Snippet: Seamus was down the stairs, his wand drawn for the attack, before he'd realized he'd moved. But Mum was standing in the doorway looking back at him, eyes shining with something altogether different from the fear he'd come to expect.
May, 1995: From across the Great Hall, Wayne Hopkins looked for all the world as if everything was right with the world. Seamus had to disagree. His mouth set itself into an unhappy line as he twirled his fork listlessly around his morning oatmeal, discreetly watching the Hufflepuff table for any sign of recognition. After all, last night had been... well. In Seamus' mind, it was kind of a big deal. Prior to last night, Seamus' bisexuality had been entirely theoretical. But theoretical didn't get your face smashed in by arsehole Slytherins and theoretical didn't make your roommates eye you with suspicion. Seamus had been safe from that before, but now he was a certifiable cock-sucking poofter, and he was maybe freaking out a little bit at the confirmation that he did indeed like fucking boys rather a lot. And at the fact that Wayne Hopkins seemed to have no recollection of bringing Seamus to this realization.
Wayne had left long before Seamus woke up and now the Irishman wasn't quite sure how to ask his ex-bedmate how... the whole thing had gone for him. He wanted to - this whole... boys thing was new to him and Wayne had certainly seemed as though he knew what he was doing, but what if the Puff had left while he was still drunk and couldn't recall the happening? Seamus' careful observation of the Hufflepuff table was not yielding any conclusive results. The entire meal, Wayne had not glanced his way and Seamus wasn't sure if it was because he was embarrassed (ridiculous) or oblivious (kind of heart-breaking, actually). And now, as he stood up to leave, Seamus couldn't decide whether or not to wave him down. His mouth opened as Wayne approached, the first breath of an h-for-hey escaping his lips, but the prospect of Wayne's ignorance caused him to duck his head at the last second. At his side, Dean elbowed him, confused. "What was that all about?" Seamus shook his head. "It's nothing," he answered. I'll tell you later, he thought, just please don't hate me for being no longer theoretical.
May, 1998: Seamus had been so happy to see Harry, Ron and Hermione alive and well that it had been a breeze to barrel right through the Death Eaters. It hadn't really occurred to him to stop and think about the fact that he was in a real, honest to Merlin war-battle until the whole thing was over and Seamus' Mum had swooped in on the castle with red, swollen eyes and trembling hands to pull him right the feck home. It was three days more before he'd fully come to terms with what had happened, the fact that he'd killed people, bad people, but people all the same, and he'd watched his friends die. He was in the throes of this realization when the knock came on the tiny cottage door and, several seconds later, Mum's startled cry pierced the calm afternoon air.
Seamus was down the stairs, his wand drawn for the attack, before he'd realized he'd moved. But Mum was standing in the doorway looking back at him, eyes shining with something altogether different from the fear he'd come to expect. "Honey, there's news here. I think you'll want to see for yourself." Wand still poised at the ready, Seamus cautiously approached, but all possible offensive spells vanished from his mind when he saw what his Mum had meant. Dean Thomas was standing at his doorstep. Thin as a rail, with a scar on his hairline, but otherwise unharmed. Later, Dean would laughingly recall that Seamus had launched himself into Dean's arms and sobbed like a child, but Seamus didn't care if the whole world knew how happy he was in that moment. Dean was alive. Dean wasn't dead.
Later, after dinner and before Dean returned to his family, the boys sat on the stone wall that ran across the Finnigan property, knees touching comfortably. "Your face..." Dean said cautiously, eyeing the horrific lines that had ruined Seamus' once handsome face. Harry had told him, after the battle, that at first he hadn't recognized Seamus because of the scarring. When Alecto had seared the first few into his skin months and months ago, after the trophy incident, Seamus had spent more time than he'd care to admit hiding tears from something wholly unrelated to the pain. "Ain't ever gonna heal properly," Seamus answered wistfully. "I'll be an ugly fucker the rest of my days." He paused. "You think ladies will still like me?" he asked. Do you still like me? he meant. "Oh yeah," Dean answered immediately and, to Seamus' immense relief, he sounded like he meant it. "With your charisma? You'll still bring them in by the spades, mate. Girls love war stories." Seamus smiled and briefly leaned over to press his forehead into Dean's. "Yeah," he said, "well, I'll tell you mine another time if you'll tell me yours. See you around?" And as Dean apparated away with a pop, Seamus concluded that maybe, war be damned, things would be alright after all.
