Dean stared at him, not saying a word for a moment. He loved more than one person. Somehow, he felt like he should have seen all this coming, but he didn't say anything on the matter. He didn't say that maybe Voldemort was right, maybe Muggleborns weren't any good. He didn't say maybe he just wasn't meant to have love. He didn't say maybe that was what he should expect. Maybe he'd be Picasso.
At the words about Harry he closed his eyes. "He's hiding so he doesn't fucking die, Seamus." He looked at him. "I'm hiding so I don't fucking die or end up in Azkaban because I can't prove that I'm a halfblood!"
He'd been excited before, now he was a mixture of angry and sick to his stomach...or perhaps it was the anger that was making him sick to his stomach. "You..." He felt his shoulders sag forward. "Whether or not you believe it, I'm doing this to stay alive so I can be there for you." And then the next words hit and he stumbled backward, feet falling out beneath him. "What?" Pregnant? "If you want to be with her you can." Artists aren't meant to have happy lives anyway.