For my darling Bex via the Monthly Oneshot Exchange. GeorgeSeamus, angst with a happy ending, fireflies. Enjoy, babe.

Insane House Competition: angst

Word Count: 4730

i.

how many wars will it take us to learn that only the dead return

"What do we do now?"

It takes Seamus several moments to realize that Hannah is actually asking him— him, of all people. That happens a lot lately. Somehow, the little group of survivors he managed to flee with after You-Know-Who's triumph at Hogwarts is still alive, and they keep looking at him like he has all the bloody answers.

His mouth opens for just a fraction of a second, but he snaps it shut. Seamus wants to tell her that he doesn't know. He isn't Harry Potter or Neville Longbottom. They had been fearless leaders, but their bravery had earned them deaths. Still, he can't tell her the truth— he's just as scared and lost, just as fucked up as the rest of them, and he doesn't know what they're supposed to do, how they're supposed to survive, or if they should try to continue the fight or just give up.

It's almost funny. Before this world went to hell, he would have spoken without a second thought. Now, it seems crucial that he chooses his words wisely. A week has passed since that fateful battle, and they're all dragging along, trying to repair pieces of themselves that will never be whole again.

He looks around, taking in each face that stares back at him. Hannah's blue eyes are dewy with unshed tears, but her smile seems glued in place; the day she stops smiling will be the day Seamus knows all hope is lost.

Oliver rests against a tree branch that serves as an impromptu cane. He's older and should be the leader by default. If he hadn't taken a nasty fall from his broom during the battle, maybe he would be in Seamus' place now. Cho stays at his side. She doesn't speak much these days, except to Oliver. Their Quidditch rivalry has been laid to rest, and now they are inseparable.

Blaise and Daphne keep a slight distance from the rest of the group. Daphne is comfortable around them, having been a helpful ally to Dumbledore's Army, passing information to them when they had to go underground. Blaise, on the other hand, still looks at them with distrust in his dark eyes.

And they all look at Seamus now, each and every one of them, like he has all the bloody answers.

"We need to find a place to set up camp," Seamus decides. "Not a temporary one. We need to hunker down and work on a long term plan."

It isn't the answer they're looking for. Though no one challenges him or mocks his decision, he can see the disappointment in their eyes.

"He's right," Hannah says, and Seamus has never felt so grateful to have her at his side. He may be the leader, but she is the voice of reason who seems to erase any lingering doubts. "We aren't the only survivors. Staying in one place can make it easier for others to find us."

That seems to settle it. Without another word, six broken soldiers gather their few belongings and carry on. No one seems to know what they're looking for anymore. Safety? Hope? Security?

Those things don't exist anymore. Like so many of the group's friends and family, those things died in the war.

…

The encampment isn't perfect, but it will have to do. Blaise and Daphne set up a perimeter, casting every protective charm they know. Hannah and Cho help Seamus built raggedy shelters that they'll have to call home for a little while. Even with a few spells, the little shelters look miserable and uninviting. Seamus sighs. At least they'll get the job done.

"How are you?" Hannah asks, casting a charm and creating a small fire in the center of the camp.

Seamus smiles. He's glad it's just Hannah. He doesn't have to put on a brave face and pray she doesn't see through his lies. "As good as any of us," he answers with a shrug.

He doesn't want to talk about how he feels. Feeling means he'll have to remember, and he isn't ready to feed those demons just yet.

Hannah wraps him in a warm hug. "If you ever need to talk…"

Maybe he does need to. He won't. The only person he wants to talk is dead and gone. No one else will understand him the way he wants to be understood.

"Whenever you're ready," Hannah adds, releasing him at last. "Remember, Shay, you aren't alone."

Then why the hell does he feel so fucking lonely?

…

"Dean!"

His boyfriend turns at the sound of his voice, a bright grin twisting his lips. He rushes forward, and they embrace. They don't kiss, even though Seamus wants nothing more than feel Dean's lips against his. No one would care, of course. If anything, an expression of love would have been welcome.

Instead, Seamus only holds him tighter, blinking back tears. "Missed you," he says.

Dean's fingers ghost over Seamus' back. "Missed you too, Shay."

Seamus wakes, bolting upright. At least he didn't scream, but his eyes are wet with tears. He wipes them away, grateful that no one can see his weakness.

"So much for being a leader," he mumbles to himself before laying back on the makeshift mattress of leaves.

Above him, the stars twinkle, and he hates them for it. He and Dean would stand at the window together, counting stars. It seems unfair that the stars still dare to shine when Dean is no longer here to see them.

