(no subject)
Who: Seamus Finnigan and Minerva McGonagall
Where: Order Headquarters
When: July 22, 2001
Satus: Complete.
Seamus cursed under his breath. The Mark ached, flaring with the Dark Lord's temper. He rolled over and hugged the pillow, hiding his arm under it, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" would help. Staring around the room at the array of furniture, Seamus realised that he missed his flat. The room had too much stuff in it. The sheets felt funny, the pillows weren't firm enough, the colours were off. He liked the plain simplicity of his flat.
He liked the solitude of his flat. Voices carried up from elsewhere in the house, footsteps wandered past the door and he startled with it every time. He liked living alone, liked scratching as he felt and dressing as he wanted. Here, he would have to make himself presentable.
Then again, why bother? They'd think the worst of him regardless. He was a traitor twice over, after all. His bladder woke up and he realised he'd have to leave the comfort of Dean's room and find the loo. At this, he grumbled but flipped the blankets back and saw that he was in his pants and that was it.
He finally spotted his clothing across the way, folded neatly on a chair. When he picked them up, the blood stains turned his stomach. He had no clothes. No flat. No solitude. No friends other than Dean.
He had nothing familiar.
He dropped onto the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. The temptation to cry like a little girl denied a sweet surged but he bit his lip instead. The clothes and the rest didn't mean anything. He could get new clothes, there wasn't anything in his flat that he couldn't replace except for Dean's sketches.
The need for a piss increased and he looked around for something else to wear. When nothing magically appeared, he riffled through the drawers of the dresser and pulled out some of Dean's clothes. The shirt fit him and he inhaled Dean's scent as he tugged it over his head. On the other hand, the trousers were too long. He spelled them shorter, figuring that Dean wouldn't mind too much.
"Need a map to find me way around this place," he muttered under his breath as he wandered the hallway. Thankfully, no one was in the loo when he finally found it. Shortly after, his stomach rumbled and he realised he hadn't eaten in a day or so.
When he wandered into the kitchen after finding three pantries, two broom closets and the library, he stopped short when he saw Professor McGonagall sitting at the table. Memories swamped him. He remembered detentions of scrubbing the Transfigurations classroom after talking too much in class, subtle encouragements given during class, the extra tutoring when he'd fallen behind, and learning to dance with Lavender as Professor McGonagall called out instructions.
He turned to go then turned back, tugging at the sleeves of Dean's shirt to try to cover the Mark. He wasn't ashamed of it, dammit, so he left off the tugging and entered the kitchen, going to the kettle to pour himself a cup of tea. He rummaged in the pantry and pulled a bag of crisps from it before attempting to leave without saying a word to her.
It had to be the late nights spent wary of her life that made it hard to sleep. She welcomed the discomfort it had brought her; she could never risk a mistake or have disaster happen on her watch as long as she was never comfortable enough to let her guard down. And now, more than ever before - before Moody, before Harry, before Dumbledore, before Sirius, she needed to not let her guard down. Letting her guard down could have someone killed.
She didn't look up when Seamus entered the kitchen, silently stirring her cup of tea and thinking on the conversation she had with Angelina Johnson a few days ago. She had to wonder if everyone else was in the same state of mind, all of them ready to stoop to the level of the Death Eaters, just to win and end this. Merlin, she hoped not. She was fairly sure that it had the ability to break her heart if that was so.
She watched him hesitate out of the corner of her eye, and wondered to herself, amused, if it was a natural reaction to her presence, if she invoked nervousness in all her old students. She was satisfied when he decided to not turn tail and hide, and returned to stirring her tea as he found a snack. It was as he tried to beat a hasty retreat without aiming a single word in her direction that she pushed her tea away and folded her hands on the table top.
"Mister Finnigan." she started, leaving it open that she hadn't finished speaking.
If she closed her eyes for five seconds, just five, she could pretend that she was sitting behind the desk in her Transfigurations classroom, hoping to catch a student before they disappeared out of her door. She stirred her tea a bit more.
"I recognise that we're strangers still, considering, but I hope my presence isn't a discomfort."
"Considering what?" Seamus paused as he made to leave and cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're fine, be where you want. Don't got much say, do I?"
