Work Text
Bear, Believe, Hope, Endure Dean and Seamus (17 September 2002) When Seamus told his mother he was gay, she started crying dramatically and dashed upstairs to his parents’ bedroom shutting the door behind her with a loud bang. He could hear her wails, though, all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen. He stayed seated where he was, at the table, clutching his mug with both hands. His grip must have been very tight, because when he dropped his gaze from the doorway to his hands, the knuckles were white from holding onto the piece of porcelain so tightly. He felt shaky, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d known it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, not the way his mother was inclined towards dramatics, but he hadn’t expected there wouldn’t be one whatsoever. From upstairs there came a long moaning “Whyyyyyyy?” Like a child’s whining. Seamus sighed, got up, dumped the rest of his tea into the sink and cleaned his mug with a wave of his wand. The front door opened, and his dad came in. He’d been working night shifts for the last week. “Hey, Lad.” He greeted Seamus, putting down his backpack in the hallway with a sigh, taking off his shoes. “Morning, Da’,” He replied, but his words were drowned in another prolonged cry from his mother. His father looked at him from the doorframe. “You told her, didn’t you?” He asked quietly. Seamus nodded, the shaking starting up again. “She’s not taken it very well.” He forced himself to say, “As you can probably guess.” His father came over and patted him on the back. “It’s okay, son.” He said. “Give her a bit of time, okay?” He hugged him, and Seamus felt tears pool in his eyes as he buried his face on his dad’s shoulder. “She’ll come around.” His father said and stroked his back. *** She did come around, Seamus thought, and it had only taken her three years. He was twenty-two, now, and only a week prior he had said to Dean, “If she’s not coming, I won’t care.” Of course, he would have minded, but he had promised himself not to let it show. She came in, on his dad’s arm, wearing a beautiful dark red ballgown with golden accessories that matched her artistically coiffed blonde hair and her hazel eyes. She was completely overdressed, it looked a bit as though this was her own wedding, not her son’s. Seamus approached them tentatively. He hadn’t spoken much to her in the past three years, since he had moved out of his parents’ house. He’d tried to give her time, but she had refused to talk to him – or be in the same room with him. And so, after two months of not communicating and being shot strange looks by his own mother, he had packed his stuff and had moved in with Dean, cutting her off altogether. Maybe doing that had saved him from greater damage, but he still felt horrible about it, because he knew how much his dad was suffering from the situation. His mother smiled at him from underneath a ton of make-up. Seamus was wary, and nervous and he greeted his dad first. “Hi.” He croaked and cleared his throat right after. His father pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you and Dean.” He said. “Thanks, Da’” Seamus said when they parted, then he looked at his mother. “Hi Mam,” he said. “Hello, darling.” She replied and for the first time in an eternity a genuine smile flashed across her face. Seamus didn’t know what to say, what to think, even, so he just smiled back. The silence stretched, but unlike so many times before, it didn’t become awkward. Finally, Seamus broke it, when he saw Dean trying to catch his attention from the back of the tent. “Why don’t you sit down. Front row, left side, okay?” He said. “I have to go and see what Dean wants.” His dad nodded, and Seamus turned away. His mother caught his wrist and stopped him. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered, “so sorry.” Seamus turned back around and looked at her. Her eyes were swimming in tears, genuine ones, for once. He desperately wanted to say that it was okay, that it didn’t matter, but he couldn’t – because it wasn’t okay, and it did matter. “Don’t worry.” He said lowly and hugged her. She smelled like she used to when Seamus was little, a mixture of perfume and the little lavender bouquets she kept in her closet to ward off moths, and to make her clothes smell fresh. He took a deep breath, bit back on a sob that was trying to escape him and then let her go again. “We’ll talk about it after the wedding.” He said, “I’m so glad you’re here.” And it wasn’t a lie, after all. No matter what she’d done she’d always be his mother, and even though over the past three years he would have given a lot not