Seamus laughs to himself, pulling the tattered sheet over his body. He's angry at the universe for doing what it always does, what it's supposed to do. Maybe he's more damaged than he realized.

ii.

nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones

It only takes them a week to fall into a pattern at the camp. Slowly, schedules are made, and everyone has their role to play.

Seamus' only role seems to be pretending to be strong and trying not to break down in the public eye. Some days are easier than others.

The routine is nice. Seamus had forgotten what it feels like to have some semblance of certainty to hold onto. He can almost convince himself that everything is fine, that it's just like when he was younger and would set up a tent in the backyard to hide from his stepfather on the bad nights. It always got better back then, and he wants to pretend it will get better now, but he isn't that naive.

Eventually, he's going to have to start making decisions. There is still a war going on. Maybe they're on the losing side, and the hope has been taken from them, but it doesn't matter. He is their leader, he holds their lives in his trembling hands, and he fucking hates it.

…

"Hannah! Need you here! Now!"

Seamus doesn't care that Blaise isn't calling for him. The urgency in his voice is enough to make Seamus drop the basket of berries he's collecting and sprint back to the camp.

At first, he thinks Blaise is carrying a lethargic ghost. He sees the bright shock of red hair, and he instantly thinks of Ron, but his old roommate is dead; Seamus still remembers nearly tripping over Ron's body in his hurry to reach Dean.

But the second figure groans, and when he looks up, Seamus notices he's missing an ear. He can't remember which Weasley twin lost his ear. If only they had Lee around.

"Found him on my patrol," Blaise explains as Seamus helps him carry the twin. "Poor bastard looked dead. Almost walked right past him."

"At least he's not dead," Hannah says, following to the makeshift infirmary they've set up. It isn't much, but Hannah is amazing. She has managed to find enough healing herbs to keep the infirmary stocked and ready for minor emergencies.

When they set the twin down, he slumps forward. Seamus wonders if he's received some sort of spell damage that has destroyed his mind; the twin doesn't react at all.

"Hey," Hannah says, kneeling in front of him so that she can get a closer look at him. "Can you tell me where you're hurt?"

Silence.

"What happened to you?"

Silence.

Seamus understands. It isn't easy to talk about the pain they feel, the scars that cut deeper than the eye can see. They're all walking around with storm clouds in their hearts and demons in their minds, but no one talks about it.

"Fred…"

"Are you Fred?" Hannah asks.

The twin shakes his head.

He doesn't say anything after that. Hannah calls it progress. Seamus isn't so sure.

…

Dean catches his eye and grins. All hope is lost, but they can still fight. Dean will still be by his side, and that means Seamus can do anything.

It takes only a second to smile, but that's one second too long. Seamus doesn't even see who casts the curse. A streak of green light cuts through the air, and even as Seamus screams, he knows it's too late. Dean doesn't have a chance to turn his head before the curse finds home in his spine.

He's still grinning at Seamus when he falls.

Seamus is still screaming when he wakes. Cold sweat beads his forehead, and he wipes it away as he sits up. His heart races painfully in his chest, and his throat is raw from screaming.

He's greeted by silence. He doesn't know if that means everyone has learned to sleep through others' screams, or if they're too busy battling their own nightmares to acknowledge it.

For several moments, there is only silence. Seamus doesn't like the quiet. It makes it too easy to get lost inside his own mind, and he doesn't know how to cope with the thoughts the plague him.

A muffled cry cuts through the silence. It's coming from the infirmary. Hannah is asleep, and Seamus doesn't know anything about healing, but he still climbs to his feet. If nothing else, at least it will give him something to do.

George is awake. He sits up, staring blankly ahead. Seamus sits beside his leaf and straw bread. "Nightmares?" he asks.

No answer.

"I know," Seamus assures him. "I don't like talking about it either."

They're all hurting. Voicing that pain feels selfish. Why should his grief he more important than theirs? Why should he speak about it when no one else does?

George lays back down. He still doesn't speak, but Seamus can see the tears streaking his freckled face in the moonlight.

…

He doesn't remember falling asleep again, and the nightmares didn't return. When he wakes, though, he's still beside George. The older wizard is on his bed, but he's reaching out for something in his sleep.

Seamus sits up, and he realizes George's hand is only inches from him. He isn't whatever or whoever George had really wanted to reach, but maybe he'll have to do. They're all reaching for things they'll never be able to touch again.

He sits up and dusts off his shirt. He knows he has things to do, but he wants to stay. He doesn't know what it is, but there's something about George that calls out to him.

