A/N: Just an idea I had. I am not J.K. This is her world but these are not her words.

Though this isn't a song fic, Collide by Howie Day was influential in the creation of this fic.

Thanks for reading!

"Mum?" My hands are shaking as I clutch the Daily Prophet Seamus sent me. I swallow the growing lump in my throat. "Mum, where are you?"

"In the kitchen, love," she sounds far away, like a voice talking above the water I'm slowly drowning in.

I stand in the entranceway, her back to me. She is small. Smaller than I think I've ever noticed before, with tiny hands and feet and arms. My mum. I'm going to cry.

"I have to tell you something," I close my eyes because I cannot believe I have to say all these things to her. Not now, not after six years.

I let the Prophet fall to the table, Snape's greasy mug staring up at me.

I am not going back to Hogwarts.

"Do you suppose Harry'll be back?" Neville says from beside me. We've never sat together on the Express before, but there aren't many students left now, and with Dean gone…

I knew I had to send him the Prophet the moment me mam got it. Dean doesn't get mail the wizarding way. His mam was too nervous their neighbors would notice the owls, so whenever we were on holiday, he'd be in the dark about wizarding news.

So when I saw Snape was appointed Headmaster… my gut twisted into thousands of knots. Dean had to know. He had to protect himself.

He sent me a quick response. He told his mam about You-Know-Who, about Dumbledore's death, about being someone who the bad wizards would target. His family's probably half-way round the world by now, and Dean's on the run.

And I know I did the right thing, telling him about all this shite. I know he's safer this way… but I can't shake the feeling I've been abandoned.

"Seamus?" Neville again.

"What?"

"Look," he points to a pair entering the train. A man and a woman with identical scowls, identical knit brows, and identical—I close my eyes.

Identical Dark Marks.

"I reckon a lot of people won't be returning," I say, "definitely not Harry."

I haven't seen the sun in two weeks.

Or maybe more time has passed. I don't really know, I only have one light bulb in this cellar room I've been renting. The landlord thinks I'm a writer working on my manuscript. He thinks my name is Christopher Smith and that I spend all my time hunched over a bloody typewriter.

Instead, I'm sitting on my cot—because who needs a bed when you can't sleep anyways—and I have my wand in my hand poised toward the door.

I have enough money to stay like this for two months. Everything else went to my family who's with family in South America. My step-dad's cousin lives in Chile… they should be fine. Safe.

I don't know if I'm being hunted. I don't know what's going on at all. All I do know is that I haven't seen the sun in weeks. I haven't seen my mum, step-dad, or sisters for just as long. And I haven't seen Seamus in nearly four months.

There's a part of my heart that aches something awful when I think about Seamus. What's happening at Hogwarts? Are the students okay? What did Harry decide to do? He better not have Ginny with him… but she's her own spirit, isn't she? She'll be okay.

Will I be okay too?

I will never say another horrible thing about Neville after this. Never. I've always wondered why he ended up in Gryffindor—I don't know, maybe I'm just mean—but after this? I'll never question it again.

That Amycus Carrow. That bloody bastard in charge of children. He wanted seventh years to practice Unforgiveables on first years! As part of our schooling. And Neville said no.

He said no, and then he was on the ground writhing around like a fish out of water. Then Goyle was elected to punch him clear in the face while Neville was told to sit there and take it.

And he did.

And I've never been prouder.

My landlord died. I heard a noise upstairs, so I went to check it out. I was only living in some middle-aged man's cellar… I was only in a remote cottage in the middle of the country where no one should have found me. Only, only, only.

He was lying on the floor, his eyes staring wide at the ceiling like he was shocked to see it was still above his head. There were no signs of a struggle. But it was the Killing Curse.

I know this because a group of You-Know-Who's followers tried to grab me. I Disapperated to the only place I could think of. It's the only place I've been thinking of: Seamus's house.

My family is gone, but at least he's still close. I miss him. I miss everyone.

I couldn't bring myself to knock though, not wanting to risk getting his parents captured—or worse. I've been here for hours though, the sun's starting to set behind the white stone of his home.

I'm the reason that man's dead, and no one can convince me otherwise. He was a Muggle man who rented his cellar out to nice-seeming strangers, and now he's a dead man with on one to help get him the proper care he deserves.

