(no subject)
Who: Seamus Finnigan
Where: His flat
When: July 12th, 2001
Status: Complete
Seamus couldn't believe what he'd been asked to do. It wasn't like he was all that high of a rank. Hell, he'd barely been in his position for a couple of weeks and now the bloody sodding Order were asking him to attack the Dark Lord, take his blood and deliver it. Maybe they wanted a sodding little ribbon wrapped around it like it was a gay Christmas package.
He kicked the support of his bed as he continued his diatribe. Sodding goddamn bloody buggering bitch, who the hell did Hermione think she was to accuse him of being coward? It wasn't cowardice to be concerned with self-preservation. They might've thought that they knew what the Dark Lord was all about but they didn't, not really. The Dark Lord had played with Potter, hadn't taken him all that seriously and fuck's sake, but the creature wasn't about to let a stabbing go unpunished. Held a sodding grudge, didn't he? It took months but he got Moody back for the attack at Halloween, hadn't he?
Seamus did this and he was as good as dead. Revenge was one thing, killing himself to get it was another. Until he'd met Parvati, until he'd met Dean, he hadn't much cared if his life were forfeit to the cause of getting his own back but now? He had friends, he felt something for Dean - again, a little voice whispered - and he didn't much want to lose that.
The other side of it, the one he didn't want to acknowledge, was that he would lose his entire network of acquaintances, he'd lose his life again. Bellatrix, Goyle, his coworkers in the department, they weren't friends but he'd gotten used to them being there. Bellatrix had guided him, fixed him up and worked with him. Sure, she'd fucked him over but that was to be expected. She was a cruel woman but a cruel woman that had been nice to him in her own way.
Head pounding as the thoughts swirled around, he wished for a pensieve just to pull the memory of Hermione telling him about their plan just so that he could go back to where he'd been before. He might be good at Occlumency but push came to shove and his shields would go down like anyone else.
You could turn her in, a little voice whispered. Think of the rewards, you could save Dean and Parvati with the information if you play it right. Guarantee that they'd never be arrested. One for two, a trade that works out better for you. Zero sum, isn't that the way of the world? One person wins, one person loses, there's nothing else, no other way.
He sat at the table, quill and parchment at hand while he wrote the note. Cursing to himself, he tore it up. He couldn't possibly think that Dean would be willing to trade his own freedom for the rest of the Order, the rest of the world. Dean wasn't capable of it and that was what both attracted and repelled Seamus. Dean was too honourable, too committed to the cause and Seamus rubbed at his head, fingernails raking across the scalp as the pain increased.
His eyes crossed as the memory of fighting Potter way back in Fifth Year came to him. He'd been so self-righteous, hadn't he? Bloody saviour complex, stuck in that martyr stage where he'd blamed himself for Diggory's death and he hadn't taken kindly to Seamus's disbelief. Dean, though, Dean'd known that Harry was telling the truth.
Dean had a way with people, could tell when they were honest and when they weren't. This had to stop, though, Seamus had to stop basing what he was doing on the brief snippets of memories that he'd got since Dean and Parvati came into his life. That he hadn't believed earlier didn't mean anything. That Dean had been right didn't mean anything. No one was the same as they'd been and the idea that Potter would be the same as when he died was a fool's notion.
The Dark Lord had just got meaner and darker each time and the same was bound to happen to Potter as well. He'd just be trading one Dark Lord for another. Better the devil he knew than the devil he didn't. He was finally getting somewhere here with the Death Eaters, finally getting into a spot where he'd get his revenge and live to tell about it. These missions for the Dark Lord were the way to go, succeed, get a bit of trust and then when he had enough, he could plant the seeds of doubt about Bellatrix and have her killed by the one she loved the most. It was a sound plan, a good one that had every chance of succeeding, unlike Hermione's request.
He wasn't going to do this. It was fucking suicide. Even if he could stab the Dark Lord to get his blood, how the fuck could anyone think that he'd be able to get out of there? The sodding Dark Lord lived in a bunker, for fuck's sake. There were anti-apparition wards all over. He could run but the place was a maze, so full of twists and turns that even with signs pointing him the right way, he wouldn't be able to outrun all the guards.
Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Seamus put his head down on the table and wanted it all to go away.
