1. Acrid

Seamus was not one of the somber ones, not immediately. He was one of those who celebrated rather than mourned. Ended up at the Hufflepuff table with half the D.A. and led a raucous victory song. It might have seemed in rather poor taste to you, with the bodies of the dead just a room away, but you were too glad for an excuse to smile to think of anything else. He leaned over and hugged you, clumsily and laughing all the way through, and didn't care who saw.

"So, Dean," he asked, grinning broadly, "what do you plan to do, now that you're free to exist?"

Just being there, with him, with everyone, was enough for you.

By the time the mid-afternoon sun hung over the ceiling of the Great Hall, you were asleep on your feet. You asked him how long it had been since he slept, and he couldn't remember. And then you pulled him upstairs, stumbling in fatigue and stubbing your toes on chunks of staircase as you went.

The Fat Lady smiled at you gratefully before the portrait hole swung open, ever so pleased that you were alright.

The exhaustion had replaced the high of triumph in him, and he was solemn then. You knew better than to say a word. He didn't talk about things like these, bad things. Instead you held him. He smelled like sour sweat and something on fire.

"Come," you murmured, leading him away.

You slipped his torn robes over his shoulders and let them fall to the bathroom floor, and began to unbutton his shirt. "Dean," he mumbled, "You know I'm not that sort..."

"Not that," you said. "You're filthy. It's awful."

He let out a lazy laugh. "I s'pose I am."

You held your hand under the shower until the water was warm and then helped him in. He didn't say anything when you joined him. Just let you rinse the ashes from his hair, the dried blood from his face and body. You ran your fingers in numb horror over his dark bruises and half-healed cuts.

"Look at you," you said, not really intending to speak aloud.

"Doesn't matter, really," he replied. "I'm alive."

You leaned your face against the top of his head, the water flowing down into your eyes. "You are."

And you stood there and let the shower wash the war from you.