Silence.
Well, maybe not—not quite. There were yet stilted conversations over those who may make it, and soft weeping over those who would not, or had not. Some huddled in corners, staring.
Seamus settled the heavy, reeking corpse of a werewolf at the end of a long line of its kin. He wiped sweat from his brow as he looked up. There were a dozen of these lines, now, stretching across the entire courtyard. Those who were helping had tried to keep the bodies separated by cause, but as no one had really stepped up to organize them, there was some spill over. Down the middle of the row he and Lee had been working on, Dennis was crouched sobbing into his knees.
Lee caught his eye a moment. “They shouldn’t’ve let him come back,” he muttered, then went to the boy.
Maybe not, Seamus thought, but it seemed better than the Creevey’s not knowing. Since the battle had ended, many of the younger students and those who had disappeared that year had been drifting back in to Hogwarts. Some were helping to right things as best they could. Others took one look at the carnage and bolted. Seamus didn’t want to blame them.
God, his kingdom for a cigarette. Fingers itching, Seamus caught himself patting his back pocket for the pack that wasn’t there. He shook his head and drifted back toward the castle steps.
“Seamus.”
Looking up, he saw Hermione and Ron coming down toward him. They were still joined at the hands, and from the colour of their knuckles he doubted they were going to release any time soon. Hermione’s smile was tight, but friendly. “How’re things out here?”
“About as well as can be expected.” He couldn’t help but cast another look behind himself. “In there?”
“Alright. Hannah’s expected to pull through.” The lines around Ron’s eyes told Seamus there was more to the story than that, but Seamus didn’t care to question it. Instead, he nodded.
“Good. Ah…neither of you have seen Dean, eh?”
They glanced at one another, then both shook their heads. “Sorry,” said Hermione. “There’s some gone out to the quidditch field, though. Trying to put out the fire.”
“Yeah? Thanks.”
She gave him another, fleeting smile, then the pair brushed past him on the stair. They went toward the bridge, and Seamus took another look at the display of dead.
The birds were singing in the Forbidden Forest, which only seemed to make things worse. Seamus couldn’t remember a single time when he’d noticed wildlife acting cheerful in that place, and it rather pissed him off that they’d start now. Or, maybe he was just in a pissy mood.
Ahead of him lay what appeared to be a giant’s game of pick-up sticks, only charred. There was still a bit of smoke coming off the ruins, and patches of ash and burned grass that lead up to the compound itself. In front of it stood a collection of students. As always, it seemed now, several were crying—among them Angelina. She was tucked under George’s arm who, Seamus figured, had wanted to get as far from the castle as possible right now. George still looked peaked and tired, and Seamus just gave him a very inadequate nod when he caught the man’s eye.
“Fire out?”
“Best we can figure. Some’s still smouldering, so we haven’t gone in,” said Davies, who had stopped at some point to clean the blood off of his face. The jagged line running down it had been healed to the point of clotting, but it looked like it was going to scar anyway.
Figuring it was best not to mention it, Seamus merely nodded. “You lot seen Dean?”
“Thomas?” Davies lifted a brow, then shook his head, “No, mate. He hasn’t been here.”
“Right.”
He turned to head back up to the castle when Davies said: “You checked the courtyard?” It was all Seamus could do not to punch him.
Returning to the castle took longer than leaving it, mostly because he didn’t want to be there anymore. At the steps, Seamus stopped, turned, and sat down. He put his face in his hands and rubbed at his temples.
“You look down,” said Luna as she settled beside him.
“If you haven’t noticed, there’s an awful lot of dead people around. Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Yes, there are.”
“How can you just take it like that?” Seamus glowered into the girl’s surprised face. “People are dead, Luna. Our friends. Our school mates. How can you be so easy about that?”
“Why do you think that I am?” She stared at him a moment. “I’m sad that they’re not with us, of course. But it was inevitable. That’s what wars are, Seamus, which is why it’s sad that they ever happen at all.”
His fist closed and opened several times before Seamus looked away. Staring hard at the ground, he chewed on his bottom lip. Luna continued to sit beside him, as silent and peaceful as starlight.
“Dean isn’t dead, you know,” she said.
“What?”
Luna was looking at him again, a little smile on her bruised up face. She lifted one hand and pointed to the bridge. Following her direction, Seamus looked toward it to see Hermione, Ron, and Harry drifting back up toward the castle. At the head of the bridge stood a tall, familiar figure with his hands in his pockets.
Seamus climbed to his feet.
He was next to Dean before he knew it, and in another second had pulled the boy into his arms. His mouth crushed over Dean’s, and for a terrible second he realized what a mistake he might be making.
Then, Dean’s hands were in his hair and griping his shirt, and the boy’s heartbeat thumping hard against his own. Seamus had always heard that time seemed to freeze in moments like this—he hadn’t expected it to be true.
Someone coughed as they pulled apart an eternity later. Dean glanced to the side and Seamus found Hermione, Ron, and Harry staring at them. Ron’s mouth flapped soundlessly in the air, as he pointed at them in a state of utter confusion.
“Well,” said Luna from behind him, “I didn’t quite see that coming.”
