Fic: Where the Dandelions meet the dirt (Seamus/Dean, R) for the community Author:chaeldub Recipient: the community Title: Where the Dandelions meet the dirt Rating: MA 15+ Pairing(s): Seamus/Dean, Dean/Luna, Seamus/other Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All characters engaging in sexual activity are 16 years or older. Summary: A boggart, a friendship, a wedding - things are complicated when it comes to Seamus and Dean. Warnings: fight!sex, wall!sex, very light bondage. Word Count: 5478 Author's Notes: There's a much larger story behind this story but that's another story altogether. Thanks to my beta's W&W - you're indubitable.
Seamus - A few months before the Battle of Hogwarts.
… doesn’t even feel real himself.
He doesn’t even know if this is possible but he presses the tip of the wand against his own throat.
Teeth gritted, tears streaming down his cheeks, searing hot tracks that splash down onto the carnal goings-on below. He gulps for air, as he feels the boy’s arse constrict around his throbbing cock. Something hangs in the air, thick and violent and shameful, something that wants release.
The words stick in his throat, but the moan that is trapped in his chest escapes. The name he keeps trapped inside. With one final thrust of his hips, and a cry wrenched from his soul, he collapses forward. His brow, damp with sweat, sticks to the boy's arched back. Seamus withdraws his hand from the boy’s deflating cock and he wipes it on his shirt.
In a flash, Seamus has his pants up and he kicks the boy away. Disgust floods his every pore. He pushes himself back against the opposite wall; the stone is damp and the cold almost breaks into his madness. He slumps to the floor, defeated by his own demons.
He hears the boy dressing, mumbling to himself.
"Get what you wanted?"
Seamus looks up through tear-filled eyes.
"No." Seamus glares. "You?"
There is a derisive snort, as if the outcome is far from what had been expected, then he tosses the tie that Seamus had used to bind his hands onto his lap. If he'd cared to look down, Seamus would have noticed that it was, in fact, not his tie, but in the gloom he does not realise the deception.
"No. Maybe next time."
There is almost no light down here in this forgotten corridor under the boathouse. Seamus has to squint to see the boy pick up his wand, stick it in his back pocket and depart in the opposite direction from whence he came. It is obvious he did not get what he wanted. To make it worse, Seamus is not sure if he knows what it is that he wants.
The word barely slips from his lips and he feels nauseous. Pulling himself up the wall, he staggers down the hall, feeling weaker by the moment until he has to stop. Hot sick splashes on the stones at his feet and cold sweat breaks across his skin. He needs to be upstairs. He needs to see the boggart.
"Not a boggart," he mumbles, "it's Dean. He's not dead; he's not…
Seamus - Nearly eight years later.
… she really is a sight to behold. Luna's dress has drawn many gasps from the people gathered. Seamus thinks that a dress made entirely from flowers is such a Luna thing to do that he gives it no notice. Lilies and lilacs, daisies and dandelions flow around her in a sea of moving colour and no one can take their eyes from her. Which is lucky really, because as she keeps their attention, he has eyes only for Dean.
In his pocket he feels the ring that Dean has entrusted to him. He imagines the ring is for him, that Dean wants to place the ring on his finger. This is what Seamus wants. He also wants Dean to be happy, and if that means what it means then so be it. There is bile rising in his throat, part nerves of what is to come and part the whisky that he downed on the way here. After a big night out he finds having a couple of drinks in the morning can help avoid a hangover, but not today.
That he can block out what happened yesterday afternoon, that he can put aside where he spent the night, is a testament to how delusional he can be. His cousin is always telling him 'It's not a crime if you don’t get caught', and not being caught had become a full time occupation for Seamus. So, even though he felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights, Seamus could always compartmentalise and put up the necessary walls to get through the day.
Just because Luna and Dean are to be married in the next few minutes didn't mean that they couldn't be together. Where there’s a will and all that shite. There was the small matter of not having told Dean that he actually loved him. It was assumed - like all Weasley kids will have red hair and Slytherins will be sneaky, backstabbing bastards. He just hadn't managed to find the right balance of alcohol, honesty and courage.
There is a part of him that's sure that if he leaves it unsaid then nothing can go wrong. They're happy in his silence, and if he says something stupid like 'I love you' it could just ruin everything.
