The Yule Ball | Deamus

Chapter Two

Dean was rather looking forward to the next few days and a change in his weird feelings, but that change did not come. If anything, the feelings only seemed to intensify and he didn't know what to do.

What he had tried so hard to not put into words had slowly crept into the forefront of his mind. It would hit him at the most unexpected of times, and he was often caught very off guard.

It was not unusual to be in the middle of a lesson when suddenly, clear as day, something in his heart told him a simple fact he willed with all his might to be untrue. People were beginning to grow suspicious when out of nowhere a fork would clatter at dinner time and Dean would blush furiously after apologizing and hastily picking it up. No one would possibly begin to guess the cause of the strange happenings, even when Dean had been staring at his best friend directly before. It was one good thing, Dean supposed, that no one would think Dean's strange behaviour was due to these odd feelings he had for his best friend.

While everyone else was confused, it was nothing compared to what Seamus was feeling. He constantly questioned Dean, who never could quite give him a straight answer. His excuses were becoming lousier and lousier, and Dean was afraid that at some point he'd just blurt out the truth without meaning to.

Dean had also taken to keeping to himself more than usual. He couldn't be around others because he felt as if soon enough they'd be able to read his thoughts and the last thing he wanted was someone discovering his feelings, whatever they were. He was still rather confused himself.

He certainly didn't want to spend time around Seamus either, as it was much easier to just avoid him. As much as he loved spending time with his best friend, lately it brought him to feel rather sick and fearful. It was also becoming harder and harder to act normal around anyone, and especially Seamus. He just didn't know what else to do, and maybe he was acting the opposite of how a Gryffindor should by avoiding his problems, but in this case it seemed the only option.

As usual, he was currently lounging in the Gryffindor common room, sketchbook in hand. Seamus was on the other side of the room with Neville, though he kept sending confused looks in Dean's direction.

Dean liked to draw Seamus a lot, but with the bustling crowd of Gryffindors in the common room trying to escape the cold, he couldn't. He didn't want anyone else to notice. Instead, he had settled for sketching an owl he had seen fly by the window just moments before.

It was very hard to focus on his drawing when he was so lost in thought. He had a direct view of Seamus, exactly who he was trying to not think of. It wasn't working too well though, and just as he was considering going up to their dormitory Lavender approached Seamus.

So now she's talking to him in the common room too, Dean thought bitterly.

He could hardly stand to watch them any longer, though it had only been a matter of seconds since she had arrived. All the while, he had stayed rooted to the spot and watched from across the room.

He strained his ears to try to discern their voices from the rest in the room but it was near impossible. The Gryffindors were still rowdy with discussion of the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. He could see Seamus and Lavender's lips moving, but he couldn't make out a single word they were saying. He debated moving closer, but didn't want to risk Seamus talking to him after Lavender had left, so he decided now was as good of a time as any to move along to the Dormitory.

It seemed Neville had the same idea as him, he was following closely behind. Neville hurried to try to catch up, but had nearly ended up tripping in the process.

"Dean!" He was slightly breathless. "Where are you headed off to?"

"Our dormitory. Same place as you, I imagine." Thankfully, Neville didn't seem to notice the bitter tone of his voice.

"Had to get away from Lavender and Seamus," Neville said. "She won't leave him alone. I'm not sure he even likes her. What do you reckon?"

Dean just shrugged. He had hardly been around his best friend lately to learn of any recent developments in his life. Lavender and Seamus could've been dating and for all the supposed best friends had been talking to each other, Dean would have had no idea.

"What's been going on between you too?" Neville pressed. "Harry says he hasn't noticed anything, but Ron agrees with me, something's not right."

"Everything is fine," Dean said, though everything he had been feeling over the last few days threatened to spill out all at once.

At last they had reached their dormitory and Dean pushed his way inside. He wished for Neville to leave him alone, but at the same time it was the last thing he wanted.

What he desperately needed was someone to talk to, about everything. But Neville couldn't be that person. In fact, no one really could. He didn't think there was a person around that could possibly understand how he felt for his best friend. He couldn't even understand it himself, how could anyone else?

So Dean resolved to keeping to himself instead. Neville, sensing that he didn't want to talk anymore, busied himself with trying to reorganize his trunk, which really was quite a mess.

Dean went to open his sketchbook only to realize that he didn't have it. His stomach gave an almighty lurch, and the image of his sketchbook sitting on a table in the common room, open, inviting anyone to look inside, burned in his mind. He should've just gone to get it, but he was worried about having to interact with Seamus if he was to pass by him a second time. He just had to hope that no one would touch it, which really was asking for a lot. He could already picture the likes of Fred and George sneaking a look.

Dean gave a start as the door opened, but it was only Harry and he was able to let out a sigh of relief. Harry, it seemed, had grown tired of the loud noise in the common room and unrolled some parchment to do his homework. It was probably the potions essay they had due the next day for Professor Snape. Dean hadn't even started his.

Dean laid on his bed, staring the hangings of his four-poster. The sound of Harry's quill scratching against parchment was almost peaceful, though the rustling of whatever Neville was doing prevented it from being so.

The second interruption came, and this time it was the last person Dean wanted to see. And as if it couldn't get any worse, Seamus was holding up Dean's sketchbook.

"You left this down there," he said, and, probably seeing the petrified look on Dean's face, added, "you don't need to worry, I didn't look."

He tossed it onto the bed beside Dean and sat down on his own bed, which was the one beside Dean's.

"The owl was nice though."

"Thanks."

Dean thought his voice sounded far away, almost as if it didn't belong to himself. Dean and Seamus didn't say another word to each other, and Neville watched, curiously, from where he sat on the floor surrounded by piles of robes.