning him back to the wall and Seamus tried hard not to move, his eyes locked onto where his cock kept disappearing into those sinfully sweet lips.

“Fuck, baby,” Seamus moaned and Theo made a pleased little humming sound that vibrated Seamus’ cock and nearly caused him to keel over and die happy right then and there.

Theo is swallowing him down enthusiastically and Seamus can’t believe how much Theo seems to want this. Want him. His eyes are closed now, finding a rhythm that makes Seamus throw his head back against the stone wall with a crack but he doesn’t even care. He’s shouting curses up at the ceiling as Theo twirls his tongue over the head of Seamus’ cock.

“Fuck. Holy fucking shit. Theo—Theo don’t stop—“ Seamus was panting heavily, words coming out in broken gasps of pleasure as heat filled his gut and he approached his climax rapidly. “I’m going to—ah, fuck—I’m going to come.”

Seamus’ hips were trying their best to rock into the wet heat of Theo’s mouth, his breath stuttering as Theo looked up at him again, eyes full of want like they were pleading with Seamus to let go. The tight coil of heat built up in the base of his spine snapped, flooding his system until he was delirious with pleasure as wave after wave seared him from the inside. Theo keeps his mouth wrapped around the tip of Seamus’ cock as his hand works his length, milking it until Seamus is trembling with each pull of his sensitive, softening cock.

Theo stands then and Seamus doesn’t hesitate before pulling him back into a kiss. He tastes himself on Theo and it’s the hottest fucking thing he’s ever experienced. Theo tastes like him. His come is coating Theo’s throat and it’s Seamus that made Theo this hard. Seamus cups Theo’s cock through the fabric of his trousers, it’s painfully hard and throbbing in Seamus’ hand as Theo grinds against his palm.

With a flick of his wrist, he mutters a spell and another desk flips upright beside them. Theo’s breath hitches and this time he actually moans and thrusts up into Seamus’ palm again.

“Do you know how fucking hot it is when you do that?” Theo asks him.

“Why do you think I do it so much?” Seamus teases, casting a quick Scourgify at the desk to clear the dust before pushing Theo back and grabbing the backs of his thighs to lift him onto it.

Theo gasps, clasping Seamus’ shoulders as Seamus sets him down gently. Theo shifts from side to side testing out the desk, his nose was scrunched up and he looked so fucking adorable Seamus couldn’t help the fond grin that spread across his face.

“Did you cast a cushioning charm?” Theo asked in awe, looking up at Seamus with a kind of openness he had been dying to see for weeks now.

“Might have done,” Seamus replied, stepping forward between Theo’s spread thighs until he was chest to chest with him. “Someone’s gotta take care of you, hm?” Seamus’ fingers teased at the bulge in Theo’s trousers, barely there touches over the hard length.

Theo looked at him like he was trying to decide something before swallowing hard and saying, “Yes. I would like that very much,” in a voice so soft, so sweet he wouldn’t believe it came from the usually cold and calculated Slytherin if he didn’t see it for himself.

“Then let me,” Seamus said as he unbuttoned Theo’s shirt that was no longer crisp and white, but wrinkled and smudged with soot and dust. Radiohead still played in the background, the setting sun casting shadows across Theo’s face as he watched Seamus’ fingers work open every button.

“You are so pretty,” Seamus breathed as he finally slid Theo’s shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the desk as Seamus leaned back to take him all in.

Theo’s face was flushed rosy pink. His chest all lean muscle and grace, sun-kissed skin and pebbled, pink nipples that Seamus just had to bend forward and flick his tongue over. Theo grabbed the back of his head as his back arched into Seamus, a small puff of air leaving his lips when Seamus took one in his mouth and sucked lightly. Their hands were all over each other, exploring, Seamus continued kissing every inch of Theo he could get his lips on while the other boy made sweet sounds above him.

Eventually Seamus got Theo out of his trousers and then he was face to face with the most gorgeous cock he had ever laid eyes on. Long and elegant like the rest of him, curving slightly to the left and already leaking pre-come begging Seamus to taste.