I can't be that person, though. Not now. So here I am, standing outside Seamus's house, knowing he's not inside, and feeling like I should probably leave soon before it's too late for me too.

I'm utterly amazed at how calm I feel, knowing that man is dead and I'm being hunted. Actually hunted.

The summer before fifth year, I spent most of my time in this very house. Seamus and I would stay up late, sneak on to the roof, and transfigure little stones into fireflies. They wouldn't go far before falling back to the earth, a rain shower of pebbles, but before that, at least for a few minutes each night, it was like we held little blinking stars in our hands.

There are no stars out at dusk. And now I have to go it alone. Truly alone.

Neville's gone. Things are bad.

I press the cloth harder onto my bleeding lip. Crabbe split it open today during Dark Arts class. Alecto wanted me to use the Cruciatus on Hannah Abbott. Hannah answered a question wrong, and then she almost started crying because she knew what was going to happen after that.

So Neville stepped in, like he's been doing all year, and Amycus dragged him away and I haven't seen him since.

But while they were gone, Alecto came in. She told me to show the "stupid Hufflepuff" just how "dimwitted and dull" she was. But I would never do that.

So Crabbe punched me. And Goyle got to use the Cruciatus. And I've been in my dormitory ever since, waiting for Neville to come back.

He's gotta come back. I can't look at these empty beds anymore. I can't see Harry's and Ron's and now Neville's bed empty too.

I don't look at Dean's. I can't. I start to cry when I do, and then I feel like a big git for crying.

I just miss my best friend. I miss waking up and knowing he'd be waiting for me in the Common Room and we'd get breakfast together and probably argue over the West Ham versus Liverpool game. (Da sends me updates. He's a big footballer.)

Sometimes I wonder if Dean is thinking about me too. Last year, when he was dating Ginny, I barely saw him. I felt almost empty inside. Now he's really gone and all I want to know is that he misses me too.

Is that weird? I chance a look at his bed, and immediately I need to repress the pool of tears behind my eyes.

Yeah, Harry didn't choose to be the Chosen One, but he always sought out the danger. And Ron chose to go with him.

Dean didn't have a choice; Dean had no choice but to run...

My cloth is soaked red, but I can still feel the blood coming from the split. Maybe I should go see Madame Pomphrey. She just loves all these injuries students have been harboring lately.

As I walk toward the Hospital Wing, I can't help but hope that wherever Dean is, he's not bleeding too.

Ted says the best place to hide is plain sight. I told him he was mental.

I met up with Ted Tonks weeks ago, maybe two days after I left Seamus's. We were both wandering around in the woods before we scared each other stiff. Ted popped out of nowhere and I tried to stun him.

But my spell work's gotten shotty with lack of practice. Once we determined we were safe, we decided to stick it out together, which leads me to here and now, with Ted's current plan in tow.

"Dean," he says, "if my plan doesn't work, we'll try yours."

"I still don't see how standing in the middle of a crowded road is going to help our case," I tell him. "We both look like homeless people." Which is true. I haven't had a change of clothes since I left my cellar room. (I don't think about that Muggle man if I can help it. I have to worry about survival before I can feel guilt.)

It's freezing out today. Ted and I huddled under an abandoned bridge last night during a light snow fall. Ted told me Christmas has surely come and pass by now, if he's been keeping track of the days right.

"We are homeless," Ted says with a smile. "And we need proper ware if we're ever going to make it through the winter."

I can't really argue with that. But I feel wrong stepping into broad daylight just as myself.

"Besides," Ted gives me a knowing look. "Maybe we can send a few anonymous letters like we've been talking about."

Ah yes. The letters. The letters I've already written and keep in my shoe because I can't lose them there.

One for my mum, one for Seamus.

"Okay," I say. Okay.

Neville's gone for good now. And I'm alone. Truly, truly alone.

It's amazing how I've based my year around Neville. How I've clung to his presence like a lifeline, knowing any second could be the last together. We were a united front, so to speak.