to, he loved her a lot. Smiling, he turned around and walked over to Dean who watched him approach, one eyebrow raised quizzically. “Everyone’s there.” Sarah, one of Dean’s half-sisters, announced, “I think we can start.” Dean nodded and smiled at her. “Thanks, sis,” he grinned. She slapped him on the arm and skipped down the aisle to her seat in the front row on the right side. “Let’s go, then.” Dean murmured when the music started playing, and he smiled at Seamus. He smiled back, his heart was pounding, even though he knew there was nothing to be afraid of. He took Dean’s hand and squeezed it, smiling a bit broader when Dean shot him a look. They walked down the aisle hand in hand. Seamus looked at all the people who were standing in neat rows in front of their seats, looking back at him. He passed their school friends, who had distributed evenly on both sides. Hermione was already crying, Ron had an arm around her, and he was grinning when he caught Seamus’ gaze. Harry and Ginny sat across the aisle from them, Ginny had lines in her make-up from where her tears had washed it away, but she was smiling, too, holding Harry’s hand, who returned Seamus’ look calmly, nodding with a small smile. Seamus hadn’t expected him to show up if he was completely honest. It wasn’t like they didn’t get along; no, Seamus had gained a lot of respect for the man Harry had become after the war – quiet, hard-working and devoted. He liked Harry a lot more now, than he had in school, but he was still surprised. Harry Potter didn’t usually come to social gatherings, that were comprised of more than twenty people. He tried for a small smile, and hoped it was understood as the thanks it really was. Dean’s closest family took up the first four rows on the right hand side. His five siblings, his mother and his step-dad were sitting up-front but all of Dean’s cousins, their partners, his three aunts and their husbands had come, too. Seamus looked at his own family last. His mother stood next to his dad, clutching his hand. She was crying silently: a sign that her tears were honest, and that pleased Seamus a lot. He had expected her to make a show of it – her only child getting married. He gave her a smile when she looked at him. His dad smiled, but Seamus knew him well enough to see he was fighting back tears. Next to his parents stood his grandparents, with his youngest cousin. The rest of his family sat in the second row. There weren’t a lot of his family there, but all of them were smiling, and Seamus was so happy they had come. They reached the front, where the witch from the Ministry stood and was smiling at them. Seamus’ heart was still beating fast, and he noticed his palms had become a bit sweaty. He looked at Dean, who had turned very earnest, solemn almost. A rustling went through their witnesses as everybody sat down. “Welcome,” said the officiant, “to this beautiful location.” Seamus looked around and saw the flowers that had been fastened to the walls of the tent and the chairs lining the aisle: beautiful arrangements of red roses, orange and yellow sunflowers, green shimmering ranunculi and blue and violet asters. It didn’t smack you in the face, but the allusion was definitely there. “We’ve come here together to witness the union of Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan,” the witch continued. Dean squeezed Seamus’ hand without looking at him, Seamus smiled. “They’ve asked you all to be the witnesses of the commitment they are about to make to each other, and therefore all of you here, stand next to them as their best men and maids of honour, promising them to uphold and support them in their marriage, both individually and as a couple.” Seamus couldn’t help himself. He turned and looked at the people sitting behind them, all eyes were on him and Dean and he smiled. “Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. It does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth.” The officiant read the Bible verse calmly. Seamus’ gaze found his father, who was looking down, praying for sure. His faith had got him through so much, Seamus knew that, and even though he didn’t consider himself religious in any way, he found himself deeply moved by his father’s immoveable faith. His paternal grandparents had bowed their heads, too, so had Dean’s step-father and his siblings. “Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.” Their officiant continued. “For those of you who don’t know, this is an often-quoted part of the Bible – the scripture central to what Muggles refer to as Christian faith. Seamus and Dean have chosen this to be the opening words of their ceremony as a nod to