It Seemed like such a GOOD idea at the time...
Date: Monday, 7 August, 2000
Time: 11:00 a.m.
Place: Jamica Inn, Cornwall, Bodmin Moor
Characters Involved: Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood, by invitation only
Rating: PG-13 maybe, we'll see
Complete or Incomplete: Incomplete
( The only sure thing about luck is that it will change. - Bret Harte (1836 - 1902) )
Time: 11:00 a.m.
Place: Jamica Inn, Cornwall, Bodmin Moor
Characters Involved: Seamus Finnigan, Luna Lovegood, by invitation only
Rating: PG-13 maybe, we'll see
Complete or Incomplete: Incomplete
( The only sure thing about luck is that it will change. - Bret Harte (1836 - 1902) )
Thank goodness she hadn't said all that aloud, because as it turned out, they just might have done better had Seamus not forgot his harp. Though Luna hardly registered the loss at first; she had attempted to pay attention through the entire game, but her mind kept drifting. She didn't think Seamus noticed though--he'd been too fixated on the game--so she smiled as warmly as she could as Seamus took her hand, and followed him out of the stadium. The walk back was actually a nice wind-down from the frenzy of the pitch and Luna made a better attempt at engaging Seamus in conversation, but it seemed that now they were both in low spirits.
"They'll be all right," she tried to assure him of the Kestrels. "There are still two more games, right?" This thought led them into the inn and up to their room, where, upon entering, Luna couldn't help but notice one unexpected detail.
There was only one bed.
She stared at the four-posted for a very long moment, unable to bring herself from in front of the door, then looked to Seamus with the ghost of an inquiry on her lips. The only thing she managed to do was blush.
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When Luna stopped suddenly in the doorway, Seamus looked beyond her and into the room. It looked fine to him, just like a lot of hotel rooms and even like a few at Finnigan’s in Kenmare. As he walked past her into the room, he quickly surveyed the surroundings, tossing up silencing charms, wards against apparating in or out, and other precautions as he went. There was a beautiful four-poster bed, either an authentic antique or a reproduction, an ensuite bath and quite a bit of light, since it was as yet no where near dark, or even dusk.
He turned to face her, and noticed that she was not only silent, she was furiously blushing. It took him another two seconds to figure out why; the same two seconds he needed to see that her eyes were fixed on the bed. The only bed.
“Mab save me from virgin witches,” he thought, but that’s not what he said. What he said was, “Well then, lass, seems like Quality Quidditch Supplies made some assumptions when I told them I was bringing a guest.” Yes, Quality Quidditch Supplies or maybe their ace salesman, Clive Smales. Still, he'd not been specific when he'd made the arrangements, so there was naught to be done except change them. He repressed a sigh, gave Luna a wan smile, and continued. “Right, I’ll be off downstairs then luv, to see what’s to be done.” He started towards her, towards the door.
He could have left it at that. He might have left it at that. He even intended to leave it at that, but the look on her face, her silence, her complete embarrassment and total discomfort unnerved him. He read into it her fear, her disdain and ultimately, her rejection. Why he should suddenly remember that she was of pureblood, he was not quite sure, but remember it he did, and it did not improve his reaction.
He should have kept going, but he didn’t. He stopped just in front of her, tilted his head and inquired. “Now then, luv, do you think so little of this Seamus that you fear I would force you, after all this time of waiting for you to speak and enduring your silence?”
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When Luna was finally able to move, she raised her chin and met Seamus's gaze with unblinking and unusually focused eyes. "Of course I don't think that." She proceeded on past Seamus and into the room, to her bag, which the hotel staff indeed took up for them. "Please don't change the arrangements on my account."
If she seemed to hurry past him, it was to avoid possibly giving away something in her expression that she would prefer to remain hidden. After all, to question her trust in him, now of all times?? It stung more than she expected. Of course she wasn't afraid of Seamus; why else would she be here, if she was? But the intimacy he wanted was still new territory to her. The few hours they'd spent in bed together the first time had been innocent; he'd been in a potion-induced sleep, and Luna had not stayed for very long. The context was much different now; a full night, sleeping together... and after she'd asked her father for his trust....
The idea still made her blush, but she was desperate to suppress it as she opened her bag. He didn't mean anything by it. He didn't really mean it the way it sounded....
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“Right.” It was true what they said about men and women. He certainly didn’t understand Luna, and the more he tried to guess at what she was thinking, the worse his guesses were. He turned around and walked over to stand very close to her. He lowered his voice and took a deep breath. “Right. Sorry, luv, I thought…” He touched her arm gingerly and then put his arm around her shoulders giving her a small hug. “Well then, it just seemed that you were…..” He sighed and tried to figure out just how big a hole he wanted to dig for himself before he gave up. The last thing he was going to do was make any more assumptions about this room and his place in it. That was going to be up to her now, just as it had been before he’d assumed she didn’t want them to stay together. He might as well make that clear to the lass.