Luna Lovegood and Ginny didn't come back after the winter holidays, so Neville had just me. The three of them had been working to take Snape and the Carrows down from the inside, but weren't fairing so well. Neville and I—when it became just Neville and I—tried to get the other students morale up, and got beaten down instead. Then, right around Eastertime, Neville just disappeared altogether. That was about a week ago.

One minute, he's acting vigilante in a corridor, the next he's bleeding from his nose onto his white shirt, which I thought we'd be trying to clean out later. Then he's running, because Alecto wasn't joking when she said she'd kill him that time. Green sparks chased after him, but Neville, he got away.

He fled the school, I think. His stuff is still here in our room. Our room where I sleep alone every night, staring at the four empty beds. Two off to fight a war they might not win, one dumb enough to try on his own, and one on the run from certain death… I feel like I'm sleeping in a tomb.

Maybe I'm next.

I sink under my covers. I still go to classes and everything, but it feels like a joke now. I'm not learning anymore. If anything, I've learned how to treat curses, hexes, and split lips this year, not practical magic.

Rolling over in my bed, I stare at Dean's empty one. Where is he? Everyday I walk around feeling a little bit less like myself, always looking to my right just to remember he's not here, always wanting to roll my eyes and share in a joke with him. But I can't.

And the hard truth I've been trying to come to terms with is that I'll probably never get to again. Never laugh and joke. Who knows how long this war will go on? Who knows if he's okay or not? Who knows anything anymore?

And now I'm crying again. Always crying, silently, with my heart clenched tight in my chest like something is squeezing me, smothering me. It's amazing how I know that the organ is there, but I still feel an emptiness…

I love him.

I really do.

I didn't know I felt like this, this way, about Dean. Not really anyway. That one summer he stayed at my house, I remember thinking he was handsome, like an athlete. Smooth all around, with deep black eyes like midnight.

But I didn't think—I didn't believe it. Not this feeling, this love.

Not till he was gone.

What do I do with this? I feel shaky and weak most days, even though I'm standing tall and protecting students the best I can. I can't drop this absolute feeling of abandonment and loneliness, but at least I'm alive, right?

Merlin, the world's gone to shit, and I'm stuck up in my dormitory thinking about all the things I can't have. No Neville, no Harry and Ron. And no Dean.

I close my eyes, my tears become wracking sobs. I can feel myself breaking from the inside out. Nothing is okay. And it won't be till the war's over.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, "I'm sorry I couldn't help you. I'm sorry I couldn't be more"

Dean doesn't know how I feel… so I whisper it into the empty room… I love you, I love you, I love you.

There's only screams. Hermione's screams muffled by walls and stairs and rooms. Ron's screams loud and erratic, desperation gnawing through each shout.

I don't scream, even though I want to. I want to scream for me, for the life I'm surely about to lose, for Ted who's gone now, for all of us down here, in this basement, screaming.

Harry doesn't scream. He's practical. Pragmatic. His friend is upstairs dying, but he's still ready to save. To fight. And I can't decide if I hate him for it or if I admire him.

Ron's running on pure, unadulterated adrenaline, as some might call it. Me, well. I'd call it unequivocal love.

This is what Ginny would never feel for me. This is what she feels for Harry. And oddly I'm okay with that. I'm more okay with that than I think I've ever been, because I never want to feel like this: hopeless and petrified. Screaming for someone I love while I hear them screaming for mercy. For anything but pain.

So, Ginny, wherever you are, I forgive you. I still care about you, like a friend. That won't change. I'm almost happy you found Harry, even if it did happen so quickly after us.

But I'm also sorry, Ginny. Because if you're anything like your brother, you must be going mental thinking about Harry's safety and well-being. I'm so sorry you're dealing with that.

I hope my mum isn't thinking like this, like I'm dying. She didn't want to tell my step-dad or sisters about the magical world, and continued under the ruse that I go to an all-boys boarding school. So when she said to my step-dad that the rest of them should go to Chile while I'm at school, he didn't really think twice.

Which means my mum, my small, beautiful, loving mum is in another country, worried sick about me, with no one to talk to. How could I do this to her? She's way far away, and I'm going to die in sodding Malfoy's house.

I wish Seamus was here.

Well, maybe not here here. Just… with me. At the end of everything.