their families who brought them up and shaped their lives for such a significant amount of time.” She said and nodded towards the front rows. There was a short pause and then she continued, “The couple have prepared their vows, and they will now tell each other and the witnesses why they wish to be married.”Seamus turned away from the crowd and faced Dean, nervous suddenly, to a degree he felt a little dizzy. He had never liked speaking in front of people. Dean went first, because Seamus had asked him to before, and now he was beaming at him, holding Seamus’ hands in both of his own. He took a breath and began speaking. “You know, I never fancied myself to be one of those people who had big weddings and were going to be happily married.” He said, still smiling, speaking calmly and clearly. He had always been eloquent, Seamus remembered, much unlike himself, good at putting words together in an elegant fashion. “I thought of myself as someone who was never going to be tied down.” Dean said, “I’ve always wanted to do things: Alter society, be an activist, induce change.” He smiled. “Nobody was going to be in my way.” He looked around, still smiling, and then his eyes found Seamus again and continued. “And I still do. I still try. I’m still an activist, an advocate, a lawyer. I’m working on the things that are dearest to my heart: Understanding of Muggles in the wizarding community, for example. The liberalisation of the statute of secrecy, so that families aren’t torn apart anymore. I go to Pride Marches and I am campaigning against any form of discrimination within any society.” He said. “But here it is, I’m all about me and what I can and have to do as a member of society.” He took a deep breath. “And I always thought that I either had to change that or be alone, because I couldn’t be free and all about myself and do my thing and be in a relationship at the same time. But,” Dean now looked at Seamus, openly, showing all of his vulnerability that he was usually so good at hiding. Seamus’ heart was pounding, but for a different reason than before. Dean spoke again. “You showed me that I had it wrong. With you and because of you I learned that it didn’t have to be either black or white.” Seamus smiled at him. “You were next to me whenever I wanted to do something, change something, voice my dissent. You encouraged me, went with me and had my back. You made me go into hiding when my life was endangered by a madman and his lunatic followers. Because of you I survived that war: you made me be silent, when I wouldn’t have been on my own.” Seamus thought back to the row they’d had, when he had told Dean he had one choice: either he went into hiding and laid low for a while or Seamus would sever all their connections. He smiled, he had been bluffing, of course, by the time they’d had this fight he was in way too deep to just stop. He’d been in love so utterly he couldn’t have managed. “I hated you for it, but now, I love you for it. For that and for so many other things.” Dean said, and his voice had become a little wobbly. He breathed, smiled – it was a bit shaky, too – and continued. “I love you because you let me do my thing, and I love you because I can be free with you, something I never thought to be possible. I love you because you just smile, shrug and occupy yourself with a book when I go into full activist mode and am never home. I love that you go to Pride with me, even though you always complain that it’s too rioty, too loud and too crowded. I love that you never try to silence my voice, but help me find channels so I don’t have to scream myself hoarse all the time.” There were tears pooling in his eyes, now, and his voice shook audibly, “I love you because you made me realise that I still get to be me, even though there’s also an us.” He smiled as the tears spilled onto his cheeks. Seamus stroked the backs of Dean’s hands with his thumbs. He was probably beaming, bearing his crooked teeth from where his jaw had been broken in the Battle of Hogwarts. It had given in in two places and the breaks hadn’t healed properly, leaving the teeth in his lower jaw a bit crooked, a few in the back were even missing – he had false teeth there, curtesy of a friend of his father’s who was a dentist. He couldn’t help his beam, it was the only thing able to contain his tears, that boiled a short way below the surface, making his chest constrict and his heart beat fast. Dean gave him a small nod, encouraging him to speak, now. Seamus had thought a lot about what he wanted to say, had written it all down, even, and then decided not to read it from a card. He was very nervous now, he was shaking, and he