Seamus raised his arms in triumph, hooting. "Gryffindor!" The crowd surrounding him burst into applause as he pressed the small glass to his lips and gulped. In one quick shot, the firewhiskey was an inferno blazing through his throat, and yet it was nothing compared to the roaring around him. He hollered again, feeling his body burn with a heat only alcohol could provide.

"Bloody hell, Seamus," came Dean's voice beside him as his audience disparted. "That's your fifth shot. You've already had three goblets of the stuff, and you haven't eaten. What's gotten into you?"

The Irish wizard flashed white in a wicked grin as he leaned over and selected another golden cup of firewhiskey. "What's gotten into me, my friend," he paused, gingerly sipping from the glass, "is house spirit. You should try it some time. That and alcohol." He pushed the goblet into Dean's hand, smirking. "Go on. You've eaten, haven't you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I don't want to get drunk, you git," he muttered. "Stop drinking, all right? Or at least slow down. Get some food into your system..."

"Nah," Seamus waved his hand dismissively. "Drink up, Thomas. You need it more than me."

Dean sunk low into an armchair, pursing his lips and trying to ignore the yelling around him. The warmth provided by the cackling flames in front of him was good comfort, but it did not stop him from being somewhat annoyed when someone hooted behind him. He felt no better when he turned and saw the source, either, for Seamus Finnigan was the worst kind of drinker.

"D-D-Dean, b-buddy!" said the Irish wizard, wrapping an arm around Dean's shoulders with a hiccup or two. "Y-You take my a-a-dvec... adv-ice?" Dean shot a disapproving look at the empty goblet on the table beside him and Seamus roared his applause. "N-Now you j-just need s'more... ha-hang on there..."

"Seamus, I don't want any more," Dean sighed irritably. He was certainly glad that Gryffindor had been victorious, but the celebration afterwards was almost too much to bear. Sure, he could easily go up to his dorm, but he was completely aware that some people - namely Seamus - would, perhaps, want company. Something churned in the pit of his stomach, but he quickly dismissed it as something to blame the alcohol for. He always did.

"N'w-why not?" Seamus stuttered, leaning forward so that Dean could smell the firewhiskey on his breath. The closeness made him stumble back, uncertain of the contact, uncertain of that stirring in his gut that always occurred whenever his dorm-mate was too close. The Irish wizard frowned. "What s'matter, D-Dean?"

"You smell like alcohol."

"And v-v-victory?"

"No. Just the usual: alcohol and stupidity."

Seamus laughed, louder than usual but still enough to make the smallest of grins edge its way onto Dean's thin lips. "Thatta boy, T-Thomas," Seamus clapped his friend on the back, sitting down on the arm of the chair Dean occupied. He leaned in, closer than before, and Dean found himself incapable of looking away from his eyes, found himself feeling that annoying tug in his stomach. He swallowed his heart as it hammered somewhere in his throat and forced his gaze away.

"Look, I should probably be..." his voice faltered when Seamus leaned forward again, no longer smiling but instead staring intently back at Dean.

"What?" Seamus whispered.

Dean shook his head, ignoring the colour touching his cheeks and the sick feeling inside of him. "I need to go to the dorm... I'm feeling really ill... no, I've got homework..."

"No you don't."

"No, I don't."

"Why're you going?"

"All of this yelling is giving me a headache," Dean paused, watching his friend's expression. "I'm going to go to bed." He struggled from his spot, completely aware of Seamus's eyes on his back, of the redness of his cheeks and the burning through his body. "You won't be having any company, right?"

"No," Seamus said. "A-Actually, I'll join you."

Flames in the centre of the room flickered, casting shadows across their faces. Dean sat on his four-poster bed, frowning at his hands, while Seamus clambered to his own. He hadn't even considered what he would do should Seamus want to go to sleep, too. Dean had gone to the dorm-room in a futile attempt to avoid his mate, which, in itself, made him cringe internally with guilt. But the thoughts that overcame him... at night, in the morning, during the day... they made it hard for him to face Seamus. Stupid, he thought, pulling off his sneakers, he's just your mate. He'll only ever be your mate.