“Luna, love,” he started touching her hair. She had it bound up and he could sort of see where she’d wrapped and tied it, pinning it somehow. He was itching to take out the pins and see what happened. He started tracing a path along the edge, deciding where to start. “Luna, me love, just tell Your Seamus what you want, and that’s what we’ll do. For certain.” He took out the first pin, but nothing moved. He tugged a little at some of the tendrils he’d expected to come loose to see where the next pin might be hidden. “This Seamus will sleep on the floor, lass, or I’ll find us two rooms. ‘Tis me own fault for not asking what we were given before we got here.” He took out the next pin and some of the hair started to slip, but not nearly enough, so he started looking for more pins to remove.
“Right, we’ll fix it lass, ‘twill be the way that you want it.” He found the next pin and removed it waiting to see what she’d say and eager to see if her hair would fall undone or not.
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In truth, Luna wasn't sure how she felt. She could hardly puzzle out why his comment had affected her so; oh, not to say he was justified in saying it! It might have meant nothing if said along with his usual cheerful smile, perhaps a laugh. It would have been very Seamus, and Luna would have been modestly embarrassed, and they would have grinned and moved to the next thing. But the way he said it, so quiet, and the tilt of his head. The way he looked at her, as if she'd offended him and he was still deciding how upset he was. Had she done something so disagreeable? Was this normal, a man and his virgin girlfriend sharing a bed?
Luna sighed. What did she have to feel guilty for? She didn't want to feel guilty... not now. In the scope of things, this situation seemed so unimportant.
Seamus was talking gently and playing with her hair as he usually did, and she didn't react all, except when he finished speaking and his hand was still in her hair, warring with the pins. He hadn't yet figured it out and Luna set down her blouse, then leaned her head forward a little and reached both hands back to pull out two pins holding the outer coil together. She then tugged out the main pin and the whole thing uncurled into a long rope. She handed him the three pins and began to comb it all out with her fingers.
"I don't know what I want," Luna said quietly, pausing in her grooming to look at him. She didn't want him to be angry, not over this. But did they really have to share a bed? She stared into his eyes.
"What do you want, Seamus?"
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“What do you want, Seamus?”
Quite an odd question from a woman he’d been dating for nearly six months. If she didn’t know him well enough now to answer that question herself, had she paid him any mind at all?
He shook off that thought and remembered he’d been putting up charms and wards when they’d started this conversation - if that was what you could call it. As usual, he did most of the talking and Luna said very little. He was about to place a charm on the window when he realised he’d not disconnected the electronics in the room. Electricity did not mix well with their magic, and he had no intention of taking any chances that might impede the effectiveness of the measures he was taking for their safety. Tim Lovegood would probably already like to skin him alive for even being here with his daughter. Should anything happen to her, he would never forgive himself. He did not even want to consider what her Da might do to him.
He walked around the room disconnecting anything electrical from the sockets in the walls and then he disconnected the phone. He’d done this enough times in Kenmare at Finnigan’s when they’d had magical guests so he knew well enough what was needful.
Then he walked back towards the window, throwing up the last of the charms and wards as he went. It was a measure of his own emotionally charged state of mind that the repelling charm he tossed towards the door fairly glowed with the reverberations of his intensity. He doubted anyone in the outer hall could even see the door to their room after that.
He ran his hand through his hair and at last he spoke, although he did not look at the girl while he talked.
“Well then, lass. A home, a family, a pub of me own, luv, a safe place to live, a way off the fecking Registry, an Order not reduced to fecking ashes, a cage for Fenrir Grayback, a community not run by the fecking cute hoors of the fecking Ministry of Magic, a harp for the game tomorrow, a League Cup for the Kestrels...” His voice had steadily risen during this listing, but he wasn’t facing the lass, instead he had thrown one more charm on the window as he stood before it. It turned the sleek glass surface of the panes into a surface for his magic. He used his index finger to write and choose the sparkling silver colour with a green undertone that he’d taken some care to master the first night he’d met this fair Luna at The Leaky Cauldron. He wrote with a flourish, allowing his emotions an outlet somewhat different that usual. He finished off his verbal "wish list" while he wrote.
“....and a witch who loves me, preferably you - and most definitely not in that order then, love.” He couldn’t help the hollow chortle that accompanied the last of his list.