felt like he didn’t get enough oxygen. Now it was Dean who drew small circles on the backs of Seamus’ hands with his thumbs. “You’ve got this.” He mouthed and drew a sobbing breath. Seamus took a deep breath, too, and began speaking. “You’ve always been there, kind of.” He said and he could feel his voice shake - he must sound so freaked out, but it didn’t matter. “I can hardly remember the times when I didn’t know you. I can’t imagine not knowing you. You’re a part of me.” He said, and watched a tear fall on the collar of Dean’s white shirt. “The moment we met, for me, it was as if everything fell into place. And it stayed there, even when we were faced with the worst. And it’s a curious thing, I think, I hadn’t even heard of gay people at the time and I didn’t know that that was what love felt like, and I still realised we had something special. You’re my best friend.” He couldn’t help it, he looked at his mother. She was crying, still, but in a manner, Seamus had never in all the years he had watched her throw tantrums, seen her cry. They were honest tears, open, undramatic ones. He looked at her, instead of Dean when he continued to speak. “You are my safe haven, my anchor, and you were there when nobody else was.” His mother’s face contorted as a violent heave of sobs shook her. His dad put an arm around her, rubbing her arm. Seamus turned back and looked at Dean, trying very hard to not burst into tears. “I am not one of big words, I’m not an activist, I like to stay at home.” He continued, raising his voice so it would stop shaking. “But I have always admired you for your courage, for your outspokenness and for your big dreams. You amaze me, constantly and consistently, always. And I love that sometimes I get to be the voice of reason, and sometimes I get swept away by your vigour. I love that I know words like vigour, all because of you. I never tire of you and the things you do and the stories you have to tell, and that means something, I’m sure.” He squeezed Dean’s hand. “I love you – and things can go on like this forever, if you ask me.” He breathed, he had made it through, he hadn’t started crying and he hadn’t completely freaked out. He smiled, lifted a hand and brushed away Dean’s tears. He had to restrain himself from pulling him into a hug. He wanted to be close to him more than anything else in the world. His heart threatened to jump out of his body, it beat furiously against Seamus’ ribs that contained it like a cage, when all it wanted to do was soar high with love. “We will now perform the binding spell.” Their officiant said softly and raised her wand. Seamus could feel all the Muggles in the room who had never seen Magic being performed hold their breaths. He smiled at Dean, who had new tears spilling onto his cheeks. He had fought for his family to be able to see him get married for almost two years. And he had not fought in vain, which meant a lot of his family, and also a few of Seamus’ relatives saw Magic for the absolute first time. Seamus was still smiling, it was a miracle, he wasn’t crying, he thought, as he grasped Dean’s wrist. He felt Dean’s fingers close around his own wrist. A shower of golden sparks rained down on them and an odd sensation took possession of him, making him unable to move his fingers, he couldn’t have let go, not that he wanted to. He was locked into place facing Dean. It was a strange feeling – not pleasant but not really unpleasant either, it felt a bit as though time had stopped and Seamus lifted his gaze, searched for Dean’s eyes. The feeling lasted for a moment longer, and then it vanished, leaving them standing there, beaming at each other. Seamus was unable to process what was going on, his heart seemed to have stopped; he didn’t really hear the officiant proclaim their marriage. Her words didn’t register with him. The only thing he could concentrate on were Dean’s eyes, wide, swimming in tears and so, so soft. They moved simultaneously, as if they'd got a signal. They gravitated into each other with ease. Seamus exhaled when Dean’s arms wrapped around him and his own fingers dug into the hairs at the base of Dean’s neck. The next thing he knew were Dean’s lips on his own, warm and soft and so familiar it tugged at Seamus’ insides. He only registered the tears streaming from his eyes when he tasted salt in their kiss. He had to break it to draw breath and couldn’t because he was sobbing so much. It was a strange feeling, not having noticed that one was starting to cry, he thought and brushed away the tears, finally feeling his lungs fill with air. Dean pulled him close again, and Seamus buried his face on his shoulder, closed his