It was a small thing, and he's sure when Dean realises that it isn't just lust or something that has been born from so much time spent together, that over the years what had started as friendship had become so much more and that his best mate was…
The elbow in his side was enough to jolt him from his thoughts and back to the ceremony. Delving into his robe he pulled the ring out, made it dance up and down his knuckles, then placed it in Dean's outstretched palm.
"I thought for a moment that you’d forgotten it," Dean whispered, looking a strange combination of elated and scared.
Seamus grins, all the while thinking that it may have been a good idea to 'forget' the ring. There would have been some explaining to do, but maybe that would have been enough to call it all off. Which is stupid, because if there is anyone Seamus wants Dean to be with other than himself, it’s Luna. It’s easier that way because then he doesn’t have to think about Dean sleeping with anyone else. The terrifying thought of Dean asking him who he's slept with is altogether just too hard to comprehend. Turning to look at the gathering behind them, he casts his eyes about and spots at least three of them, before noticing that Neville has risen to his feet. His throat clenches, his ears buzz ,and he thinks there’s a good possibility that he may faint.
As if from a distance, he hears someone say his name and he’s not sure why; it’s not like it's him getting married.
All eyes are now darting between Neville, himself and the soon-to-be-married couple beside him. He feels like maybe he should have been paying closer attention to what's been going on. Neville has used his name as an answer, but what was the question?
Dean is glaring at him with a confused look, which he guesses must mirror his own, and Luna looks as calm as ever. If anything, Seamus thinks that Luna is slightly bemused, as if she expected this all along. The priest or priestess - he's not entirely sure, as he or she could be either or, knowing Luna - both - is expectantly waiting his answer.
"Umm… What was the question?" he asks meekly.
"Does anyone gathered have any objections to this union?"
For the briefest of moments, Seamus considers if cursing Neville and then Apparating somewhere far away would be the best answer, but he's sure that people might notice. Even though the thought of throttling Nev is dissipating, he still shoots him a look that's designed to convey everything he's thinking right now. It's with a small level of satisfaction that he watches Neville sit back down.
"Shay, what's the problem?" Dean asks, now looking more than a little worried.
His feet shuffle uncomfortably. Deep inside he knows that as much as this is not the time for confessions, it is.
"Well, see, the thing is… Y'know yer me best mate, Dean, and we've known each other forever and things have changed over time but not you and me. We're different but we 're different together and we just…"
He looks skyward - he thinks maybe there is a way out up there because down here it's all too fucking hard. The words are coming out rapid fire but they don't make any sense and they're not getting to the gist of the matter.
"Look, I don't object, not really. I like Luna a lot. She's good for you, funny and different and caring and you two really fit, I don't know how or why but you fit. I know I'm rambling and you know why but that doesn't make it any less difficult to say. So, just bear with me okay?"
He feels fingers slip inside his.
"You're always there Dean and I… I think…"
Dean - Almost seven years earlier.
… that this is almost the hardest thing to know. Dean had believed they told one another everything, no secrets, that's what they always said. They'd only been back at school for a few weeks and already he could see a distance forming between them. In the months after the Battle of Hogwarts they'd all come together, but now that they are back at school things are different. Everyone - everything - has changed over the last year and a bit. He knows that he has been spending more time with Luna but that's to be expected.
Whenever he had found himself alone with Seamus, his best friend had become argumentative or had ignored him altogether. Then he'd accidentally overheard some Slytherin Eighth Years whispering something about Seamus in the library . Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing - he had to know for sure. He tracked Seamus down in a fifth floor corridor and the argument had begun there. They were now in a small classroom on the second floor, somewhere above the kitchens if he wasn't mistaken.
"I thought you were dead!" Seamus shouted, looking around the room, searching for a way out.
"What's that got to do with anything?"
Seamus sagged as he turned to face him.
"I was lost without you. Nev and Michael were there, but it wasn't the same. There was the boggart and its mind-games, 'n I told you what the Carrows did, it was all too much. I just kept remembering that kiss in your room and it made things worse."
Dean wanted more of an explanation than that.
"Let me get this right. I kissed you and so you fucked Blaise Zabini?"
"No!" Seamus exclaimed, looking more ill by the moment.
"Well, Seamus, that's what I'm hearing."
"I didn't know it meant as much to you as it did to me. I thought… Fook, Dean. I didn't know anything anymore."