“Beautiful,” Seamus said, spreading Theo’s thighs further and placing a kiss to the inside of one. “Gorgeous.” He kissed the other, nuzzling his nose against the soft dark hair there. “Perfect.” He trailed his nose upwards until he felt trimmed, wiry hair underneath, then began mouthing up the stiff length of Theo’s cock while Theo writhed, mumbling incoherently.

“What was that?” Seamus asked, pulling back and looking up at a wrecked Theo.

“You’re going to ruin me,” Theo rasped.

“That’s the plan, yeah,” Seamus smirked.

Seamus took Theo in his mouth then, moaning around the weight of it, taking a moment to memorize the exact feel and taste. Vanilla and musk and so undeniably Theo that it made Seamus’ cock begin to fill out again. He worked the length up and down with his fist while his tongue swirled around the soft, velvety head, pulling truly sinful moans out of Theo as the Slytherin rested his hand on the back of Seamus’ shortly cropped blonde hair. Not pushing but guiding Seamus as he bobbed.

“Can—can you—fuck,” Theo panted. “Canyouputyourfingersinme.”

Seamus slid off Theo’s cock with slick pop.

“What?” Seamus said, almost giddy with excitement at the prospect of what he thought Theo said.

Theo leveled him with a dangerous look like Seamus no longer sucking his cock was the greatest offense to wizard-kind.

“I want you to put your fingers in me,” Theo said calmly this time, though he looked like he was seconds away from dragging Seamus back down onto his cock, which he had started lazily stroking himself while Seamus watched mesmerized. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah. Yes, absolutely. Fuck, you’re incredible,” Seamus excitedly replied. “Do you mind if I use cleaning and lubrication charms?”

“Go ahead,” Theo breathed, lifting his legs so his feet rested on the edge of the desk, spreading his knees apart, exposing himself to Seamus. He looked like sin, he looked like everything Seamus had ever wanted spread out for him to take. Everything from the arches of his feet to the curve of his knees to the bones jutting out at his hips to the expansive planes of his chest to the sharp edge of his jaw and slope of his nose, all of it was perfect.

Seamus didn’t trust himself to do these particular spells wandlessly so pawed around on the ground looking for his wand until Theo cleared his throat and handed Seamus his wand like it wasn’t a big deal. Seamus hoped Theo didn’t see the way the feel of his magic made him shiver when he took the wand, casting the appropriate spells at Theo and setting it back down on the desk.

Seamus leaned forward to slot their lips together, rubbing one slicked finger along his crease before he reached the furled muscle and began to press against Theo’s entrance, rubbing slow circles around it before pushing in to the first knuckle. A sharp inhale came from Theo.

“Relax, baby. I’ve got you,” Seamus murmured against his lips and he felt Theo unclench, body loosening around him. “So good.”

Theo sighed as Seamus pushed the rest of the way in, waiting just a beat before drawing out and pushing back in. He picked up a rhythm, cataloguing each of Theo’s needy whines and satisfied moans, adding a second finger and noting when he curved them just right into the bundle of nerves, Theo gasped and arched his back, grinding back down onto Seamus’ fingers.

Seamus pulls back to watch now, his mouth pooling with saliva as he takes in every inch of Theo. He really is stunning, Seamus thinks as he watches his fingers disappear into him, running one hand up Theo’s calf, grabbing his knee and pushing it up towards Theo’s chest. Theo is running his hands all over Seamus’ shoulders and chest, feeling the way his muscles work as he carefully casts another lubrication charm and slowly adds a third finger. Theo is stretched tight around him, his hole hungrily swallowing Seamus’ thick fingers as they spear into him.

Theo’s skin is flushed scarlet, tiny beads of sweat rolling down his chest. Seamus leans in and licks a long path from Theo’s navel to the hollow of his throat, moaning as the salty taste of him dances on his tongue. Seamus takes his time leaving marks on Theo’s throat, sucking bruises that leave his skin mottled and claimed. Theo is keening, his cock untouched between them, weeping so much the head is glistening wet lying in a pool of pre-come.

“Do you think you’re ready for me, love?” Seamus asks, removing his fingers.