eyes and savoured the feeling of familiarity, glee and security. “I love you.” Dean whispered close to his ear. Seamus lifted his head to look at him. “I love you, too.” He replied. At a flick of Dean’s wand, they swapped the rows of chairs for tables with beautiful rainbow-coloured decorations and everybody started settling into the new environment, getting drinks and chatting. Seamus felt completely overwhelmed: in the past half hour everyone had congratulated them. He had hugged so many people that they all blurred into each other and he was unable to discern them in his mind. The only thing he remembered distinctly was his hand in Dean’s the whole time. “I need a moment,” he murmured close to Dean’s ear. They went outside. The September sun had shown its face and painted everything vaguely golden. Seamus took a deep breath of fresh air when he stepped outside, holding his face into the sunlight that was still a little bit warming. He had his eyes closed but he could feel Dean standing next to him. He reached for his hand and they stood in silence for a moment, breathing. “I fancy a smoke.” Dean murmured after some time. “Will you forgive me if I have one?” Seamus grinned, opened his eyes and looked sideways. Dean was grinning, too, looking straight ahead. “As if I could stop you.” Seamus replied, still grinning. Dean turned now, too, lifting his left hand, that wasn’t intertwined with Seamus’ and putting it on the side of Seamus’ face. “I’d stop if you ever told me to.” He said, and kissed him. Seamus’ eyes fluttered closed and he felt Dean’s tongue against his lips, his own tongue. He got lost in the kiss, nothing else seemed to matter anymore. After they’d gone back in, and Dean began to hunt down his sisters to bum a cigarette off of them, Seamus walked over to the table around which all their school friends had gathered. He sat down next to Neville. “Are you alright?” He asked, “got everything you need?” They nodded. “It was a beautiful ceremony, Seamus.” Ginny said, “Classy and casual at the same time.” “Yeah.” Luna agreed in an eerie tone. “It wasn’t too much. These things often are too overdone but you managed not to be overbearing.” Seamus smiled. In the past few years he had grown accustomed to the way Luna spoke and had learned to accept her directness without getting offended. “Thanks,” he replied. “I wasn’t expecting your mother here, to be honest.” Neville said quietly when everyone else resumed their conversations. He raised his eyebrows, “aren’t you, like - not getting along well?” Seamus’ grin faded – he could feel it. He took a breath. “Well,” he said to gain time, “to be honest I wasn’t expecting her either.” He continued. “We have, well, unfinished business, let’s say.” He smiled. “We agreed to talk after the wedding.” Neville nodded. “I hope you work it out.” He said. “Me, too.” Seamus replied. “It’s been long enough.” The others had picked up a conversation about Quidditch and he found himself drawn into it. After all, Ginny’s inside view into professional Quidditch and its leagues was fascinating. Dean soon sat down next to him, and Seamus could smell the smoke on him. He had grown to actually like it over the years – not because he liked the smell particularly much, but because it had become so closely linked to his boyfriend, his husband, he missed it when it wasn’t there. Seamus leaned his head on Dean’s shoulder and listened to the conversation. He didn’t strive for perfection as a rule, but he was sure this moment came very close. “Seamus,” his mother touched his shoulder. “Are you coming for a walk with me?” She had left at some point during the reception and had come back fifteen minutes later, dressed in a blue cocktail dress that suited the occasion much better – and she also looked about ten years younger in it, Seamus thought, while he got up from the table. He’d had a couple of glasses of champagne and felt a bit tipsy and clumsy. “’course.” He said, and led the way out of the tent. They walked in silence for a long while, until they were out of the village and on their way up a grassy hill. “I am sorry, Seamus,” his mother said quietly, “I’ve always been selfish but I will never forgive myself for the way I made the last three years about myself instead of you.” She paused. “I have been seeing a specialist to help me with this and a few other issues that I have. And I think I am making good progress.” Seamus didn’t know what to reply. They reached the top of the hill, where there was a beautiful view; Down to the village, where Seamus could just make out the tent in the dusk. He looked to the West: there was a rosy-golden strip on the horizon, where