"Obviously it didn't mean that much."
Seamus sat back on one of the wooden tables and looked down at his feet avoiding eye contact.
"The boggart was playin' tricks with me mind, making me believe… I thought you had died or worse and it wasn't helping but…"
"But getting on your knees and sucking Zabini off made you feel better."
Seamus rounded on him, taking two handfuls of shirt and pushing him up against the wall. There was fire in Seamus's eyes, tears as well, and Dean could see something else so he pushed harder.
"Some creature that lives in a wardrobe puts it in your head that I'm dead and it gets your cock hard."
"Dean." Seamus almost spits his name out.
"Nice to know you think so much of me."
"At least I thought you were dead. What's your excuse?" Seamus's grip doesn't relax, now that he is the one who wants answers.
It had been late one night in Bill's cottage after everyone had drifted off to bed. They'd been telling stories about friends and family - anything, Harry had said at the time, to keep their minds off what lay ahead. The two of them were still sitting on the settee under the window, the dying fire was making him drowsy but something was keeping him there. He'd been fighting this attraction, this unseen hand, for weeks but now something inside him needed this. Luna glanced at him, a small smile lighting up her features, and slid her hand on his.
Her kiss tasted like honey and she made him feel safe in the dark.
"What?" Seamus demanded; now the tables had turned he seemed more confident and his grip tightened beneath Dean's throat.
Dean didn't know if he had an answer.
"I just… I mean, Shay, it wasn't like…"
"The first bit of skirt spreads her legs for you and you're balls dee…"
Dean hadn't expected to hit Seamus, hadn't realised he had until his fist smashed clumsily into the side of his head. They'd never raised a hand to one another 'til now. Dean at once wanted to take it back but Seamus had other ideas.
"Right ye are, ye fooker."
With a yell that shook the ancient glass in the windows, Seamus swung his fist toward Dean. Seamus was nearly a foot shorter than he was but, if anything, that helped him. The punch landed smack bang in the middle of his ribcage and knocked the wind from him. It is beginning to get dark in the room, a weak, late summer sun pushing through the shutters. Dust flies up and around them as they wrestle on the floor.
Dean hears the sound of fabric ripping as he throws Seamus off, and words are hurled at one another that cannot be taken back. There is the taste of something coppery in his mouth and he hopes the last punch he landed really hurt.
They come apart, finally, scrambling across floorboards, licking wounds as they gather their thoughts. Seamus is stronger than Dean remembers; he has a hardness about him now, a manly feel to his presence. There is a sheen of sweat on Seamus's chest, exposed by buttons that have been scattered and lost under desks and inside cracks in the floor. Dean watches the rise and fall of his chest, closes his eyes to block out the other thoughts he is having beside anger and guilt. Of course that gives him time to feel something sinister tugging at his heart.
"Did you imagine he was me?" Dean asks, eyes hooded, completely sure that this is the fine line between hate and love.
A storm of emotion rages across Seamus's face, and before Dean can say anything else, he lunges across the room and tackles him to the floor. They roll around on the ancient boards, bumping into chairs and desks. Seamus takes a handful of his hair and bangs his head down on the floor, dazing him. Dean grunts but it's in the clarity of pain that he can see tears in Seamus's eyes and he goes limp. Seamus rolls on top of him and pins him to the floor, his legs straddling his mid section, holding his wrists firm. Dean recognises that twitch in the corner of Seamus's mouth - it usually leads to a wicked grin. When Seamus leans forward a drop of sweat rolls down his nose and splashes across Dean's chin. There is tightness in his throat; he and Shay have been best mates forever but something has changed. Something that is unsaid has passed between them.
Time slows and there is just laboured breath and Seamus's weight pushing down on him. Dean locks eyes with him; mere inches separate them now and he can see all the pain in Seamus's eyes. Unable to hold his gaze he turns away, sure that his eyes will betray him if they already have not. Warm breath washes over his cheek and he can smell Seamus – a mingling of sweat, aftershave and dirt.
Dean has noticed that Seamus likes to spend time in the greenhouses.
Lips brush his ear.
"Don't have to imagine any more."
Dean says nothing. He knows that Seamus is fragile and these demons he is carrying need to be exorcised.
"Dean, it was you. It looked like you. He tasted like… It was always you."