George sits up, blinking rapidly. He shakes his head before pushing hand through his red hair, knocking out the leaves and twigs that cling to the ginger strands.

"Good morning," Seamus says, though they both know it isn't a good morning at all.

George nods but doesn't speak. Seamus doesn't like that. At Hogwarts, George had been a whirlwind of energy and mischief. A day wouldn't pass without him cracking a smile. Now, there are no smiles, just hollow eyes staring blankly ahead.

It breaks his heart. He reaches out, taking George's hand carefully in his own. The other man stares at their hands for a moment before offering Seamus a gentle squeeze.

It isn't much, but Hannah would call it progress. George is still here.

They sit like that in silence for what feels like an eternity. Seamus doesn't let go of his hand until Hannah arrives with her bright smile. "Nightmares?" she asks.

George doesn't respond, but he doesn't have to. They're all fighting the same monsters inside their heads.

iii.

you are not weak just because your heart feels so heavy

It takes George a week before he's ready to leave the infirmary. He doesn't speak much, but Hannah has managed to get some of his story. He and Ginny escaped the castle together and had gone on the run like all the other survivors. He doesn't know where Ginny is or if she's still alive. A group Death Eaters attacked them. He had been left for dead.

Now, George sits by the fire, watching as the dancing flames consume the wood. Seamus keeps his distance, watching him.

"Is he going to be okay?" he asks.

"About as okay as the rest of us," Hannah answers.

Seamus looks around that the small camp of battered survivors. They're all doing the best they can, but it isn't enough. They're all lost and hopeless, and it shows in their forced smiles and poorly concealed tears.

"A simple 'no' would have been enough," he mutters.

Hannah shakes her head, nudging him gently with her elbow. "Pessimist," she accuses.

"Realist," he corrects.

…

He stares at the stars in the sky. The others have long since fallen asleep, but he is still wide awake. Sleep terrifies him more than anything else these days. He thinks he would rather face an army of Death Eaters while unarmed than close his eyes and let the dreams take hold.

Footsteps cut through the silence, and he sits up, instinctively grabbing his wand. His first thought is that Blaise betrayed them, that he's taken down the wards, and they're all sitting ducks.

Instead of finding himself face to face with certain death, he watches as George steps out of the shadows and sits next to him.

"Nightmares," George says quietly.

Seamus nods. "I have them too."

"Fred… I don't even know what happened."

"I watched my boyfriend die before my eyes." Seamus inhales deeply. Tears sting his eyes, and he wants to wipe them away. He's supposed to lead these people, but how can he when he is barely holding himself together. "It's my fault."

He knows he shouldn't blame himself. Dean wouldn't want him to. Still, he had distracted his boyfriend at the wrong time. If Dean hadn't stopped to smile at him, he would still be here, and Seamus wouldn't be falling apart.

George reaches out and wraps an arm around him. Seamus jumps; no one else has ever touched him like this, with so much gentleness and compassion in a simple touch. No one but Dean. It almost feels like a betrayal, but he doesn't pull away. Maybe he just needs someone, even if that someone isn't the person he needs it to be.

"It's okay," George whispers.

"Shouldn't I be the one comforting you?"

George had opened up for the first time since he's arrived, and Seamus has selfishly put his pain out there. It isn't fair to George. George doesn't complain, but Seamus can't help but think the other wizard is secretly cursing him for not letting him speak his pain.

"Why can't we comfort each other?" George mutters.

They lay back. Neither speak for several moments. For once, Seamus doesn't hate this imperfect silence that's broken only by the sounds of their breathing. It isn't a tense silence— the kind of silence that has become all too common among the group, the kind of silence that says I want to help, I want to speak, but words are too hard to come by. It's a gentle silence that Seamus feels hasn't existed since the world went to hell a year earlier. It's the comfortable silence that says it's okay; we don't have to speak to understand.

The nightmares don't come that night, and when he wakes up, he's wrapped in George's arms. It feels like a betrayal, but he thinks Dean would understand.

…

The world is a little brighter now. The days are still hard, and he has to play the role of leader. He has to make decisions that could mean life or death, and even if he isn't ready, he feels like maybe he can manage it now without fucking everything up at every turn.

His nights are for George. The two sit together in silence. Sometimes they speak, but mostly they just the silence envelop them and wrap around them like the warmest blanket.

It's the first time he's felt safe in a long time.

…

"Good to see you smiling again, mate," Oliver says, clapping George's shoulder.

The redhead grins. "Not quite where I want to be, but give me time," he says. "I'm sure I'll be able to make a few good jokes about you soon, Wood."