He opened the bag of crisps and started to eat them. His stomach growled and he rubbed it before delving back into them. Sensing that she wasn't done, he leaned back against the wall. His Mark ached and he made sure to use it as the arm holding the bag so that it could be seen clearly. He wouldn't be ashamed of what he did or how he'd lived.
"You have a great deal more say than I think you realise." Minerva replied, her tea officially abandoned. She looked at him over the top of her glasses frames, a habit she'd developed and was rather averse of breaking. Not to mention, it also did the job of getting her point across when needed. "You also know what. I don't believe it to be necessary to mention Liam Neary, do you?"
This hadn't been the original topic she wanted to breech, this she'd readily admit if asked, but she was highly determined to talk to him, and getting a feel for this man that was the same yet different from the boy she had taught for several years was important to her. She needed no reason for why. It just was.
Seamus jumped at the name, the bag of crisps tumbling out of his hand. He snatched at it and then glared at her. It wasn't any of her business, dammit. No one should've talked to her, the only ones that knew were Hermione and Dean. Then again, this was the woman that had known when he'd been skivving off on his homework, making Dean do it for him instead. "Who told you about that? It's none of your fecking business, not one bit."
"None of my business?" She echoed, her tone giving off the impression that she didn't believe that in the slightest. She fixed Seamus with a stern glare. "There is a war going on, a war during which none of the people that reside in this house for even the slightest moment until it has ended are safe. And my business, as I've decided it to be so, is to make sure these people remain safe until Voldemort is defeated. If that includes knowing that you were Liam Neary for the past three years, believe me, I will know."
"Didn't answer the first part and I'm seeing how it is." Seamus chewed a few more crisps and then continued, "Aye and is it your business about the people that are caught up in the shite that's going on now? The ones that're stuck in the Ministry and the rest through no fault of their own? Taking on a bit much, aren't you? Bit self-important, yeah? It's none of your ------- business until I point a wand at you. Until then, leave it."
"Hmmm," Minerva returned to her tea, taking a careful sip; it wwas lukewarm. She didn't look in his direction as she spoke. "When you say the ones that are stuck in the Ministry - are you talking about people like Penelope Clearwater, the Weasley twins and others in Azkaban. Or," she finally looked at him. "Are you talking about yourself?"
"Not going to honour that with a reply, it's a petty thing to say and I would've expected better of a professor." Seamus cocked an eyebrow as she looked everywhere but at him. A light dawned and he used it to his advantage. "I make you uncomfortable, don't I? This Mark, you don't much like seeing it on one of your students. It's not about what I might or mightn't do. It's about what how you fear your failure. On the run all those years and leaving the rest of us, the ones that you were to be protecting, all on their own."
Seamus stalked over and sat next to her, resting the arm with the Mark on it directly beside her teacup. "He's calling, right now."
"Not a professor anymore, though, am I?" She asked, the tone in her voice making her sound distracted. She stared at the Mark, almost studying it and its intricacy. "It's about more than that, Seamus. I may have guilt, but that isn't what drives me to keep going, and it never has been. And you have never failed."
Wondering what the effect of it would be, and realising that she in fact cared less than she thought was possible, she laid her hand directly over the mark, looking him in the eyes and daring him to look away. "But will you answer?"
Seamus pulled his arm back from her, fast and quick. "Christ, woman, you touch it and he might be able to figure out where we're at. Do you want to be giving away the location?"
Looking down at the Mark, the writhing of the snake under his skin didn't seem to change patterns and the pain didn't increase. The Dark Lord might not be aware of their position. He hoped, prayed that He wasn't. "Never said I was a failure. I was damn good at my job and I enjoyed it, as well. This Mark, I had to earn it. They don't Mark just anyone, they only Mark the most devout, the strongest."
Minerva watched him as he looked at his mark. "That, you've always been, no matter the cause."
"Failure or good at me job?" Seamus slouched back into the chair he hadn't meant to sit down in.
"Good at your job. Strong. Devoted." She answered, looking away only to eye her tea, now cold as it was. She pulled out her wand, rewarming it with a quick swish of her wand. She put her wand away again, a lifted her cup to her lips.
Seamus laughed at her statement. "So what you're really saying is that I made a right fine Death Eater and that I should be trotting right on back, yeah?"
He stopped laughing and looked to the Mark again. "I'm not the same bloke you taught and I don't think I much want to be him, either. So, if that's what this is all about, then there's your answer."