A finger traces a line from the crook on his neck, along his jaw line and comes to rest on his bottom lip. This touch feels heavier than Seamus, more real - more complete. It slides back and forth until finally Dean nips at it with full lips. He's crossing a line, one that in his dreams, hidden from everyone else, he has leapt across many times. This is different. This is real.
As Seamus pushes against him, his warmth mingling with Dean's, he can feel his cock pressing on his stomach. This makes him painfully aware of the hardness in his own trousers. Dean's body knows what it wants even if his mouth is too scared to say so.
"Shay," Dean says, at last. It is just a name but, inside that one word, it holds so much promise.
Seamus is nuzzles gently against him, nose trailing along the corded muscles of Dean's neck.
"You sure you want this, Dean? Want me?"
The response is a nudging of hips as his hands, now free, roam up Seamus's side and guide him smoothly to the floor. Now that they are side by side Dean can see that here, now, they are equal. All things can be cast aside, all knowledge can be rewritten as if from the start. Dean cups Seamus's jaw, keeps his eyes locked and presses his lips forward. It's soft, softer than he remembers, at least that's what he thinks as Seamus responds in kind. They lay there for minutes, months, and millennia, exploring and touching, letting that feeling wash over them. Released.
The words, a whisper, are all he needs. He wants to say something prosaic, something Dean, and something that will convey to Seamus that every part of him is burning with desire but all that comes out is –
"Fuck. Oh, fuck, Seamus… I'm sor…"
It goes unfinished, as there is a frantic scrambling as Seamus drags him to his feet, excitedly trying to work the buckle on Dean's belt as he pushes him back against the wall beside the door. In a strange moment of clarity Dean notices that it is unlocked, but that no one has followed them here or interrupted them is of little consequence. There is only now to consider. Dean had expected feather light kisses and gentle touches but Seamus has a hunger. His shirt is ripped open and he gasps as Seamus licks a line down across his chest, teeth grazing a nipple before taking it and tugging. Hands play across his flat stomach, into his boxers, and force them and his trousers down around his ankles.
It's near dark, 'the gloaming' Dean has heard Seamus call it and he knows that all kinds of magic seem possible. Lights sparkle in his eyes as Seamus's mouth engulfs him. His knees buckle slightly under the pleasure and relief. It is inevitable that Seamus's soft mouth, this shock of contact, has his nerves on fire, trembling under this barrage. Glancing down he sees Seamus as never before, kneeling, hands grasped around his cock with head bowed in a strange form of prayer.
Kneeling before his God of lust and sin.
With his body on sensory overload, Dean just lets go. His hands, which 'til now had only drifted from his side to lay limply on Seamus's shoulders, suddenly find life. They stroke at Seamus's face, slide into his short hair and guide him back and forth. Not that Seamus needs any form of guidance, everything he was doing with his mouth, tongue and fingers was bringing Dean closer and closer to orgasm.
This is what he's been missing…
Seamus - Three years later.
… Dean's pliant under his hands. This is not a position Seamus often finds himself in with Dean, but there is a reason for this acquiescence. Seamus is angry and that anger is being channelled into action. They've been out drinking, celebrating with their mates. Ron's been eyeing them off all night; he's sure that Ron thinks something is going on between the two of them. Occasionally Ron turns and asks Harry something and they laugh. Neville is at the corner of the table, taking everything in, and Michael is at the bar, probably trying to chat up the barmaid. Dean had told them all a few hours earlier that he had asked Luna to marry him.
He knows they don't have long, but on the other hand, he really doesn't care. When Dean followed him to the loo at the back of the pub he knew exactly what he wanted. Dean's body was now an apology to let Seamus take out all his frustrations upon.
They've moved from the loo into the alley out the back, it's actually more of a courtyard, but Seamus is too hard to notice. He's on his knees, mouth around Dean's cock and fisting his own through his open fly. The urgency is there, and the need, but something else lies beneath. Seamus wants to call it betrayal but that's not what he feels as he knows Dean needs Luna as much as he needs Dean. He gags as Dean's hips move back and forth, his long fingers in Seamus's hair. Dean's always enjoyed getting his cock sucked and Seamus has always been more than happy to accommodate.
Tonight Seamus wants more.