He sent a quick glance toward Seamus, who was still struggling to turn corners, to take even the smallest of steps. "You okay, mate?" Dean called out, only to earn a fleeted look toward him and a loud clang! as the Irish wizard stumbled and fell. "Seamus?" When his mate didn't stir, Dean jumped to his feet and lunged forward, grabbing hold of his arms and hoisting him over toward his bed. A daunting task it proved to be, as Seamus weighed much more than he and the thoughts... He shuddered.

Seamus mumbled as he was placed on his bed gently, and his eyes fluttered open when his back touched his sheets. "D-D-Dean? What're ye d-doin'?"

"Helping, you git."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"T-Thanks."

With pursed lips, Dean turned and made his way back to his bed, struggling to keep his mind on the matter at hand. "Oi, D-Dean?" came Seamus's voice behind him. "Come back h-here, would yeh?" Dean, albeit reluctantly, obliged, coming to a halt as his mate propped himself up on his elbows. "C'mon... closer... I'm n-n-not goin' to bite..."

He did, however.

Dean leaned forward with raised eyebrows, uncertain of what was happening, only to feel Seamus's arms wrap tight around his shoulders, only to feel that nervous pang in his stomach, to feel fire burning underneath his skin. He had never felt this feeling, so alien to him as Seamus's lips crashed over his own, as he felt his body be pulled closer until there was nothing between them but he still wanted more. He felt teeth nip at his bottom lip, and it was all he could do but keep himself from doing the same to his best mate.

A moan escaped his lips and he found his body on top of Seamus's, his arms wrapped tight around his body, and there must have been flames burning his skin for he had never felt such heat.

He's your best mate.

His arms slid down Seamus's bare arms.

You can't do this with your best mate.

Seamus pulled off Dean's jumper quickly, then leaned forward once more and pressed his lips against his.

He's drunk.

Dean's lips grazed Seamus's jaw, his neck, then slowly continued downward. He answered his own doubts.

I don't care.

He woke to a thin layer of sweat covering his brow, his cheeks; to his hair clinging to his temples, to a burning pain flowing through his body. Seamus sat up, feeling the world around him veer on-angle, feeling bile form in his throat. Everything was a mass of colours whirling around him, refusing to stay still, and he couldn't understand what was happening, or where he was, until he heard a voice beside him.

"Seamus?" Dean's voice, he recognised at once; tired and sleepy, as though he had just woken up. Yet so close... right beside him? Why would Dean be...

A new kind of pain washed over him, something that he found himself identifying as guilt. Had he... had he acted upon those crazy ideas that had sprung from deep inside his mind? Had he slept with Dean Thomas, his best mate? He swallowed down his heart, now beating rapidly in his throat, and spoke quietly. "Yeah, Dean?"

"You all right, mate?"

He paused. In that moment, Seamus didn't really know if he was all right. Maybe, a voice in the back of his head answered, I'd be all right if I hadn't had to have been drunk to do that. But he ignored that. There was no way he and Dean could have... no way Dean would have... But Dean had had a drink. Seamus had forced him into having one, or two. It was all his fault.

"Yeah, I'm all right," Seamus replied. "Dean - um - what, exactly, happened? Last night, I mean?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"I mean... I guess we... we did... it..."

"Right."

"And I was sorta... drunk... so I can't really recall..."

"Naturally."

"So... want to... fill me in?"

With a sigh, Dean turned and grabbed blindly for the pair of pants he must have been wearing the day beforehand. "Not particularly," he said, and Seamus was certain there was some form of disappointment in his tone. Wishful thinking, came that voice once more.

In another reality, Seamus would have leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Dean's bare chest, pulling him back into the bed with a few kisses to the neck, to his cheek, and then he would have made his way toward his mate's lips and they would spend the rest of the morning with their fingers laced and their foreheads pressed together. He would wake, a few hours later, and then Dean would, too, and they'd talk for a while before getting breakfast, or lunch, or whatever the hell they felt like. And they'd slowly, carefully, subtly, work their way into sleeping in each others beds once more. In another reality, Seamus would call Dean his boyfriend. In another reality, Dean would say the same for Seamus.

But that was another reality, and this was one entirely different. Seamus stared at the space where Dean had once laid, at the space where Dean had once sat, and he could feel a weight on his shoulders as the footsteps ceased.

And it was in that other reality that Seamus wished he lived.