I wonder if he's thinking about me. He's probably really quiet in classes, sullen. He's not as outgoing as people believe; it's something I think I've brought out in him. I think it's because, when we're together, I'm the more reserved one. So he has to be the outgoing, funny, and charismatic person underneath it all. He's not one for much attention, but he takes it willingly when it's given.

Merlin, listen to me, talking about Seamus like he couldn't survive without me! It's the opposite, really. I would have gone back to Hogwarts and died without him. I barely survived this far, and I know if he was here, I'd still be on the run instead of locked up in a dungeon. Seamus would have kept us safe.

He offered to come with me… At the beginning. But I couldn't let him. No. He and his family would be in danger too. That wouldn't be fair. I'm sort of regretting saying no though. I could use a friend to take my hand right about now and tell me everything'll be okay.

As if reading my mind, Luna Lovegood slips a thin hand in mine and squeezes it gently. She feels weak even through this small amount of touching, and I feel sorry I ever called her Loony. What have they been doing to her this whole time?

Her hand slips back out of mine when there's a pop to my right. A house elf, and Harry's speaking to him.

Maybe there is hope I'll see Seamus again… That would be a miracle after this.

My first instinct is to punch whoever just grabbed me and pulled me behind a statue. That seems to be the current theme of living at Hogwarts: any unwanted or unconsented touching is fixable with your fists.

"Seamus! Stop!" my blood freezes. It couldn't be…

"Neville?"

He quickly shushes me. "Come on, we've got to move. I've been waiting to get you on your own for weeks."

He let's go and I follow him, from hall to hall, dodging students and professors alike. Then I start to realize where we're headed. "The DA? Now?"

"Shh," he waves my question away. Neville walks passed the entrance three times, quickly, and ushers me inside.

"What the…" this isn't our old Dumbledore's Army room. This is… brilliant. Lined with beds and cots and filled with students… all the students who've slowly been going missing—Neville and Lavender and Parvati and her sister and everyone—they're right here. In this loft where we used to practice to fight.

"This is where I've been. I'm sorry I didn't grab you sooner, but you were awful to get alone for long," Neville says. He looks apologetic enough, like a puppy with his big brown eyes and red face.

He has a lot of scars and bruises from the Carrows that remain unhealed after all this time.

"What do you mean 'alone?'" I ask. "I'm always alone."

"Nope," he smiles sheepishly. "The Carrows have you followed since we were so adamantly outspoken about how messed up they are."

Followed? My brain hurts, trying to comprehend this new information. "Followed?"

"Yeah, Slytherins mostly. Filch, the Carrows themselves."

I look at all the smiling faces around me, and it's too much. The hole I've been nursing in my chest roars as it begins to close. I'm not so alone now.

"Doesn't matter," I say, "what are we doing about those sods?"

The hole swirls till it's almost shut tight again.

Because there will always be a hole in me where I know Dean is supposed to be.

I've had a lot more time to reflect here at Shell Cottage. I'm finally eating proper meals and sleeping regularly again.

Though, most nights here, I'm restless. I see visions of that landlord lying on the floor. I see Ted Tonks smiling at me while I refold the two letters from my shoe. (The ink's starting to fade from being folded and unfolded and refolded so much.) I see visions of Hermione after we first got here, of the elf lying dead in Harry's arms, of Ron clutching Hermione. Ron crying when he thought we were all asleep.

I cry too. But I do it quietly in the loo when they think I'm showering. I cry for the landlord—his name was Eddie—and Ted and my mother and sisters and step-father. I cry for me.

But I mostly cry for Seamus.

Seeing Ron and Hermione acting the way they have, all careful around each other and supportive and smiling and flirting—Merlin the flirting!—all that woke something up inside me. I don't want to lose the people most important. I don't want them to fade away either. Seamus has been a big part of my life, and I can't ever imagine losing a person like him. Ever. He's my best friend. He means so damn much to me.

So when I find myself standing naked outside the shower, and I feel those familiar hot, salty tears pushing against my eyes, I step into the water and I let myself have a good cry about my best friend.

I don't think I've ever felt this hopeless before. As the water runs off me, I imagine all the things disrupted by You-Know-Who. All the lives lost for the cause of a self-righteous man who isn't even pureblood, if I heard correctly. Wizards are fighting a war to protect people like me… I want to fight too.