Where: His flat
When: July 12th, 2001
Status: Complete
Seamus couldn't believe what he'd been asked to do. It wasn't like he was all that high of a rank. Hell, he'd barely been in his position for a couple of weeks and now the bloody sodding Order were asking him to attack the Dark Lord, take his blood and deliver it. Maybe they wanted a sodding little ribbon wrapped around it like it was a gay Christmas package.
He kicked the support of his bed as he continued his diatribe. Sodding goddamn bloody buggering bitch, who the hell did Hermione think she was to accuse him of being coward? It wasn't cowardice to be concerned with self-preservation. They might've thought that they knew what the Dark Lord was all about but they didn't, not really. The Dark Lord had played with Potter, hadn't taken him all that seriously and fuck's sake, but the creature wasn't about to let a stabbing go unpunished. Held a sodding grudge, didn't he? It took months but he got Moody back for the attack at Halloween, hadn't he?
Seamus did this and he was as good as dead. Revenge was one thing, killing himself to get it was another. Until he'd met Parvati, until he'd met Dean, he hadn't much cared if his life were forfeit to the cause of getting his own back but now? He had friends, he felt something for Dean - again, a little voice whispered - and he didn't much want to lose that.
The other side of it, the one he didn't want to acknowledge, was that he would lose his entire network of acquaintances, he'd lose his life again. Bellatrix, Goyle, his coworkers in the department, they weren't friends but he'd gotten used to them being there. Bellatrix had guided him, fixed him up and worked with him. Sure, she'd fucked him over but that was to be expected. She was a cruel woman but a cruel woman that had been nice to him in her own way.
Head pounding as the thoughts swirled around, he wished for a pensieve just to pull the memory of Hermione telling him about their plan just so that he could go back to where he'd been before. He might be good at Occlumency but push came to shove and his shields would go down like anyone else.
You could turn her in, a little voice whispered. Think of the rewards, you could save Dean and Parvati with the information if you play it right. Guarantee that they'd never be arrested. One for two, a trade that works out better for you. Zero sum, isn't that the way of the world? One person wins, one person loses, there's nothing else, no other way.
He sat at the table, quill and parchment at hand while he wrote the note. Cursing to himself, he tore it up. He couldn't possibly think that Dean would be willing to trade his own freedom for the rest of the Order, the rest of the world. Dean wasn't capable of it and that was what both attracted and repelled Seamus. Dean was too honourable, too committed to the cause and Seamus rubbed at his head, fingernails raking across the scalp as the pain increased.
His eyes crossed as the memory of fighting Potter way back in Fifth Year came to him. He'd been so self-righteous, hadn't he? Bloody saviour complex, stuck in that martyr stage where he'd blamed himself for Diggory's death and he hadn't taken kindly to Seamus's disbelief. Dean, though, Dean'd known that Harry was telling the truth.
Dean had a way with people, could tell when they were honest and when they weren't. This had to stop, though, Seamus had to stop basing what he was doing on the brief snippets of memories that he'd got since Dean and Parvati came into his life. That he hadn't believed earlier didn't mean anything. That Dean had been right didn't mean anything. No one was the same as they'd been and the idea that Potter would be the same as when he died was a fool's notion.
The Dark Lord had just got meaner and darker each time and the same was bound to happen to Potter as well. He'd just be trading one Dark Lord for another. Better the devil he knew than the devil he didn't. He was finally getting somewhere here with the Death Eaters, finally getting into a spot where he'd get his revenge and live to tell about it. These missions for the Dark Lord were the way to go, succeed, get a bit of trust and then when he had enough, he could plant the seeds of doubt about Bellatrix and have her killed by the one she loved the most. It was a sound plan, a good one that had every chance of succeeding, unlike Hermione's request.
He wasn't going to do this. It was fucking suicide. Even if he could stab the Dark Lord to get his blood, how the fuck could anyone think that he'd be able to get out of there? The sodding Dark Lord lived in a bunker, for fuck's sake. There were anti-apparition wards all over. He could run but the place was a maze, so full of twists and turns that even with signs pointing him the right way, he wouldn't be able to outrun all the guards.
Damned if he did, damned if he didn't. Seamus put his head down on the table and wanted it all to go away.