He starts to slowly wank himself, covering his cock with more conjured lube as he watches Theo nod enthusiastically. He’s biting down on his bottom lip, eyes glazed over with lust.

“I will throw myself out of that window if you don’t fuck me right now,” Theo said and it doesn’t sound threatening so much as begging.

Gods, yeah the prick thing really is part of the appeal. Seamus loves the way Theo isn’t afraid to put him in his place. His cutting little quips and sarcastic remarks, the way he rolls his eyes constantly at Seamus but he laughs now while he does it, the way he’s looking at Seamus right now like it’s actually Seamus who is in danger of being thrown out the window.

Seamus brings one of Theo’s legs over his shoulder, bracing his hand on the desk next to him as he grips the base of his cock—achingly hard again like he hadn’t just came so spectacularly less than an hour ago—and presses it against Theo’s rim.

He looks up and for a moment gets lost in the way Theo’s eyes look like a sea of moss and dandelions until a throaty whine draws his attention back to his cock and the slow press in until the head is enveloped in the tight warmth of Theo’s hole.

“Seamus,” Theo whimpers and it sounds like a confession, Seamus is hanging off every word, every filthy little sound that escapes Theo’s glistening red lips.

Seamus wants this all of the time. He already knows once will never be enough. He slides another inch into Theo and Theo clings onto his back, blunt nails digging tiny crescents into the skin there. Seamus is high off of it, the feeling of his skin being marked by Theo. He wants him all over. He wants his scent embedded so deeply into his own that they’re indiscernible from the other. Theo said Seamus would ruin him but Seamus is the one being reborn by Theo’s touch alone.

He rocks forward until Theo is stretched around his full length, their hips pressed together. Theo’s breaths come in hard and fast and Seamus runs his hand through Theo’s hair, pushing it out of his face. He lightly sweeps his thumb across Theo’s cheekbone, currently flushed red and Seamus can’t deny that’s he’s always been a little obsessed with them. He wants to paint his walls the exact shade of Theo’s blush.

“You’re doing so good, Theo,” Seamus said, breathless. “Taking me so well. You’re beautiful, you’re made for this.”

Theo’s body relaxes around him and he hears the other boy whine, high-pitched and needy, burying his face in Seamus’ neck.

“Move,” Theo pleas and Seamus does.

He drew his hips back before rocking forward, moving in short, shallow thrusts and Theo starts kissing and sucking on his neck, wrapping the leg not in Seamus’ shoulder around his waist, digging his heel in to urge Seamus to move more.

Seamus pulled almost all the way out then pushed in in one languid thrust. He does it again and again, each thrust a steady, coaxing rhythm attempting to draw out all the pleasure from Theo. He wants to take his time with Theo, make him feel every inch of Seamus as he fills him up. Seamus wants to memorize the exact tightness Theo’s hole grips him with so he knows how hard to grip his cock when he wanks to this memory.

Theo’s arse is incredible. It’s wet and warm and smooth as velvet as Seamus buries himself. He’s overcome with the sudden need to see it, to watch his cock pound into Theo’s sweet arse relentlessly. He pulls away and it feels fundamentally wrong to be even an inch apart.

He cuts Theo’s whine of protest off with a kiss, clutching the underside of Theo’s thighs and lifting him off the desk so Theo has to wrap his legs around Seamus’ waist. Laughter falls from Theo’s lips against Seamus’ and the look in his eyes when Seamus meets them is so bloody happy. Seamus kisses him again before setting him down, spinning him around. Theo glances back at him with a smirk as Seamus put his hand on the back of his neck and pushes him forward, bending him over the desk and kicking his feet apart.

Seamus kisses the base of Theo’s spine, grabbing the wand still on the desk and murmuring another lubrication spell directly at his entrance. Theo gasps and it’s quickly turned into a moan as Seamus thrusts back into him.

Seamus watched the way his cock splits Theo open, letting praises spill from his lips. His thumbs are digging into the divots on Theo’s lower back, pulling his arse back to meet Seamus’ hips and each wet slap as he drives in sends a shock through to his core. He rolls his hips once and Theo’s back arches, pushing himself back against Seamus as Seamus drives straight into his prostate.