He gets to his feet and tries to read Dean's eyes but in the darkness it's hard to know. Their kisses are hurried, perfunctory even, as they're just a distraction to allow him to remove Dean's tie. He's sure that Dean will say something, anything, but his silence is all Seamus needs. With practiced hands he turns Dean around, pulls his wrists behind his back and secures him with the silk. He almost hesitates before his hand grasps Dean's shoulder, bending him and forcing his face against the bricks.
The word, the name becomes a question, - can he?
Seamus presses his forehead against Dean's back; his shirt is damp with perspiration and he can feel the heat radiate through. Dandelions and daisies, a scent that reminds him that Dean is not his alone. The lubricating spell that Amycus Carrow had taught him is put to use and he smears the warm liquid liberally over his cock. He trails his fingers down the forbidden cleft of Dean's arse, leaving a trail of moisture.
All thoughts of Dean's engagement disappear when he pushes forward. Dean's gasp is muffled slightly but Seamus can feel the same vibration echo through his own body. His hand leaves Dean's bound wrists to encircle his waist and take his hard cock – pleasure should always be reciprocated.
"Seamus… Fuck… Oh, God…"
Seamus has to stifle a laugh as he rests his cheek on Dean's back, that his friend invokes a deity that he does not believe in when Seamus's cock is buried deep inside him has long been a cause for mirth. Seamus does admit, however, that God is in the details and Dean's arse certainly is heaven.
Sure enough it will have to end…
Dean - And so four years later.
… as if this could ever end. His mind should be on the wedding, but it's not. On the night on the town the boys have planned for later that evening, but they're not. They're focused with unerring accuracy on the curves of Seamus's body.
The knock on his door had come mid-afternoon; standing outside was Seamus drenched by a late summer shower. In his hand was a bottle with an evil-looking brew that Seamus insisted was a home-brewed Absinth that he'd picked up in Amsterdam.
Seamus groaned under him, pushed his arse to meet the tip of Dean's cock, which he was teasing him with.
"I… I want to feel you inside me," Seamus moaned.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "Want?"
Seamus's tongue slipped from between kiss-swollen lips and flicked across Dean's own.
"Need you inside me, Dean."
Dean didn't doubt that in the slightest, if Seamus's need was as great as his own. They were lucky that he had magically sealed the room; no one could get in and no sounds could escape. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between Seamus's thighs, wondering if slow and steady would win or if what Seamus called 'mad love' would make out. As his cock slid inside Seamus's arse, a shiver ran down his back. Even just that feeling alone, of being inside him, was orgasmic. Entranced, his eyes drifted up and down Seamus's torso, taking in the flush of heat across his chest, the ripples in his abdomen and the scar snaking his left nipple to the base of his cock. It drew his gaze as always but he knew never to push, as Seamus would only ever say that the past was the past and the Carrows were long gone.
A hand slipped around his neck, brining him down face to face with Seamus, and their lips pressed together once more. Seamus had taken to not shaving for days on end and the bristles on his chin reminded him only of the man that his best mate had become. Seamus mouth tasted of Wormwood and was devouring Dean, with each thrust of his hips, teeth trapping his lower lip, nipping and tugging.
It was always like this, everything else ceasing to exist. There was only the two of them, together. Nothing else mattered. Fingertips rambling, travelling over a map of flesh, a mosaic of friendship and fucking. Seamus was the part of the puzzle that Luna wasn't. Dean had a feeling they both knew this. He wasn't being unfaithful, this was just who he – they – were.
Luna had tried explaining to him that he had got things around the wrong way, it was Seamus that he should be marrying. Dean can't get his head around that and he doubts anyone else would either. Seamus hasn't even said he loves him. Dean knows that's a stupid thing to think about because, as sure as Seamus is writhing and grinding underneath him, he knows that he loves him – he doesn't need to say it.
Would it change anything if he did?
The tension is building inside him as Seamus wraps his legs around his waist, locking his feet at the small of Dean's back. Their breath, coming now hot and ragged, merges as one as they lock eyes and hurtle toward climax. Dean takes Seamus hand in his own, sliding their fingers together…
Seamus - A little over nineteen hours later.