He turned back around to face her, stepping back to lean on the wall, looking for all the world as carefree and comfortable as he did leaning against the bar at The Leaky Cauldron. The scrawl across the window read:
“Talk to me Luna!”
Then, at the last, he gave her a small smile and added, “Right. And I wouldn’t object to a kiss.”
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And listened.
These were all wants that she knew; or, at least could guess. What she still didn't know was what he wanted of her. Intimacy, yes... but hadn't he already said that he would wait? That he wouldn't push her? And yet they were having this conversation. So... what else did he expect of her?
The answer came rather unexpected.
Luna focused on the words that screamed to her in those familiar colors floating in glass. And she just stared. It was all she could find the energy for. She felt as if the wind was knocked out of her, and couldn't begin to comprehend why it hurt.
And yet Seamus stood there, smiling at her, looking so calm when she knew he wasn't.
"I do talk to you," she replied in barely more than a whisper. At least, in her mind she did. She was always truthful, she always said useful things. Her eyes moved from the words on the window to Seamus, to his eyes, trying to decipher the meaning behind that terribly out of place smile. What more did he want to hear?
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He listened, as he always did, but his attention was rapt and fueled with emotion. He wanted to understand, he really did, but even more, he wanted to be understood.
When she winced visibly and protested that she did talk to him, he was forced to consider the distinct possibility that she genuinely did not understand. He was not an obtuse person. He knew he wore his heart on his sleeve, and with Luna that was more true, not less. He thought he’d been as clear as a man could be in answering the question she posed. Yet, there was the ever present fear gnawing at his insides suggesting that she sincerely did not see. If he wanted her to understand he was going to have to spell it out, and probably in words of one syllable.
As he collected his thoughts, it also occurred to him that this was not at issue simply due to her lack of intimate experience. She did not appear to even understand what he was driving at. Could she really be that disconnected?
He ran his hand through his hair and slid down the wall to sit on the floor. He could have sat on the bed, but that action alone would have been too charged with contention under the circumstances. The only chair in the room was on the other side of the bed and he really did not want to break eye contact with the girl at this point. So, he simply sat where he’d stood.
His slight smile gave way to a more serious countenance and his voice was steady, firm and explanatory. If he weren’t so much in love with her, he couldn’t have even begun to explain it, but the past few months had clarified many things in his life. The end of the war had brought with it a desire for hearth and home he’d not expected to feel quite so strongly this soon. It was not the home of his family he wanted, but his own. He had fought for the Light, and would fight for it still. Now that there was a peace, however unlike what he’d wanted or imagined, he wanted his portion.
“Aye, love. ‘Tis true that you do, then.” His answer was quiet and musing. She did speak to him. Maybe she spoke to him more than she did to anyone else, he had not the experience to judge.
“A life shared is a life truly lived, love. ‘Tis more than the sum of the daily off-hand remarks or the jokes ‘round the table or the secrets shared ‘neath the sheets.” He hesitated to include intimacy, but that was his whole point. “Not just the big things, love, but the small ones as well. From the troubles at work and the neighbors who vex; to news from old friends from school and the new ones to come. The wishes for dreaming and the dreams you make real.” He wondered if he had the words to make her see.
“This Seamus is selfish, love. I’ll not be content ‘til you’ve shared them all, Luna me love.” He ran a hand through his hair again, frustrated that he had to explain this to her, too. “And if you’ll none of your body for now, then I’ll be after the rest, whilst I wait. Body. Soul. Mind. Heart.” He took a deep breath, nearly spent with the emotional effort of this heart rending conversation. Couldn’t she see he couldn’t do this alone?
“’Tis the secrets of your heart that I’m after, and the cares of the day, the funny memories and the sad, the good things you think and the bad.” He exhale was more of a sigh than he intended. “Right. ‘Twill be more ways to share in the future then lass, but for now the words from your lips are all you’ll allow, so be free with them love, and not keeping them lock’d like crown jewels in your heart.”
Then, as if to emphasize his feelings, he flicked his wand at the window and the colour of his literal handwriting on the wall changed from the silver green of her hair to the exact blue of his eyes, punctuating the request in a very personal way.
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What Seamus asked was so difficult, both to comprehend and to implement. They were only words, he was asking for... and yet she felt like just having the sex would be less of a sacrifice. But when it was your boyfriend, the man you loved, it shouldn't be considered a sacrifice, should it? Of course, that's exactly what it is when you're asked to give up something you hold so dearly.
No, not give up. Share.
...It felt like the same thing.
