Fic: Anointing Life's Eyes (Dean, Neville, Seamus) PG-13 (1 of 2)
Title: Anointing Life's Eyes
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Neville, Seamus, Dean
Era/Time-Frame: post-Hogwarts, for the most part.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~13,900
Summary: Seamus is determined to live the rest of his life as a Muggle farmer and forget the past, but Neville is determined to make him to remember.
Warnings: past character death (plausible though not mentioned within Deathly Hallows). Spoilers for DH. Epilogue Compliant.
Author's Notes: Written for ceria_taliesen at Round 4 of hpslashnotsmut. Many thanks to my betas, yodels, why_me_why_not and janicechess. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it. Bitterness paralyzes life; love empowers it. Bitterness sours life; love sweetens it. Bitterness sickens life; love heals it. Bitterness blinds life; love anoints its eyes. - Harry Emerson Fosdick
It's a quiet life and one that, ironically enough, suits Seamus. After the Final Battle of Hogwarts, the chaos and the loss and the fear and the death, Seamus had fled to Ireland. Dublin had been too loud, too busy, too chaotic. Shannon had been almost as bad. Limerick had almost suited but not enough. He kept moving: inward, upward, to the shore, to the center. As he'd gone walking through County Roscommon, he'd found this little plot of land for sale.
One look at it - the green fields and the stone wall that looked to have been built long before Cromwell - and Seamus's heart eased, his mind quieted and he felt peace. It'd been a quick sale since the old owner was dead and the nephew didn't want the land anymore. For a moment, Seamus wanted to curse the lad for blasphemy but that blasphemy was benefiting him so he held his tongue, handed over the money and became a farmer.
Now, three years into it, Seamus has finally got on how to farm. The first year, he'd pulled out his wand and, shaking, put it back again. He'd eaten at the pub more often than not. Thankfully, his neighbours had taken pity on him and helped him, teaching him just when and how to raise the crops and shear the sheep. This year is the first he's done everything on his own and though the take isn't as much as he'd hoped for, it's still an impressive enough amount.
Times like now, riding on the tractor with nothing but the sound of the motor and the rolling fields for company, are his favourite. When he needs more than the fields, he has his dog, Finn. When he needs human company, he heads down the pub and raises a pint to whatever footie team might be playing. Talk ranges from sheep to hogs to cows to crops. There's talk about this man's nephew doing well at uni and that one's niece finally getting married to that no-good-layabout what got her pregnant. He feels a part of the community and Seamus basks in that, absorbs it to ease the pain of loss and loneliness.
When he cut ties to the wizarding world, he did so with a knife's edge. The owls from friends went unanswered; the eventual Howlers shredded themselves on his doorstep. His wand lies hidden in the back of a dresser, there should he ever need it but he knows that he won't. Still, it's one of the few things that he can't quite get rid of.
Finn starts barking and Seamus looks over to where the Irish Wolfhound bounds after a rabbit. Shaking his head, Seamus finishes the tilling of the old to feed the new and then turns the tractor towards the barn. As he rides back to the house, his mind is focused on the stew that's been cooking all day and on the way Finn tries to pace the tractor but fails miserably. He's a big dog but a pup still, all heart and no brains. The observation makes Seamus smile and that smile stays on his face as he enters the house.
"Got a good day's work done today. Field's are ready for next year's planting. Going to have Frankie from up the way come and take a look, though, just in case I forgot something like last year. I'm getting on to this, though, y'have to admit, yeah?" A windchime sings under the light breeze. Seamus takes his cap off and sets it on the small rack in the corner. He sheds his coat and then opens the door for Finn. "The dog was a good idea, thanks for it."
Breathing deeply, he heads in to the kitchen, not waiting for a response. The stew's ready and he gives it another stir before pulling out a loaf of brown bread and slicing off a large piece. As he eats, he plans out his next day and what all he'll need to get done. There's the feedings in the morning and the shed's seen better days. The rock wall that he fell in love with needs a bit of repairing, as well. He'll get it all done when it's meant to get done.
That's another thing he's learned out here. Things get done when things get done. He can fight against fate all he wants but, in the end, the bitch is the one with the last laugh. He's fortune's fool and - now that he knows it, lives with it, accepts it - he's fine with it.
As he heads to bed and a book, he calls out, "Good night, Dean. See you in the morning."
~~**~~
The lane is much longer than Neville expects. For all the chill in the air, he's far too warm and he thinks that it probably has more to do with the exertion than his sweater and robes. He'd forgotten - an honest mistake, as far as he's concerned - that Muggles don't wear robes. The lady at the inn had only rolled her eyes at him, though, so he has to be close to Muggle, right? Right, he decides as he trundles further down the lane. He stumbles on a rock and barely holds back a curse. It's tempting, far far too tempting, to start muttering to himself about exactly what he's doing and why he's doing it and how everyone had better appreciate this or he'll make them.
The area is beautiful; he can't fault that. It looks a bit like a postcard what with the way the fields stretch into the distance, all emerald greens and dark chocolate browns. Rock walls dot the landscape and meander as they will. The lane he's on is well-packed dirt but Neville can't help looking to see if the sheep from a field over might've left anything in the road. Yet again, he wishes he could've taken a Portkey, because beautiful scenery or not, he's hot and tired and miserable.