She put her cup down. "No, what I'm saying is that you're good at whatever you set out to do, as I'm sure I've said in the past."
She watched him, the thinest smile appearing on her lips. "I want to know who you are now, then."
"You're asking the wrong bloke about things you've said in the past," he said and realised that it was an acknowledgement of what she'd already known. "Now? 'M just Seamus."
His stomach gave another growl and he realised that he'd finished off the crisps. Cursing under his breath, he wondered if he should go to fix something else. It wasn't like cooking fairies or house-elves would be appearing anytime soon to prepare something for him. He just didn't want to look like an arse in front of McGonagall and put his head where it didn't belong while he searched for supplies. Yet again, he missed his flat.
Minerva took another sip of her tea. "Well, then, be Just Seamus, and I'm satisfied."
It was almost funny how things could change in the slightest moment, she thought to herself, taking another sip of her tea. For a moment, she wondered if this was where Albus had seen the Order headed, on their last legs against a victorious Voldemort, before she reminded herself that the odds had never mattered to him. It was the heart and soul, what was deep inside, that had always mattered. She smiled to herself.
"Aye, I live for your satisfaction," he said but it lacked the bite from earlier. He saw her smile and wondered what it was that she was grinning at. He went over to the kettle and poured himself a cup of tea. Drinking in small sips, it helped with the growling in his stomach and he wondered if he could find Dean, that maybe Dean would cook him something to eat and that maybe they could take it back up into the room. Then he realised that he'd probably get his own room assignment. The thought both appealed and turned him off. He didn't want to be surrounded by all these people that would hate him without someone to watch his back.
Minerva had enough of her tea, taking one last sip before pushing her tea away from her on the table. She slowly stood, picking up the half-filled tea cup and taking it to the sink, where she placed it down carefully. She looked at Seamus as he drank his own tea, thinking about crossing paths with the Death Eaters as they had been searching for her - and something told her, most likely to be instinct, that it wasn't to kill her. Attempts on her life was something she was used to, after all.
"I've been meaning to thank you, you know. For saving me from a fate worse than death." There was a dry tone to it, and the corner of her mouth lifted before she took her leave, finding that she got a bit of joy of having the last word, unsurprisingly.
Where: Order Headquarters
When: July 22, 2001
Satus: Complete.
Seamus cursed under his breath. The Mark ached, flaring with the Dark Lord's temper. He rolled over and hugged the pillow, hiding his arm under it, hoping that "out of sight, out of mind" would help. Staring around the room at the array of furniture, Seamus realised that he missed his flat. The room had too much stuff in it. The sheets felt funny, the pillows weren't firm enough, the colours were off. He liked the plain simplicity of his flat.
He liked the solitude of his flat. Voices carried up from elsewhere in the house, footsteps wandered past the door and he startled with it every time. He liked living alone, liked scratching as he felt and dressing as he wanted. Here, he would have to make himself presentable.
Then again, why bother? They'd think the worst of him regardless. He was a traitor twice over, after all. His bladder woke up and he realised he'd have to leave the comfort of Dean's room and find the loo. At this, he grumbled but flipped the blankets back and saw that he was in his pants and that was it.
He finally spotted his clothing across the way, folded neatly on a chair. When he picked them up, the blood stains turned his stomach. He had no clothes. No flat. No solitude. No friends other than Dean.
He had nothing familiar.
He dropped onto the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. The temptation to cry like a little girl denied a sweet surged but he bit his lip instead. The clothes and the rest didn't mean anything. He could get new clothes, there wasn't anything in his flat that he couldn't replace except for Dean's sketches.
The need for a piss increased and he looked around for something else to wear. When nothing magically appeared, he riffled through the drawers of the dresser and pulled out some of Dean's clothes. The shirt fit him and he inhaled Dean's scent as he tugged it over his head. On the other hand, the trousers were too long. He spelled them shorter, figuring that Dean wouldn't mind too much.
"Need a map to find me way around this place," he muttered under his breath as he wandered the hallway. Thankfully, no one was in the loo when he finally found it. Shortly after, his stomach rumbled and he realised he hadn't eaten in a day or so.
When he wandered into the kitchen after finding three pantries, two broom closets and the library, he stopped short when he saw Professor McGonagall sitting at the table. Memories swamped him. He remembered detentions of scrubbing the Transfigurations classroom after talking too much in class, subtle encouragements given during class, the extra tutoring when he'd fallen behind, and learning to dance with Lavender as Professor McGonagall called out instructions.