He angles for that sensitive spot, causing Theo to sob underneath him while he keeps up his relentless pace. Every sweet little cry going straight to Seamus’ cock.

“You’re perfect, Theo,” Seamus rasped. “Fuck, you feel amazing.”

”I need to—fuck—touch me please,” Theo begs. “Seamus. I need you, please darling, please.”

Theo’s whines increase and he ruts against the desk, desperately trying to seek friction for his cock. Seamus smooths a hand down the back of Theo’s head, brushing his knuckles across Theo’s cheek.

“Shh, baby I’ve got you.”

Seamus wastes no time wrapping a hand around Theo’s cock, it’s weeping so much Seamus doesn’t even need lube, slicking up Theo’s cock with his pre-come, stroking in long, fast pulls in time with his thrusts. It doesn’t take long for Theo to spill over his hand, his whole body shaking as he cried out in pleasure, his hole clenching around Seamus and sending him skyrocketing into space as stars enter his vision and he goes dizzy as pleasure shoots out of every pore. He grinds his cock against Theo’s prostate one last time eliciting a high-pitched whimper to come from the other boy and then Seamus is coming so fucking hard all his muscles tense up and he’s shouting Theo’s name as he spills into him.

He’s not sure how long his orgasm lasted but he thinks he genuinely might have blacked out for a moment. One moment he’s feeling the most intense pleasure he’s ever felt and the next he feels Theo’s magic washing over him as he casts a cleaning charm at him.

Now they’re both cleaned up and halfway dressed, lounging on an old couch they had stashed in here with plans to explode in flames tonight. Seamus thinks being curled up against Theo’s side is a much better use for the dusty old thing.

Theo has one arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against Seamus’ shoulder like he can’t quite stop himself.

The room feels different now. It still smells of smoke and magic and old stone, but it’s softer somehow. Warmer. The record player crackles from the corner, the album playing low beneath the sound of their breathing. Neither of them have spoken properly in several minutes. Seamus can’t remember the last time he felt this calm.

Seamus could feel Theo thinking beside him. The tension in him had changed to something less aggressive and more nervous. That was new, Theodore Nott nervous over him.

He titled his head up slightly to look at him. Theo’s hair was still damn from the quick cleaning charm, curls tousled messily into his eyes. His mouth looked thoroughly kissed.

Seamus had done that to him. Christ.

Theo caught him staring. “What?”

Seamus grinned sleepily, “Nothin’. Just thinking you look a bit ruined right now.”

Theo chortled, shaking his head and throwing Seamus a lopsided grin. “You nearly killed me with your cock five minutes ago.”

“It’s called romance, sweetheart.”

Theo pretended to be offended by the pet name, but Seamus caught the way it made him blush and Seamus glowed at the sight.

“You’re unbearable,” Theo muttered.

“Yet you fancy me anyway.”

Seamus saw how Theo retreated into himself for a moment, thoughtful. Then, so soft Seamus almost didn’t catch it:

“Yeah,” he admitted.

The simple honesty of it knocked the breath from Seamus’ lungs because Theo didn’t say things like that easily. Didn’t give away parts of himself if he didn’t have to. Every feeling had to claw its way out of him first.

“Good,” Seamus said.

Theo’s fingers grazed the back of his neck then, absentmindedly like touching Seamus had already become habitual.

“So,” Seamus said after a moment, forcing himself to sound lighter than he felt, “what now?”

Theo’s hand stilled for a second before resuming its path.

“There’s usually meant to be a rule book on these things,” Seamus continued. “Bit inconsiderate no one gave us one.”

Theo huffed a laugh under his breath, though Seamus could feel tension creeping back into him again.

“What do you want to happen now?” Theo asked cautiously.

Oh, well that makes sense. The real question underneath it. Seamus sat with it, taking his time to actually think it through because this was important. Outside the room, things were complicated. Theo still carried a surname people spat like poison. Seamus still had mates who would probably lose their minds over this. The war still lingered like a bad cold. None of that disappeared because they finally pulled their heads out of their arses and fucked.