It was so easy for Seamus to make these demands. He was naturally talkative and open. He could talk about anything, and without prompt. But Luna had a completely different perspective. Luna never "talked" when she was in Hogwarts. Oh, she was known for her bluntness and saying what was on her mind... but only among close associates. From early on, most students had thought she was weird and avoided her. Luna got used to the idea that no one cared to hear what she had to say... at least, when it was anything worthwhile.
Talking about family, the things she liked, what she did in her spare time, who she saw that morning... Luna never did those things. She didn't gossip or engage in small talk; neither interested her. And the bigger things, she'd learned to keep to herself. Her only true confidant was her father, and even they kept their secrets from each other.
Luna's gaze fell to the floor, her lips pressed firmly together while Seamus's words played in her head, in no particular order. "I...."
And now she wondered why Seamus had ever bothered with her in the first place, because there were so many more normal girls out in the world. Girls who knew how to function in a relationship. Girls who could give Seamus what he wanted.
"I don't know what to tell you."
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”I don’t know what to tell you.”
He didn’t know exactly what he had expected of her. He hadn’t thought she would become verbose by any means, but he had expected her to try. Instead, she appeared to deflect everything he’d said with a flat denial of its importance. It was one thing to fail, it was quite another to refuse to try.
He removed the charm on the window with a wave of his wand, and looked out onto the Moor. She’d rebuffed him physically and verbally. He was consciously deciding whether to he should try again or just admit defeat. It had been months since he’d realised she had not been in a physical relationship. He’d been patiently waiting for her to tell him she wanted a deeper relationship with him. Now she’d admitted she didn’t know what to tell him. He wondered if he’d been foolish to do this, to have followed his heart down a path that seemed to be leading nowhere.
He’d told the lass he loved her. He’d said it out loud with no reservations. Her response then had satisfied him. Now her hastily muttered, ”Me too.” seemed weak in comparison and was not very convincing in the face of her weak words and remote rejection as she stood here, across the room from him, in the fading light from the window. She’d made no move to touch him, none to talk to him, and there was nothing he could see in her presence that indicated she even wanted to be here. He wondered briefly why she’d come. The light was not all that was fading. In the reflection of the desolate Moor Seamus felt his hopes mirroring that vast wilderness. He knew there were stones on the Moor. They were nearby and he felt the pull of the stone circles calling to his blood, just as he often did in Kenmare. This was not a good sign.
He sighed and decided to make one last effort before admitting defeat. She’d none of him or his words, but the lass was a witch, might she deign to respond to his magic?
He took a deep breath, calming his emotions in an effort to control and stabilize his own magic. He cast a Switching Spell on a small decorative bowl that sat on the dresser next to her hairpins. He transfigured it into a heart shaped vessel, of approximately the same size, again using the green silver shade of her hair for its colour. He filled it with magpie feathers like the ones she liked to wear in her hair, but made them the same colour blue as his eyes. A briefly muttered “wingardian levioso” sent it upwards as he sent it to her across the room. Once it was in front of her, he held it there and allowed the feathers to gently float up, out of the bowl and towards the ceiling, a drift of blue from a sea of silver green. Then he used a Flagrate spell to write in sparkling golden flames with his wand, sending the ribbon of words to surround her like a swirling corkscrew as she stood there unmoving, silent as the stones on the Moor.
The words he used were the words of his heart written with the magic of his soul.
Love you! Love me?
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She didn't look up; there was no reason to. She could feel his disappointment in the air, in the silence between them, and she wasn't sure what to do with it. She felt too drained to do anything.
The sound of a charm caused Luna to raise her head in curiosity, and she watched, absorbed, as the little heart-shaped bowl floated down in front of her. Her eyes followed the feathers, and then drifted to the words aflame. A very simple, primal message. And to her surprise, she felt a burning in her throat that had nothing to do with the flames around her.
"Yes," she said breathlessly, a bit hoarsely, as her gaze once again found Seamus. She stared in a somewhat horror-stricken way because, how could he ask?
"Of course." But she couldn't bring any strength into her voice. Why all these questions, now? Hadn't he said he'd wait?
"I do... you're a dear friend. But, I can't...." She shook her head. "What you're asking for...."
It was just too much. "I... can't."
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What had changed and how had it changed so quickly without him noticing?
He knew this was something he had to think about and he also knew that he couldn’t concentrate here, not in her presence. This room was too cold. Negative energy seemed to be rolling off of her in waves. He couldn’t name the feeling exactly. Was it distaste? Was it confusion? Was it disappointment? Was it rejection? He didn’t know. He only knew his own anxiety was equally potent and it was not a good mixture. There was no doubt it was highly combustible. He felt an overwhelming need to be away from here, away from this room, away from her and this atmosphere of growing pain and sorrow. He had no delusions that he could escape from the pain. That, he knew, he was taking with him.