He turned to go then turned back, tugging at the sleeves of Dean's shirt to try to cover the Mark. He wasn't ashamed of it, dammit, so he left off the tugging and entered the kitchen, going to the kettle to pour himself a cup of tea. He rummaged in the pantry and pulled a bag of crisps from it before attempting to leave without saying a word to her.
It had to be the late nights spent wary of her life that made it hard to sleep. She welcomed the discomfort it had brought her; she could never risk a mistake or have disaster happen on her watch as long as she was never comfortable enough to let her guard down. And now, more than ever before - before Moody, before Harry, before Dumbledore, before Sirius, she needed to not let her guard down. Letting her guard down could have someone killed.
She didn't look up when Seamus entered the kitchen, silently stirring her cup of tea and thinking on the conversation she had with Angelina Johnson a few days ago. She had to wonder if everyone else was in the same state of mind, all of them ready to stoop to the level of the Death Eaters, just to win and end this. Merlin, she hoped not. She was fairly sure that it had the ability to break her heart if that was so.
She watched him hesitate out of the corner of her eye, and wondered to herself, amused, if it was a natural reaction to her presence, if she invoked nervousness in all her old students. She was satisfied when he decided to not turn tail and hide, and returned to stirring her tea as he found a snack. It was as he tried to beat a hasty retreat without aiming a single word in her direction that she pushed her tea away and folded her hands on the table top.
"Mister Finnigan." she started, leaving it open that she hadn't finished speaking.
If she closed her eyes for five seconds, just five, she could pretend that she was sitting behind the desk in her Transfigurations classroom, hoping to catch a student before they disappeared out of her door. She stirred her tea a bit more.
"I recognise that we're strangers still, considering, but I hope my presence isn't a discomfort."
"Considering what?" Seamus paused as he made to leave and cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're fine, be where you want. Don't got much say, do I?"
He opened the bag of crisps and started to eat them. His stomach growled and he rubbed it before delving back into them. Sensing that she wasn't done, he leaned back against the wall. His Mark ached and he made sure to use it as the arm holding the bag so that it could be seen clearly. He wouldn't be ashamed of what he did or how he'd lived.
"You have a great deal more say than I think you realise." Minerva replied, her tea officially abandoned. She looked at him over the top of her glasses frames, a habit she'd developed and was rather averse of breaking. Not to mention, it also did the job of getting her point across when needed. "You also know what. I don't believe it to be necessary to mention Liam Neary, do you?"
This hadn't been the original topic she wanted to breech, this she'd readily admit if asked, but she was highly determined to talk to him, and getting a feel for this man that was the same yet different from the boy she had taught for several years was important to her. She needed no reason for why. It just was.
Seamus jumped at the name, the bag of crisps tumbling out of his hand. He snatched at it and then glared at her. It wasn't any of her business, dammit. No one should've talked to her, the only ones that knew were Hermione and Dean. Then again, this was the woman that had known when he'd been skivving off on his homework, making Dean do it for him instead. "Who told you about that? It's none of your fecking business, not one bit."
"None of my business?" She echoed, her tone giving off the impression that she didn't believe that in the slightest. She fixed Seamus with a stern glare. "There is a war going on, a war during which none of the people that reside in this house for even the slightest moment until it has ended are safe. And my business, as I've decided it to be so, is to make sure these people remain safe until Voldemort is defeated. If that includes knowing that you were Liam Neary for the past three years, believe me, I will know."
"Didn't answer the first part and I'm seeing how it is." Seamus chewed a few more crisps and then continued, "Aye and is it your business about the people that are caught up in the shite that's going on now? The ones that're stuck in the Ministry and the rest through no fault of their own? Taking on a bit much, aren't you? Bit self-important, yeah? It's none of your ------- business until I point a wand at you. Until then, leave it."
"Hmmm," Minerva returned to her tea, taking a careful sip; it wwas lukewarm. She didn't look in his direction as she spoke. "When you say the ones that are stuck in the Ministry - are you talking about people like Penelope Clearwater, the Weasley twins and others in Azkaban. Or," she finally looked at him. "Are you talking about yourself?"