I may feel sad for myself, and I may cry over what's happening to Seamus, but I'm also determined. Harry's planning something big, and I am hell-bent on being ready to fight when it comes.

Bill Weasley said he'd work some spells with me tomorrow. I hope it helps.

It's chaos. It's madness. It's flashing, zooming, whipping.

I think a grown man just elbowed me so hard in the face, I'm seeing stars. Or maybe it's the actual stars above me right now… where's the ceiling?

I slowly sit up, propping myself on my elbows. There is fighting everywhere now. Bodies flying left and right, Death Eaters and students and the Order of the Phoenix. All because Harry came back. He came back for us.

He came back, and for a moment everything was possible. People can come back. I can tell Dean about how I feel.

That is, if I make it through this battle. Because this is it, isn't it? The end? If Harry doesn't beat the ever-living shit out of Voldemort—yeah, I said his name—if Harry doesn't kill him, then that's that.

If I make it out of this, I'm going to find Dean. We can either celebrate together or we will hide away in the corners of the world, together no matter what.

I grab my wand again and keep fighting, defending against Death Eaters trying to hurt students. I saw Colin Creevey dash out to the lawn a few moments ago, and I know he's under legal age. Maybe I should get out there too, just to make sure he isn't caught up in something he hasn't been trained to actually fight.

Making my way to the Entrance Hall, I spot him. Dean, fighting alongside Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood. I stop moving, my arms falling at my side. He's okay, I say to myself.

"Dean!" I call. But it's too loud in here. And he's moving away to fight off other bad guys, and he hasn't seen me yet, and my gut is telling me to follow, to make sure he knows I'm okay too, but instinct kicks in after a stream of purple comes shooting passed my face.

I turn toward my opponent, disarm him, and shoot a binding curse to keep him from moving away.

When I turn back around, Dean's gone. But at least he's here. I turn toward the Entrance Hall again, where I will try to help Colin.

You-Know-Who is lying crumpled in the middle of the hall, just sagging flesh and brittle bone. His red eyes are glossy, but they're still open, and his nostrils are stuck in a flared out position. Like he's snarling from the afterlife.

No one wants to touch it. No one wants to cover it either. There are so many bodies; so many, I'm afraid to go into the Great Hall just yet. What if I see people I care about?

The person I'm dreading and yet most anxious to find is Seamus. That is, of course, if he stayed for the battle at all. If he didn't, then I won't see him, and that might drive me even more crazy.

So everyone has filed into the Great Hall or out onto the fields. And I'm in the Entrance Hall, sitting on the steps, having a staring contest with the Dark Lord's cold, dead eyes.

You know what? No.

I stand and march over to the lifeless form and firmly kick the body in the side. But it's not enough. So I do it again and again until I hear the crack from his ribs. Now I'm satisfied. This is what everyone should be lining up to do.

I take in a deep breath and let the air slowly flow out my nostrils like little currents. I'm better.

Yeah. I'm not.

Another kick, then, "I pretty sure he's dead, mate."

I whirl around, almost tripping over the corpse in the process, because I know that voice and I've been waiting to hear that voice for nearly a year. Maybe more. I don't know, I never really got on track with the days again. It's warm out now, I think…

What am I doing, thinking about the bloody weather?!

I look at Seamus, really look at him. And he looks… terrible. He's got two big, ugly black eyes and dried blood all down his shirt. There are bruises running up and down his bare arms, where I can see sleeves used to exist, but now they don't.

Are those burn marks? But they look old… and Merlin the scars! All the horrid scars that surely weren't there from just tonight.

What did they do to him? My Seamus? My Seamus, the words echo inside my head. When did he become mine?

I can't help myself now. Something inside of me is breaking looking at him, and I have to know. "What the hell happened to you?"

Seamus, my Seamus—because he really has always been mine, hasn't he?—grins underneath all that grime and blood and scars.

"It's been a rough year," he says. But his smile drops, although I can see he's trying to fight it. Tears well up in my eyes now, because his resolve is breaking down too. He forces a grin, "you sound worried."

"Of course I'm worried," I don't try to hide my voice, which is thick and filled with tears. "You look like someone put you through a tree grinder."