Snippet: "Seamus raised his wand, shut his eyes, and sent the contents of the trophy room into the air and out into the hall, crashing down the stairs. He hadn't meant to set the lot on fire, but it certainly added pizzazz to the event."
Self - King of Swords
January, 1995: Lavender's eyes were livid as she pulled her shirt back on. "You did what with Alicia Spinnet?!" It had probably been dumb, Seamus reflected, to have answered a rhetorical question about how he had learned to do a certain thing with his tongue, in the middle of doing said thing. Lavender certainly seemed upset. Seamus had really hoped he'd get to home base this time round too. "Nothing, Lav, forget it." But she was already pulling back, shooting him an icy glare. "It's not fair of you to keep treating me this way, Seamus." Objectively, Seamus knew she was probably right. When Seamus had spied his Muggle neighbor cavorting with the Mayor's wife behind his own wife's back, his Mum had given him a stern lecture that cheating was immoral. But was it really cheating if he'd made no promises of monogamy?
"I never said we were... together," he responded softly. He knew immediately he'd made a mistake. Lavender went a shocking pale and bit her lip, looking for all the world as if she'd turned to porcelain and would break to pieces at the slightest breath of wind. Seamus searched his mind fog desperately for something to say to make her stop looking like that, but the only thing that came to mind was an inarticulate, "Look... just... don't cry?" Lavender turned and fled without another word and Seamus, honestly, couldn't quite say he blamed her. He'd buggered that right up. Not something to be proud of in the future, that, but he supposed he'd get better at letting people down as he did it more and more.
November, 1997: Harry Potter may never have noticed, but during Dumbledore's Army, Seamus had been really quite intelligent when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts. He'd quietly gotten an O on his owl fifth year, mostly because of the bonus points he'd raked in by managing a full patronus. A year's worth of work later and he flattered himself by thinking he could produce a better one than Granger, certainly, and perhaps Potter himself. At very least, he hoped he could. It had taken very little time to articulate Seamus' plan, but a great deal longer for the DA to agree to take it up, and it was only Neville's full confidence that had tipped the deal in his favor in the end. The success of this campaign would now depend on Seamus' ability to produce a patronus that could send a message to the troops that the books could safely be stolen without fear of impending professors or caretakers.
In the trophy room, Seamus watched the clock in silence. His concentration was focused on analyzing how long it would take Cho's group to distract Alecto. He computed the math internally, watching in his mind's eye as Cho sent the frogs loose in the hallway and, with a glance out the window to confirm that Amycus was still chasing rouge DA members on the grounds, Seamus raised his wand, shut his eyes, and sent the contents of the trophy room into the air and out into the hall, crashing down the stairs. He hadn't meant to set the lot on fire, but it certainly added pizzazz to the event. Another swoop of his wand sent his patronus bursting forth from the tip of his wand, and it dashed down the stairs after the trophies to notify Neville that the coast was clear. As Filch and Norris came thundering around the corner, Seamus sat down against the wall and waited for the lashing that was to come. It would be gruesome, whatever Snape and the Carrows decided for him. But he had done what was right because it was ethical and it was just and it was what Dean would have done had he been here. For all Seamus knew, Dean was dead at the hands of a Snatcher somewhere in the Welsh bush by now. And if he was... well. Seamus wanted him to look down and be proud of what Seamus was accomplishing.
Seamus Finnigan stared incredulously at the batty woman in front of him. It had only been three years, not even, since he'd dropped out of Divination - the second person to do so after Hermione Granger's spectacular walk-out. Surely she hadn't forgotten him in that short a frame? She'd deemed him hopeless, the most sightless student barring Potter, and now she was asking him to read tarot cards? He sighed in exasperation. There would be no losing her now that she'd gotten hold of his scent. He'd have to fib it.