"You helped him," Hannah says.

Seamus shakes his head. "You're the Healer."

She laughs. "Potions and plants can't cure everything. Some damage need a different type of treatment," she insists. "You did that. You gave him something to believe in."

Seamus doesn't respond. Her words really hit him. George has opened up and allowed himself to be vulnerable. Can Seamus do the same?

…

He breaks down. He hasn't allowed himself to let anyone see his mask slip. Maybe they've all heard him screaming in the middle of the night, but they've never seen him like this. He doesn't fight back the tears as he opens up his heart. It's just him and George, and he feels safe enough to bare his soul.

Helpless.

Hopeless.

Damaged.

The words fall so easily from his lips, and when he's done, he's a mess of nerves and tears. "I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm weak."

George holds him, kissing away the tears. "You're strong," he whispers, and Seamus can almost believe him. George presses one final kiss to his lips.

Seamus pulls back, stunned. "You're—?"

"Bisexual," George supplies with a shrug. "Fred knew. I hope you don't mind that I kissed you."

"No. It was nice."

George laughs. "Nice?" he echoes, holding a hand over his heart in faux offense. "I'll have you know I am a terrific kisser."

Seamus chuckles and lays down. George lays beside him, and his gentle weight and warmth are comfortable and familiar.

The nightmares come back, but when he wakes up screaming, George is there.

iv.

before i die, i want to be someone's favorite hiding place

The best thing, Seamus realizes, is that he doesn't have to do this alone. He's spent so long letting the darkness get to him, hiding away, and trying to be strong, that he's almost forgotten he's being strong for other people. Other people who are there for him.

He takes a deep breath, looking around the camp. Over the past two months since their loss at Hogwarts, the little group has grown. It isn't by much, but it's enough to remind him that there are others out there, that there's still hope to be found.

Luna Lovegood made her way to the camp shortly after George got better. Seamus can still see the war in her eyes, but she smiles just as bright as Hannah, and she tells the others about the strange, impossible creatures she thinks she encountered on her way

Kingsley Shacklebolt arrives next, and he brings a strange sense of security to the camp. When he arrives, he brings Dennis Creevey with him. The young boy is still shaken, and he clings to Kingsley.

Their little family is growing. Seamus feels like he isn't alone anymore.

…

"Lowering the wards would be suicide," Daphne says, shaking her head. "We can't risk that."

"She's right," Blaise agrees. "Those wards keep us safe."

"They do," Kingsley says, leaning in. The fire's light dances across his dark skin. "But they make it hard for survivors to find shelter. How many others do you think have passed this place? How many people are out there, wandering around, not knowing a sanctuary is right here?"

All eyes focus on Seamus. It seems strange that he's still considered the leader. Kingsley is older and a bloody Auror. Seamus had assumed his title would default automatically to the older wizard. It hadn't; Seamus still doesn't know how he feels about that.

He feels a lump in his throat. This decision is his, and it could mean life or death. He doesn't want to say anything; what answer can he give when everything is so uncertain?

George is beside him. He takes Seamus' hand in his, offering it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. It's a small gesture, but it speaks to him in a way that no words ever could. Seamus stands a little taller, that kind touch giving him a new burst of confidence.

"We'll lower the wards. There's enough of us now that we can alternate guards to patrol the perimeter," he decides, speaking quickly so that Blaise cannot find an opportunity to argue. "We'll still be protected, and we'll be accessible to other survivors who might pass through."

Blaise and Daphne don't look happy. Kingsley, however, offers him a grateful smile.

Seamus swallows dryly. He hopes he's done the right thing.

…

"It's dark out," George says as he and Seamus begin their patrol.

Seamus snorts. "That's what happens when the sun sets," he teases.

George scowls and lets out an annoyed huff. "I was going to suggest we hold hands, but you just had to be a smartass and interrupt," he grumbles.

Seamus grins, taking George's hand. "You could have just asked. And I'm not a smartass.'

The silence isn't as peaceful as it's been lately. Though it's still a comfortable silence, it feels tense. Maybe it's being out here, knowing the wards aren't in place. Maybe it's because being out in the open is a reminder that there are still monsters in the dark. They will never be truly safe again.

And yet his fears don't seem so great anymore. The nightmares still come at night sometimes. His demons refuse to die. But it doesn't seem to matter. George has helped him pick up the pieces. Maybe those pieces will never fit back the way they used to, but he's healing. Slowly but surely, and all thanks to George.