"Well you look like someone stretched you out till they could see all your bones," now his voice is starting to match mine. And my chest fills with a warmth I haven't felt in months. Not since before Dumbledore died.

Heck, probably longer because of petty heartbreak over a girl I never loved. Never could love. Because I didn't understand love.

Yes I do, I hear from somewhere deep inside. It's almost as if a little voice coming from the still-spreading warmth whispered it up to my ears. I do know love. Actual love. It's right here, isn't it? Where it's been waiting all along.

Seamus has tears running down his face, and I suddenly feel wrong being so far away from him now that I could be right next to him.

So I walk as steadfast as I can to him, wrap my arms around his neck, and let him bury his face in my neck.

He sobs into me, and I close my eyes, resting my head against his. He's whispering to me something, but it's muffled, so I pull back a bit. He gets what I'm doing, because he lifts his head enough to look back into my eyes.

"I was so worried about you, Dean. So worried," he whispers. Both his top and bottom lips have been split. There's dried blood on them, mixed with some of his snot from crying. He's still crying, soft streams whispering down his face.

I don't want him to cry! Not for me. Not anymore. We're both okay, we're here, and he's in my arms and I'm pleasantly surprised his own two arms are still clapped firmly around my middle.

I look at his face again, really look at it, taking in the cuts and scars and blood and bruises.

He lets me stare at him like this, close enough our noses could touch, remaining silent, but his eyes are saying everything I need to hear.

I've never really been afraid of blood.

So, I close the distance between us, until my lips feel his chapped ones brush against my own. Because I'm home.

I knew he'd be smooth, even if I'm only feeling his mouth. It's soft and just a little bit wet. I taste my own blood on his lips, and I'm worried that might make him stop.

But it's Dean who explores further faster. It's Dean who runs his tongue along my bottom lip. It hurts, only a little, where it's been split open, but I don't care because Dean is kissing me.

Is this real? Or am I still staring up at the roofless Great Hall, wishing on far away stars?

Dean let's off a quiet moan when I let him deepen the kiss.

Real or not, I'm getting the most out of this. I start sliding my hands up and down his back, until I'm overcome with the desire to just feel his skin. So I slide my hands underneath his shirt, and Dean leans into it like he wants more.

I want more.

He's smooth here too, though I was right about him losing a lot of weight. We have so much to talk about, but not now. Right now we have this, and this is wonderful.

So it goes on, just a bit longer, then Dean pulls back quickly.

"I—I'm so sorry," he says. But I'm smiling and then he's smiling. "I didn't even think, I just kinda did."

"Are you really sorry?" I ask. Because he can't possibly think I'm upset, can he?

"Well, no, but… I didn't even know—I didn't—"

"Dean."

He looks at me. Down at me. He grew since I last saw him, for sure. My hands are still on his waist, under his shirt. I can feel his skin tightening and loosening as he breathes.

"I'm not sorry," he says. "I—I liked that. A lot."

He can't meet my eyes now, and I can't help but think to myself he's cute when he's embarrassed.

'I just didn't know I wanted to do that until I did," Dean says.

"I'm glad you did," I can hear the quiet way my voice envelopes us. We're in our own little world, here, after everything, reunited and alive.

"Yeah," he says, his midnight black eyes finally meeting my own. I want to lean up and kiss him again, but I can tell this is new to him, his feelings, and I'm not going to push the boundary too far. We've been through hell.

"We should go see everyone."

Dean nods, but I'm happy to see he looks disappointed when I take my hands away from his sides, letting them drop. Suddenly, I feel cold stepping away from him, because I know I don't want to stop whatever is happening, but I should because Dean needs me to. For now. Not forever.

"We can talk later, figure all this out, yeah?"

"Yeah," his lips open to reveal a shy grin. I chuckle, turning to lead the way back toward the Great Hall doors. Then, a hand on my wrist, another around my waist. Dean pulls me back around, his lips finding mine, his arms pulling me against him.

I suppose the Great Hall can wait a bit longer.

We were all in Gryffindor Tower last night for the first time in months. And probably for the last time too. That's where I am now, in my old bed, just staring at the canopy above, thinking about everything from running away to finding Seamus. Kissing Seamus.