the sun had just disappeared. “I can’t tell you how much I regret not having done that sooner. While it still mattered, while you were younger so that you could have had a better childhood.” She sniffed. “I liked my childhood.” Seamus felt compelled to say. And it was true, just as well. He had loved his childhood out here, on the Irish countryside, with only a couple of people around, on a broom half the time, free all of it. “I loved it.” He whispered, “It’s your problem with me being gay that I don’t get.” His mother sniffed again, and Seamus sat down in the grass because his legs felt like they were about to give in underneath him. “Cowardice,” she murmured, looking into the distance, “I was scared of what the neighbours might say. I was afraid of losing you.” “But why?” Seamus asked, “Why were you so afraid?” “Selfish reasons,” she answered, then paused. “I had a hard time letting go. The first year you went to Hogwarts I cried almost every day.” She paused again. “I wanted you all to myself.” She gave a sad little laugh. “And then came the war and I worried about you - about maybe never getting you back. And when, miraculously, I did, and you survived the Battle with only a broken jaw and a few cuts but very much alive, it became even harder for me to face having you gone again.” She looked at him, her lips in a thin line, tears on her cheeks. “And when you told me – when you explained to me, how you had figured it out, and when you spoke about Dean with this dreamy look in your eyes,” her voice broke and she took a deep breath, “you were so grown up and I couldn’t handle that.” Seamus looked at her; she suddenly seemed so much younger to him than she actually was, fragile somehow. He got up and threw his arms around her. He hadn’t known this was how she had been feeling. He had been so caught up with his own things that he hadn’t spared a second to think about that and now he felt awful – like he had completely missed some sort of point. “I’m sorry, too.” He murmured, against the silky texture of her dress, “If I’d been so grown up I probably should’ve noticed.” “It’s not your fault. Really. I should have been the grown up – not you. And I regret that I wasn’t. Regret it so much.” Seamus could feel her sob, even though she tried to hide it from him. “I understand now, that I pushed you away. I used the fact that you are gay to alienate you, so that it wouldn’t be you who left me but I who walked away. It’s childish, I know and I’m sorry.” Another sob, then she said, “I want to be there from now on, if that’s okay.” Seamus nodded. He felt overwhelmed, derailed, of sorts. He was dizzy, and not the good, boozy kind. “I love you very much, you know that?” She said and Seamus nodded again, his throat was so constricted, he was unable to talk. They stood for a while in the darkness, not speaking, Seamus with his arms around his mother until it was time to go back to the party. Halfway down the hill Dean met them. “There you are!” He called, “the others were really worried that you’d got lost.” “I grew up here, I don’t get lost!” Seamus called back and a part of his brain registered that his mother had said the same thing. He turned to her, grinning, then ran the last bit downhill to where Dean was waiting. “Alright?” He asked quietly and Seamus nodded. “Yeah.” He said and then his mother reached them. “Hello, Dean.” She said. “I’d like to apologize to you, too. For everything.” Dean seemed a bit dumbstruck. He had last met Seamus’ mother eight years ago at the Quidditch World Cup Finale. “It’s fine.” He said, a tad confused. “You don’t have to apologize for anything – not to me, anyway.” He added. “I feel like I have to.” she said and then started leading the way back to the tent that was now glowing in the darkness of the countryside, a darkness so much unlike that of the city. Music was seeping through the walls, getting gradually louder the closer they came. Dean lit another cigarette, and for the first time in almost three years Seamus held out his hand, demanding a drag from it. He inhaled, exhaled, closed his eyes and felt, for once in his life, complete, and at peace. Dean took his cigarette back and they waited outside until he had finished while his mother went inside. Seamus reached up to peck his husband on the lips. “If you ask me, it could stay like this, forever,” Dean murmured, and Seamus recognized his own words. He nodded, and Dean kissed him again, deeper this time, sliding his tongue into his mouth. Seamus could taste the cigarette and the champagne they’d had and he sighed at the familiarity of the feeling it evoked. It really could, he thought and closed his eyes.