He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't even seen the shallow hole in front of him. His foot snags in it, and he can feel the bone break as it twists. Seamus hits the ground unceremoniously, the impacting knocking the wind from his chest.

He lays there, gasping and sputtering, until he's finally able to suck air back into his lungs. George kneels beside him, tenderly holding up Seamus' leg. Seamus screams; it feels like someone has set hot coals on his skin, and the pain is burrowing into his bones.

"Sorry," George mutters. "Sorry. Shit. Mum always told me I needed to learn basic healing spells. Did I listen? No. Fred was good at it, and I thought…"

He trails off. Things are getting easier, but he always seems to choke up at the mention of his twin.

"Tell me something," Seamus murmurs.

"What?"

"Anything. Everything. Just talk to keep me distracted, George. Please," Seamus says before lifting his wand and sending up a shower of red sparks. He hopes someone in the camp is awake and might see it.

And George talks. He tells Seamus about the time he and Fred gave Ron an Acid Pop. He recounts the time he snuck out with his older brother's broom, broke his wrist, and was too afraid to tell his mother the truth. "Walked around with a broken wrist for a full day before Percy ratted me out."

He tells Seamus that he's still afraid of heights, but he loves to fly because it makes him feel free; he says that loving Seamus is sort of like flying— terrifying but liberating.

By the time Cho and Hannah find them, Seamus feels like he's never known anyone so deeply, except maybe Dean.

"Broken ankle," George reports, moving over so Hannah can take his spot. He sits closer so that he can old Seamus' hand.

"At least he didn't blow it up," she laughs.

"Cause a few little explosions, and suddenly that's all you're known for," Seamus grumbles as Hannah uses a healing charm.

He feels his bones slide back into place and heal neatly. George helps him to his feet, and Seamus checks out his ankle, pleased that it holds his weight.

"Try not to hurt yourself,". Cho says, offering him a small smile. "You were lucky I was still awake."

…

The wards stay down, and the world doesn't end. Seamus calls that a small victory. Maybe things really are getting better.

…

It's just over a week before Professor McGonagall finds them. She's always scared him, but Seamus has never been more grateful to see her in his life. She tells that there is a larger camp. The rebellion is going strong. People are doing more than just surviving; they're fighting.

The decision is unanimous; for once, the weight of the world isn't on Seamus' shoulders. They all want to go, and he can't help but feel excited for the change. He doesn't have to be the leader anymore.

…

"Well?" George asks as they pack their few belongings.

"Well what?"

"I told you all my secrets," he says. "What are yours?"

Seamus grins. He's never liked talking about himself, but, for George, he allows his heart to become an open book.

v.

here we are, together at the window

The new camp is more like a small town. Seamus feels relief wash over him when he sees it. There are people— so, so many people— and he wants to cry. Months ago, he had felt so miserable, so hopeless. Now, there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

They call him a hero. His group sing praises. Seamus doesn't stop them, but he tries to avoid the attention. He's tired of being in the spotlight; he just wants a nice, easy life, if only for a moment.

They're still fighting: they're still trying. Seamus almost laughs. He finally remembers what hope feels like.

…

"Shay," George groans, patting the spot on the bed next to him, "come to bed."

Seamus doesn't respond. He stands at the window, watching the fireflies flash and flicker in the distance. Like the stars, they remind him of Dean. Now, they don't make him feel guilty for being alive while Dean is not. Now, they're a reminder that Dean would want him to live; Dean would want him to be happy.

He hears soft footsteps behind him as George's bare feet pad across the worn out carpet. Seconds later, his boyfriend is at his side. George wraps an arm around him, and Seamus rests his head against his bare chest.

"The fireflies?" George asks.

Seamus blushes. He had told George about them as they had packed. It had been the first time he'd allowed himself to own up to the guilt he felt for living without Dean.

"Yeah," he admits.

George presses a kiss to the top of his head. "You're okay, aren't you?"

Months ago, if anyone had asked him that, he would have laughed. The world had fallen apart, and he couldn't see a way to ever be okay again. It still amazes him that his life feels almost normal now. It isn't perfect, and it will never be the way it had been once upon a time.

It doesn't matter. George is by his side, and everything feels a little easier now. He is still broken, but it no longer feels like a sword hanging over his head. He is learning to heal, day by day.

Seamus turns, standing on the tips of his toes and kissing his boyfriend. "I'm okay," he confirms. "Well, getting there."

"Good. Now, bed?"

"Bed," Seamus agrees.

And as they fall into bed together, losing themselves in a sea of blankets, Seamus smiles. The world isn't so hopeless after all.