… looks down and sees Dean's hand in his own. It's crazy. Seamus is standing beside his best mate, who is about to get married, and he's holding his hand. It's a firm grip, strong and safe, and also the same hand that had been roaming over his naked body only a little over a day ago. Steadying himself he looks up at Dean but catches Luna mouthing something to him. Seamus is amazed at how calm she is; he has, after all, interrupted her big day at the most inopportune moment. Whatever it is she's trying to convey to him is extremely important because when Seamus furrows his brow Luna rolls her eyes and starts using sign language.
It seems as if the gathered crowd of family and friends no longer matter. Dean is focused entirely on Seamus and he has his eyes on Luna, watching her every move. It's a quick gesture, a finger pointing at him, her heart and then Dean – she repeats this but now points the finger at herself and then Dean. Seamus understands what she's getting at and he's also sure that everyone watching them gets it as well.
"You're always there Dean and I… I think… No, I know that I love you. I've always loved you."
It's like a great weight has been lifted from his chest and Seamus almost sags from the relief. Dean's grip on his hand tightens and he's sure that right now was probably not the best time to proclaim his love for his male best friend. The crowd has started to murmur and he's sure he hears Ron say 'I told you, didn't I tell you'.
"I think we can get married now," Luna says, as if the last five minutes hasn't just happened.
Seamus looks to Dean for help, and then they both look at her like she's gone mad. They can't possibly…
Dean - Eleven years later.
…through the window he can see the black speck getting closer. This is the day.
"Patrick, if you don't get down here soon you're going to miss the post."
There's a stampede of feet above his head. Dean knew that would get him out of bed. He scoops some porridge out of the pot and into a bowl, sets it on the table and glances outside again. Still a minute or so 'til the owl arrives. The door to the kitchen opens and a sleepy and dishevelled form ambles into the kitchen.
"Why is morning always so early and so bright?" Seamus asks, rubbing his eyes and padding over to kiss him on the cheek.
"Why do you insist on celebrating his birthday the night before?" Dean replies, pushing the spoon into Seamus's mouth and handing him the last bowl.
"Well he's a little young to be goin' to the pub," Seamus says through a mouthful of oats, "Though if he's anything like his Da he'll manage to find away to sneak firewhiskey into school in his third year."
Dean doesn't doubt that Patrick will try all sorts of things on at Hogwarts, just like he and Seamus did. There will be many new adventures to be had and things to learn that he will write home about.
Dean hears the words behind him and turns to see Patrick sitting down beside Seamus. Seamus ruffles the boy's sandy-coloured hair and drops a spoon in the bowl in front of him.
"Porridge again, Dad?"
"Got to keep your energy up today, son, it's going to be a big day."
The owl lands on the windowsill and hoots with the indignation. There are two pieces of mail, a postcard and a letter. The first is addressed to them all – it's from Luna. She's still in Australia, on the trail of something called a Bunyip. She says she loves and misses them all and tells him to give Patrick birthday hugs from her.
"… and hope to be back this afternoon."
Dean knows that this could mean either she'll be back in six hours or six weeks. Luna has been known to lose track of time when she's on the hunt. The letter is for the young man at the table wolfing down the last of his porridge. Dean remembers getting his letter and he can't help but feel nostalgic. It was that letter that led him to where he was right now.
"Dad, you read it." Patrick says, looking a little worried.
"No, it's addressed to you." Dean says, noticing that the last three names on the letter keep changing place like they're unsure which order they should be in.
He glances at Seamus, who nods, and then drops it on the table in front of Patrick.
"Go on, you only get one," Seamus says, giving his son a gentle nudge on the shoulder.
There is the sound of parchment ripping and small fingers searching and then Patrick coughs and begins-
"To Master Patrick Murphy Finnigan Lovegood Thomas,
Congratulations on being accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry…"
Patrick - A few weeks later.
…hand felt very small in theirs, yet he also knew that there was no place he would rather be. Sometimes his dad smelled of Dandelions and sometimes his da came home with dirt under his nails and sometimes his mum would be gone for months at a time. Yet when he stood there between them he knew that they loved one another and that they loved him even more. Patrick was also sure he would be sorted into Gryffindor, having done the maths in his head - being one part Ravenclaw and two parts Gryffindor should see him right.
"Now if anyone teases you, tell them two dads are better than one."
Patrick doubted there were any other students who had a mum and two dads at Hogwarts.
"Da, I'll be a'right." he moaned.
Seamus hugged him one last time and Dean ruffled his hair and then Patrick bounded the last few steps toward the train…