Lucky
Everyone was affected by the war. In different ways, that's understood, but every single person in Britain was touched in one way or another by the return and subsequent rise of You-Know-Who. Be it wizard or muggle, Irish or Welsh, Hufflepuff or Slytherin, everyone was influenced. Some were damaged beyond repair, others only slightly stirred, but no one was spared. Not a single person. The war wasn't something you could run away from, though Godric knows how many attempted to. And failed.
Dean tried. He nearly succeeded, too—he was on the run for over four months, hiding in old barns and deserted woods. He tries not to think about that period of his life too much. It feels like it was in another lifetime, a completely different existence, but Dean knows that it wasn't that long ago—less than three years. He is grateful now that he wakes up every morning knowing that it probably won't be his last. He is lucky to be alive.
'Shay, I'm going to class. Do I need to call Lavender or are you okay?' Dean says over a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs Seamus made. Dean studies art at a muggle university. He loves it, though the campus is halfway across London and he worries about leaving Seamus on his own.
'I'm fine, mate. I'm a grown man, I can take care of myself,' says Seamus, faking irritation.
'Grown man, ha! You're only 19. You can barely do your own laundry,' Dean says, smiling and pushing his empty plate away. It was true; Seamus had never had to clean his clothes before moving in with Dean. Shay rolls his eyes.
'Aye, whatever. I'm 19 and a half.' He picks up their plates and drops them in the sink to wash later as Dean puts on his thin winter coat. It's cold for October and Seamus said just yesterday that he could taste snow in the air, whatever that means.
'Try to get out of the flat, yeah?' Dean says before stepping into the corridor. Maybe Seamus was right; when he reaches the busy street he can definitely taste and smell winter. It has a particular scent, he thinks, and he recognizes it underneath the dirty perfume of the city.
Dean is okay; he's moved on with his life since the war. But for Seamus, it's not the same. Seamus didn't escape with only memories and a few scars. No, to him, it's much worse. He has good days and bad, like any other person, but his bad days aren't like everyone else. He goes through bouts of memory loss and often has horrible panic attacks. He is always distant and nervous to the point of not being able to leave the flat, and Dean doesn't know what to do. He is an artist, not a Healer. He can't give Seamus the help he needs, and they both know it.
Today has been a good day for Seamus so far. A good week, really. He got dressed this morning, in jeans and a comfortable jumper Ron's mum made him ages ago. He was smiling and cracking jokes. If Dean didn't know better, he's say there was nothing wrong with his best mate.
He apparates to the campus with a smile on his face; maybe if Seamus is still okay later they could go out to eat. To a real restaurant, too, not just Lavender's flat or Neville's.