But sitting here now, warm and exhausted with Theo’s heartbeat steady beneath his ear, Seamus found he didn’t care as much as he probably should.

“I want…” He paused, trying to untangle the web of feelings properly. “I want whatever this is.”

“Even if it’s messy?” Theo asked, voice wobbly and unsure.

Seamus barked out a laugh. “Theo, love, have you met us? Of course it’s gonna be messy.”

The corner of Theo’s mouth lifted, the cute little dimple caving in and Seamus only smiled harder. He reached up, brushing his thumb lightly along Theo’s jaw. The touch still startled him a little. The fact Theo let him do it startled him even more.

“I just mean…” Seamus said softer now, making sure Theo knew he means this. “I don’t want tonight to be a one-time thing.”

Whatever was left of Theo’s guarded expression crumbled as vulnerability took over.

“I don’t either,” he admitted.

Godric, that warm ache spread through Seamus all over again. Theo looked down at him and there was some of that same uncertainty as earlier.

“I’m not very good at this,” he whispered.

“At what?”

Theo gave him a look. “Feelings. People. Any of this, really.”

Seamus smiled helplessly.

“Lucky for you,” he murmured. “I’ve got enough feelings for the both of us.”

That earned him a chuckle. Then Theo leaned down, pressing his forehead against Seamus’

“I mean it,” Theo said. “I don’t know what I’m doing. What if your friends hate me? What if I say something wrong and—“

“Hey,” Seamus said, reaching his hand up to cup Theo’s cheek. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Seamus didn’t know what he was doing either really but the way Theo was looking at him made his chest tighten painfully with affection. He knew he would do anything to make this work. He couldn’t promise that it would be easy, but he wanted to try.

Theo searched his eyes for a second. “Together,” he asked in a timid voice.

Seamus smiled, leaning forward to kiss him once.

“Yeah,” he said, wrapping his arms around Theo’s neck. “Together.”

The record stopped, Seamus waved his hand and another record took its place, filling their classroom with music once again. Theo gasped beside him.

“You bastard,” he laughed. “I can’t go again for at least twenty minutes. Quit showing off.”

Seamus kissed him.

▪────────▪

By the end of the school year, absolutely everyone knew about Seamus and Theo. Mostly because a month after their first kiss, Seamus had decided subtlety was for cowards. He didn’t want to hide what he and Theo had. Seamus loved him and he wanted everyone to know. He kissed Theo openly in the Great Hall one morning after breakfast and the entire room went silent so fast you could hear Neville drop his fork three tables away.

Theo had gone scarlet to the tips of his ears but he’d kissed Seamus back anyway. Seamus had never been happier. After that things had changed surprisingly quickly.

Harry and Draco lasted approximately three weeks before finally admitting whatever bizarre tension they’d been radiating all year wasn’t, in fact, mutual hatred. Ron claimed he deserved compensation for having to witness the flirting firsthand.

Hermione and Daphne took another month after that, though Seamus suspected that everyone with functioning eyesight had figured it out long before they did.

Apparently surviving a war did interesting things to people. Made them braver. Or maybe just tired enough to stop lying to themselves.

Their abandoned classroom remained theirs until graduation. The room never really recovered. Half the walls stayed scorched black no matter how many cleaning and repair charms they cast. The couch somehow survived the year despite several near death experiences. Theo eventually brought in more records, they even went to record shops together on the weekends. They bickered constantly over what to listen to but Seamus suspects Theo secretly loves it.

Sometimes, late at night, they would sit together amongst the wreckage with music humming softly through the room while the castle slept around them. Healing, slowly. Together.

Seamus still thought Theo looked haunted sometimes, but less now. Easier to coax him out of it or get him to talk about it. Seamus still had nightmares, but more times than not Theo was there to hold him through it and calm him enough to go back to sleep.

Whenever Theo laughed—really laughed, head tipped back and eyes bright—Seamus felt that same warmth spread through his chest like the first rays of light after a long, sleepless night. He was worth every bit of chaos they brought on themselves.

They had no idea what came next after Hogwarts. The future still looked messy and uncertain and a bit scary in some places but they’d figure it out.

Together.