"Not going to honour that with a reply, it's a petty thing to say and I would've expected better of a professor." Seamus cocked an eyebrow as she looked everywhere but at him. A light dawned and he used it to his advantage. "I make you uncomfortable, don't I? This Mark, you don't much like seeing it on one of your students. It's not about what I might or mightn't do. It's about what how you fear your failure. On the run all those years and leaving the rest of us, the ones that you were to be protecting, all on their own."
Seamus stalked over and sat next to her, resting the arm with the Mark on it directly beside her teacup. "He's calling, right now."
"Not a professor anymore, though, am I?" She asked, the tone in her voice making her sound distracted. She stared at the Mark, almost studying it and its intricacy. "It's about more than that, Seamus. I may have guilt, but that isn't what drives me to keep going, and it never has been. And you have never failed."
Wondering what the effect of it would be, and realising that she in fact cared less than she thought was possible, she laid her hand directly over the mark, looking him in the eyes and daring him to look away. "But will you answer?"
Seamus pulled his arm back from her, fast and quick. "Christ, woman, you touch it and he might be able to figure out where we're at. Do you want to be giving away the location?"
Looking down at the Mark, the writhing of the snake under his skin didn't seem to change patterns and the pain didn't increase. The Dark Lord might not be aware of their position. He hoped, prayed that He wasn't. "Never said I was a failure. I was damn good at my job and I enjoyed it, as well. This Mark, I had to earn it. They don't Mark just anyone, they only Mark the most devout, the strongest."
Minerva watched him as he looked at his mark. "That, you've always been, no matter the cause."
"Failure or good at me job?" Seamus slouched back into the chair he hadn't meant to sit down in.
"Good at your job. Strong. Devoted." She answered, looking away only to eye her tea, now cold as it was. She pulled out her wand, rewarming it with a quick swish of her wand. She put her wand away again, a lifted her cup to her lips.
Seamus laughed at her statement. "So what you're really saying is that I made a right fine Death Eater and that I should be trotting right on back, yeah?"
He stopped laughing and looked to the Mark again. "I'm not the same bloke you taught and I don't think I much want to be him, either. So, if that's what this is all about, then there's your answer."
She put her cup down. "No, what I'm saying is that you're good at whatever you set out to do, as I'm sure I've said in the past."
She watched him, the thinest smile appearing on her lips. "I want to know who you are now, then."
"You're asking the wrong bloke about things you've said in the past," he said and realised that it was an acknowledgement of what she'd already known. "Now? 'M just Seamus."
His stomach gave another growl and he realised that he'd finished off the crisps. Cursing under his breath, he wondered if he should go to fix something else. It wasn't like cooking fairies or house-elves would be appearing anytime soon to prepare something for him. He just didn't want to look like an arse in front of McGonagall and put his head where it didn't belong while he searched for supplies. Yet again, he missed his flat.
Minerva took another sip of her tea. "Well, then, be Just Seamus, and I'm satisfied."
It was almost funny how things could change in the slightest moment, she thought to herself, taking another sip of her tea. For a moment, she wondered if this was where Albus had seen the Order headed, on their last legs against a victorious Voldemort, before she reminded herself that the odds had never mattered to him. It was the heart and soul, what was deep inside, that had always mattered. She smiled to herself.
"Aye, I live for your satisfaction," he said but it lacked the bite from earlier. He saw her smile and wondered what it was that she was grinning at. He went over to the kettle and poured himself a cup of tea. Drinking in small sips, it helped with the growling in his stomach and he wondered if he could find Dean, that maybe Dean would cook him something to eat and that maybe they could take it back up into the room. Then he realised that he'd probably get his own room assignment. The thought both appealed and turned him off. He didn't want to be surrounded by all these people that would hate him without someone to watch his back.
Minerva had enough of her tea, taking one last sip before pushing her tea away from her on the table. She slowly stood, picking up the half-filled tea cup and taking it to the sink, where she placed it down carefully. She looked at Seamus as he drank his own tea, thinking about crossing paths with the Death Eaters as they had been searching for her - and something told her, most likely to be instinct, that it wasn't to kill her. Attempts on her life was something she was used to, after all.
"I've been meaning to thank you, you know. For saving me from a fate worse than death." There was a dry tone to it, and the corner of her mouth lifted before she took her leave, finding that she got a bit of joy of having the last word, unsurprisingly.