“Aye, lass. ‘Tis something I need to think about.” He dissipated the magic in the room that was of his making, save for the charms and wards he’d placed for their protection. Then he tucked his wand into his sleeve, ran a hand through his hair, and started towards the door. “Right. ‘Tis a walk that I’m after then, out on the Moor lass, to be clearing my head and thinking on your words and deeds then, to see what’s best to be done.” Or on your silence and inaction, and what’s to be undone, more like as not.
The light in the room was fading from cloud cover, the earlier sunshine giving way to an onset of weather more befitting his mood in this late afternoon. This time of year there was time before sunset, so he had time to leave, time to consider, and time to return before the yoke of his curfew.
He left by the door using conventional means, restoring the magic behind him. He left the Inn by the closest escape route he could find, his mind gasping for a breath of fresh air after the stifling oppression of the emotional turmoil that was making him feel claustrophobic in their room. Not that he didn’t bring most of it with him, for he did. It was just more bearable to be carrying it without being closed in by four walls.
He headed towards The Hurlers, knowing the way in his blood. It took somewhat less than an hour to reach them on foot, an easy hike that barely raised his heart rate after weeks of jogging each morning. He paid little mind to the landscape, its deceptive barrenness acting as a backdrop for his brooding. When he reached the stones, he felt a relief that was palpable, a feeling he welcomed, a feeling of the kinship between the magic of the stones here and the different but similar feel of the stones he’d grown up with in Kenmare.
He sat in the middle of one of the circles, not caring which one, but choosing the center and apex with his innate sense of belonging here; and tried to organize his thoughts. He’d been so certain of his own feelings and those of the girl that this afternoon had come as a shock of cold water tossed ruthlessly on his warm cocoon of sentiment. The words had been few but were potent in their impact. She didn’t know what to tell him, she didn’t know how she felt. Her silence spoke volumes, tearing at the certainty he’d held in his heart.
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He was heartbroken and miserable, and if he gave vent to his pain, it was known only to the welcoming stones of the circle, a place where he felt safe, alone, and protected.
He sat, a son of Merlin, within the stones from the earliest days upon these rocky shores and felt the pangs of his unrequited first love and passion. His temperament was such that even as he gave way to his own rush of self pity, railing against the fates that had toyed with him thus, he wondered if he’d done the same to any of the young ladies of Kenmare who’d received his attentions. He’d thought at the time that their beguilement, both physical and otherwise, had been mutual. Now, he was not so sure. If he’d ever made anyone feel even remotely the way he felt now, he was most assuredly sorry.
Was it all reflected passion? Had he seen only the bright glare of his own care and desire reflected back in those luminous eyes? Had it all been as one-sided as it felt at this moment? There was no way to know for the witch in question kept all her own counsel.
He walked at length amoung the rough hewn stones, weathered to perfection and delight, laying his hands upon their curves and feeling there the cold bite of reality instead of the soft yielding that he’d imagined she’d offered. For now, in the chill gloom of an impending storm, it seemed as if she’d ever been a mere reflection of what he’d wanted and needed and not the partner and vibrant witch of a woman he’d sought and believed her to be.
How had he made such an error? His pain of discovery of the folly of his own foolishness stood mute in the downpour that followed, heralding the arrival of the night. He welcomed it for it washed away the salt.
His mind was spent and with it the steady decay of his hours of freedom. The darkness was more than the storm, so he walked one last time ‘round the perimeter of the circles, drinking in their lasting power, their immovable strength and the care they held for the sons of Merlin. Then he ran all the way back to the fount of his pain, the one who had spurned his desire along with the whole of his self, vowing never again to allow the folly of love to o’ercome his outer armour, meaning to place impervious wards around the pieces of his broken heart to guard it carefully ‘gainst more of her careless gnawing.
He went in through the back door, leaving a trail of rainwater from his soaked shoes and clothing, and re-entered the room as a wounded soldier returned from the war. There was more truth in him now than when he’d left. He reset the wards lest their words be o’er heard or disturbed and then spoke as sparingly as he could manage.
“Aye, luv. The right of it is thine.” He resisted the draw of her beauty and allowed himself only an occasional glance, preferring to deliver the fruits of his gleaning without adding to his own personal pain of loss. “’Tis friends we should be then lass, as ever we were ‘ere ye entered The Leaky Cauldron after the war.” His eyes would have shattered if he’d allowed them to mirror his feelings, so he closed his heart fast against her, knowing he needed the practice. “’Til thou find the answers well hid in thy heart, and I find the mending of mine.”
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