Fortunately, he remembered his way around tarot cards from Divination - memorization was the only way to make the grade in that class, since there was no real way to ace in class readings - but the cards she presented him with... Seamus found himself laughing despite himself. A look of utter confusion settled onto Trelawney's face and Seamus knew an opportunity when he saw one. "Ma'am," he said politely, "With all due respect, these cards are shite. They've nothing to do with me. Good day." And in the wake of her bemusement, Seamus booked it at full speed down the hall.
If he hadn't known Trelawney was batty before, he certainly did now. Whenever he complained about Divination's ridiculousness, Lavender would admit that Trelawney sometimes wasn't spot on, but that she was always right in some context. But that pick? Seamus chuckled just to think about it. Not a single adjective listed in those categories had a thing to do with him. Absolute farce really. And without another thought to it, Seamus slid back into the common room to seek out Dean and see about a ride on the school brooms later that evening.
Situation - Knight of Pentacles
June, 1996: Giggling like the school girls they were, Seamus and Dean rounded a corner into the school trophy room, hands muffling their mouths so the pursuing Crabbe wouldn't hear them. After a few moments, when it became apparent that he'd gone past, the two burst out into guffaws, clapping each other on the back for another reckless job well done. "Blimey, what a moron," Seamus wheezed, wiping at his eyes. He took a look around the room, straightening up. "What's this place? I dunno if I've been in here before." He leaned over to get a look at some of the name plates. "I know you're not big on details, mate, but I don't think even you could miss that this is the bloody trophy room, idiot," Dean answered. Seamus watched his warped reflection grin in a polished trophy.
"Think we'll ever get one of these someday?" Dean came to stand beside him, an apprehensive look on his face. "For what?" "I dunno. It don't hurt to be optimistic though, do it? I know we've only got two years left, but maybe if we work really hard-" Dean interrupted with another round of giggles. "You? Work hard? You're the laziest git I know, you arse." Seamus straightened to glare at Dean, a wounded look on his face, but after a moment's wavering hesitation, he smiled. "Eh, you're right. Let's go see if we can find Goyle, do the same to him, yeah?" Seamus could live without being in the trophy room again. Dean was right. It wasn't likely he'd get his name on one anyway.
November, 1997: Ron had given him a wizard's chess board last Christmas. Seamus wondered, looking back, if he'd known then that it would be his last Christmas at Hogwarts. He'd never given Seamus such a nice gift before. It was a shame, given how much Seamus liked it, that the thing only ever got use for practice. Ron was gone now. Dean too. Seamus didn't normally consider himself a pessimist, but it was a realistic assumption to think that he'd never see either again. And as for Seamus' other friends, none of them were particularly interested in playing him. They'd shunned him pretty early on when he'd made his cautious reluctance to join the anti-Carrow revolution clear. Presently, the bulk of the Gryffindor population was huddled by the fireplace, formulating a plan to burn the school supply of Dark Arts textbooks. This left Seamus stubbornly sat at the other side of the room, playing chess against himself.
All at once, however, Seamus stood up abruptly and stalked toward the fireplace, face humorless in the orange light. "Fecking morons," he intoned. "That ain't never going to work. You got Alecto busy in the Dungeon and Amycus chasing stuff and nonsense on the grounds, but what's gonna happen if Peeves walks in, hmm? How about Filch or Mrs. Norris?" Neville looked at Seamus cooly. "We haven't the resources to be so thorough, Finnigan. We make do with what we have." Seamus' jaw set in a firm line and he glared at Longbottom for several tense seconds before speaking. "If you can spare a second or third year to throw food at Peeves, I can handle Filch and Norris. Sending the school trophies down the stairs should do it." A collective murmur rippled through the surrounding Gryffindors, but Seamus and Neville did not break gaze, staring at each other evenly. "Very well," Neville said at last. "With your help, we just might pull this off."
