Alright. Attempt #2 at a DA- and Seamus-centric multi-chapter (y'all know he's my favourite). I had the first chapter of one up a few weeks ago but took it down because I didn't like it and didn't quite know where I was going with it. I still had those plot-bunnies hopping around my head, so this was born. Let me know what you think of this first chapter.

This first chapter is pretty tame, but general warnings for what's coming: there's inevitably going to be torture, drinking, probably drugs, definitely cussing, absolutely some sex (definitely m/m, maybe some m/f, who knows). I'll put up individual warnings before each chapter.

ETA, 11/02/16: Recently changed the verb tense from present to past, so I'd really appreciate it if you could send me any ones I forgot!

XO, Karo

It was late when Neville finally limped into the common room after his detention, favouring his left leg and pinching his nose, red with blood. In silence, Lavender jumped up from her armchair and pulled out her wand, carefully putting her arm around the man to help him sit, where she performed the healing spells she'd been learning in secret with Madam Pomfrey.

Seamus regarded them quietly from his seat near the fire. The elves had only recently begun lighting it, as it was only mid-October, but Seamus took comfort in the heat and the flickering light. He liked fire, always had really. It made him feel as if there was something bigger than he was out there, and that feeling was something he needed now more than ever.

This has become part of a painful, unwanted routine – the waiting for the latest victim, then the inevitable healing. Seamus came for the information, which he then passed along to the Order, and Lavender (though sometimes it was Hannah Abbott) stayed to close the wounds, of which there were always many.

"Who was it this time?" he asked quietly after Lavender stepped away and the blood had stopped dripping down Neville's dimpled chin.

"Zabini and Nott."

Seamus frowned. Nott was a regular to the detentions, though he was never there for punishment but for punishing. His arm was newly painted with the Mark – he seemed to relish in using it to inspire fear in the younger students and pain in the older (though lately, the Carrows had become less discriminatory over who they chose to endure the torture sessions). Zabini, however, did not often make an appearance. In fact, Seamus remembered him participating only once, when Seamus was the unfortunate victim, weeks ago.

"Zabini?" Lavender asked, casting a non-verbal spell at her hands to rid them of Neville's blood. She really had been getting rather good at non-verbals, and had even begun teaching the others.

"Yeah, it was odd. Lav, why don't you get some sleep? We've got Herbology in the morning," Neville said gently, clasping her hand. She nodded.

"If your nose starts bleeding again, do what I showed you. Tilt your head forward and pinch the bridge of your nose. Try to put something cold on the back of your neck." She squeezed Neville's hand before turning to leave, her long braid swishing behind her back. "Goodnight," she called out softly, disappearing up the staircase.

Seamus watched her go, wishing he too could go to bed. Not yet, though. He knew Neville had information for him.

"How was it?" he said, his voice low. He did not usually like the answer, but he always felt compelled to ask. Neville stood and made his way to Seamus' spot by the hearth, eyes darting to the portrait hole as if to make sure no one had entered, then to the portraits surrounding them. They were asleep, and this seemed to satisfy him, as he nodded once before sitting next to his friend on the large chair.

"Strange," he whispered. That was not the answer Seamus expected, and Neville closed his eyes after he said it.

"Strange how? Because of Zabini?"

"He Imperiused me."

"What?!" Seamus yelped, loud enough to startle a few portraits who muttered angrily before falling asleep again. "Why?" he hissed. This was new. And terrifying.

"Not for long, just while he was… hitting me." Neville shook his head. "Except, he wasn't hitting me hard. He used the curse to make me scream. Pretend I was hurt, like."

Seamus sat back and crossed his arms. The fire crackled in front of them and the light glinted off his watch – it was nearly one in the morning, and he was fighting exhaustion with willpower he never used to possess. He was never one for change either, but now his body fed off of it, ravenous. He was not exactly thriving, but he was definitely surviving, and that was more than enough, these days.

"Well, are you alright now?" he asked, drumming his fingers against his arm.

Neville nodded. "Yeah. It really wasn't for a long time, and he made sure no one noticed." They sat in silence for a beat, turning over the information in their minds.

"So he didn't want to hurt you," Seamus said, pale brows furrowed in thought. "Then I suppose Nott did the nose and the rest?"

"Yeah. There's something else, too." Neville was reaching into his pocket for something – a small envelope, it seemed, sealed shut, with a small drawing of something on the front, partially obscured by Neville's thumb. "I can't open it, but I think you might be able to."

"Me?" Seamus reached over to take it – the thing he saw scribbled on it was a four-leaf clover, small and misshapen, but unmistakeable. He examines it carefully, turning it around to look for any indication of what it was. He held it up to the light and saw nothing, but felt a slight tingle of magic when he traced the clover with his fingers. "Did he say anything about it?"

"No, just slipped it into my hand while no one was looking before they let me out of the dungeon. I don't think there are any curses on it, I checked. Just the spell stopping me from opening it."

Seamus nodded and tried to rip it open with fingers calloused from summers filled with heavy-lifting on the docks by his cliffside home – the paper wouldn't budge. He held it to the fire, and it didn't catch.

"I don't even know what kind of spell it is," Neville said, shrugging. Seamus moved to take his wand out of his boot before stopping midway and straightening, a small smile playing on his lips.

He held the envelope up to his face, and whispered something to it Neville didn't understand.

"Oscail."

It worked, whatever it was; the envelope fluttered open gracefully, and the clover faded. Really, it was beautiful magic, and something Seamus would have loved to learn and use.

"What did you say? That wasn't any spell I've ever heard before," Neville said, tilting his head.

"I just said 'open' in Irish. Call it a hunch." Neville whistled lowly, impressed, while Seamus quickly pulled out the piece of parchment tucked inside the now-pristine envelope.

"How did he know?"

"He's in my Ancient Runes class, so he must have heard me talk to Professor Babbling in Gaelic. That's all I can think of." Seamus unfolded the parchment and quickly scanned it with his eyes, mouth tightening into a thin line.

"Well, what does it say?" Neville asked, leaning forward. The fire was dimming now, and he stifled a yawn. Seamus said nothing, only handed his friend the paper as he stared at the dying embers, biting his lip in thought.

Neville read it aloud: "Let's make a deal. Kitchens. Midnight tomorrow. Alone. Tell no one." He looked up, brown eyes wide. "You're not going to go, are you? Jesus, Shay. He's a Slytherin. He Imperiused me!"

"That was part of the message too, I think. Look, I'll go early and talk to Dobby. He'll come get you and Gin if there's any trouble." Seamus stood abruptly, and Neville craned his neck to look up at him.

"Seamus…" His tone held something akin to a warning and was laced with uncertainty.

"I have to see what he wants."

"But –"

Seamus raised his hand to stop him. "Neville, let me do this. I'll be fine." His tone was harsher than he'd intended, but he didn't apologize.

"A hunch?" Neville asked, standing too. He had been taller than Seamus for years now, who always was the shortest of their dorm, and who stood at least six inches below Dean. Seamus' chest tightened in a too-familiar way when he thought of Dean – he had had no contact with his friend for two months now, and all he could do is hope he was still alive. All the more reason, then, to take this risk: if it could help Dean, and help the Order (and Seamus' intuition whispered yes, it will), then he had to.

The wind was loud outside, swirling around the tower, and Seamus wondered if it was blowing where Dean was, too.

"Yeah. A hunch."