After we stopped kissing yesterday, Seamus and I found Neville in the Great Hall, where we decided we'd stay anohter night to try to help clean up what we could in the morning. Seamus sent a letter to his mum, letting her know he was safe, and I finally pulled out the sweaty piece of paper from inside my shoe. He read it, laughing at certain parts. I wrote it months ago, before I knew that I would ever see him again. He started to tear up toward the end, where I talked about my old landlord, Eddie. About how guilty I felt. Still feel. He grabbed my hand, and kissed my knuckles, and told me it wasn't my fault.

I doubt I'll be able to forgive myself for a while though.

Once the sun set, the three of us headed up to our old Common Room, where Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch, cuddling, staring into the fire.

Hermione saw us first and sat up. That's when I saw Ginny's head pop up over the big chair that was facing away from us. Harry's face came next, which would have usually caused me a pang of jealousy, seeing the two of them sitting on top of each other, being in love, but now. Now it makes me think I'm the lucky one, because I got Seamus after all was said and done.

He and I talked a lot at dinner about the past year. Really talked, until we had nothing else to say about our lives apart. I learned about the Carrows, Snape's new rules, how Seamus tried to protect every student. My heart swelled. It also burned, because I could still see the damage those bastards did to his body. The marks a constant reminder of the pain he suffered.

Then we started to breach the subject of what happened… the kiss… the many kisses. All of which I started.

Neither one of us has an answer, but we're okay going on like this, figuring out as we go for now. Either way, we both know we want it to keep happening.

"Hey," Harry said to all of us.

"Hi," Neville said.

Ginny smiled at me, I know she did, because I know she was worried about me. Maybe not as worried as she was for Harry or Ron or Hermione. But a little bit, because we're friends. I smiled back. And then I made a point to wrap my arm around Seamus's shoulders. Because we're more than friends. We're—well, we're something. And I didn't want him to worry about some girl who hasn't crossed my mind romantically for months.

"Wanna join us?" Harry asked. Neville walked over first, and Seamus and I followed. When we sat down, it felt like a strange blanket of quiet fell over us, like we didn't exactly know how to handle being together again. Ron and Hermione moved over for me and Seamus to sit beside them.

Seamus and I simply sat back and leaned into each other. I doubt anyone noticed Seamus putting his hand on my knee or my own hand occasionally giving it a squeeze of reassurance.

No one talked much.

Then we went up to the boys' dormitory. Hermione and Ginny too. I laid down in my bed and started laughing. It was so strange to just be like that again, the five of us (and the girls), that I couldn't help but laugh. Soon everyone was laughing too, and all the bad things seemed to fade at least for a little while.

Seamus waited till everyone was asleep before he crawled into bed with me, which made my heart beat faster than when I was watching Killing Curses whipping around only hours before. He wrapped his arm around me, burying his face in my neck, where he kissed my collarbone, and somehow I knew everything was right in the world again.

This is how I woke up, with Seamus still wrapped around me, my own arm holding him. This is how Ginny sees us, because she's the second person to wake up. She looks at me, her eyebrows squinting together in that way they always do when she's thinking. I see recognition pass over her brown eyes before they meet my own.

"Ah," she says, smiling. She's sitting in Harry's bed, across from mine, her red hair tangled, her face still streaked with dirt. Her features tell me that she's relieved to find me like this. She's relieved to know I'm happy.

"Yeah," I whisper. "I know."

I smile back.

"We're okay now," Ginny again, but it's not a question. I nod anyway.

Seamus stirs beside me, and I can see Ginny out of my peripherals lying back down, ready to give us some privacy. The curtains on my bed start to shut, which impresses me, because she's gotten much better with nonverbal spells than before.

"Morning," Seamus smiles. His face is gentle despite the bruises. I kiss each of his eyelids, wishing I could have stopped all of the Carrows' evil he endured.

"Morning," I say back, finally placing a kiss on his lips. Seamus squeezes me a little tighter, like he still can't believe I'm real, and I let him because I almost feel unreal. My heart is heavy for all the things we've lost, but it's also bursting because I think I've found the greatest prize of them all.

And it's Seamus.