If it wasn't for…he gives a yelp as a giant animal leaps over a rock wall. Stumbling backwards, over the rock in the lane, he falls on his arse. The animal continues bounding over until he's standing over Neville. When he looks up, he sees that it's not a pony or any sort of wolf, at all. Instead, it's the largest dog he's seen other than Fang. Rather than the bulk and lumbering strength of the boarhound, however, this one is all lean sinew and grace. It's also extremely friendly as it nudges him with his nose, snuffling and licking.
"Off, beast, off. Where did you come from anyway?" Neville reaches a hand out and pats the dog on its giant snout and then starts to push off the ground.
"Finn, for the love of Mary, where the fuck are ye? Christ, sodding dog. More trouble 'n'y're worth. Fuck's sake, Finn!" Neville looks from the dog to the rock wall where the voice is coming from and back to the dog.
"Your name's Finn?" The dog leans in and licks Neville's face one last time. "Your owner doesn't sound too happy with you. You might want to go back before you get in more trouble."
The dog doesn't budge, even when Neville pushes on it with one arm while the other keeps him upright. "Go on, then, you'll get in trouble. Be a good dog now and go." He punctuates each word with a tentative pat on the dog's muzzle.
"Fuck's sake, Finn, get back here. Come, you mangy mutt!" The voice sounds even more irate and upset and Neville pushes against the dog's chest. Finn looks a bit mournful but when another curse word comes, he gives Neville one last lick and then bounds back over the wall. Shaking his head, Neville pushes himself off the ground, swipes a hand down his robes and then looks around. There's no one in sight so he pulls out his wand and quickly spells the rest of the dirt away. The blow to his pride for getting knocked over by a dog - a dog the size of a pony, he mentally corrects himself - isn't quite as easy to dismiss.
As he walks the rest of the way to the house he can now see in the distance, Neville can hear Ron's teasing voice in his ear going on about how Neville hasn't grown out of his klutziness yet and he can hear Ginny telling Ron to shut his gob before she shuts it for him. Hermione would be rattling on about whatever sort of beast it was while Harry would've just offered him a hand to help him up.
The richness of those friendships reminds him of exactly why he's here, approaching this tiny house outside the village of Tarmonbarry.
~~**~~
Seamus has just sat down to his stew, reheated from yesterday's batch, when there's a knock on his door. Hoping that it's Frankie McCormack from up the lane, he goes to answer with a glare tossed over his shoulder. "I'm watching you, Finn. You eat my stew and that's it, you'll be out in the barn the rest o' the night."
He puts a smile on his face, grateful for the help even if it comes at the loss of his meal to Finn. Opening the door, he starts to greet Frankie when he realises that it isn't Frankie at all. His smile melts off his face as memories swamp him and he shuts the door in Neville's face. His knees give way and he slides to the floor, resting the back of his head against the door.
He'd not been expecting that. Hadn't been expecting anyone, really, not with the way that he'd returned their owls and ignored the pleading. No one was to have known where he'd gone and he thought for certain that he'd made sure of that. His hands are still shaking and he jumps when there's a crack and Neville appears before him.
"Didn't think that would work. Where're your wards?" Neville slides his wand into his pocket and Seamus doesn't quite know how to respond. He's not ready for this. Fuck's sake, he's not ready at all.
Thankfully, he's saved by Finn, who comes bounding from the kitchen and slides across the wooden floors, bunching up the runner as he goes, and taps the back of Neville's knees. They both fall to a heap on the floor though the dog comes out on top. As Finn mauls Neville with licks and nudges, Seamus has a bit of time to collect his thoughts and figure out how he's going to respond.
"So this's where you're from? You're a big one, aren't you? What sort of dog is this?" Seamus doesn't answer him; instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "Seamus?"
It's obvious that Neville's not going to leave without some sort of response from Seamus. He whispers, "What're you doing here?"
"Looking for you, of course." Neville's tone makes it patently obvious that Seamus should've already known the answer to that question.
"But why?" His voice's still a whisper.
"Serious?" Seamus finally looks up at the question and nods. Neville looks gobsmacked. "You disappear for three years and you don't think anyone's going to come looking for you? We've been looking for you this whole time. Finally had someone say that they thought they saw you down at a pub in town here. Since Hogwarts is out of session, I volunteered to come look for you. We've been taking turns, Ron, Harry, Hermione and me."
Seamus still doesn't quite understand why. He'd made it obvious that he hadn't wanted a thing to do with them. Standing, he opens the door and Finn shoots out before gamboling back to sit by the step. "You've found me so you can tell 'em that I'm fine. Good day to you."
"But what?" Neville's still on the floor and staring up at him.
"'M fine. Don't be stopping by again, yeah? If I'd wanted company, I would've sent an owl or something." Seamus's tone hardens and he watches the confusion spread across Neville's face. Finn cries in the doorway.
"What?"
"Not now, Nev, please? Didn't want to be found. I've moved on and I expected that the rest of you would've, as well. Tis sorry I am for the rudeness, but I was just sitting down to a meal so you'll need to be leaving." Seamus gestures towards the door once more.
"Wait, what? I don't understand." Neville finally pushes himself off the floor and Seamus nods his head and then gestures. "Alright, so I'll stop by when you're not eating."
"Not necessary, yeah?" Seamus watches Neville walk out the door and then he waves at Finn. "Come on, Finn, into the house with ye."
The dog gives a whine as he watches Neville start down the dirt lane but comes back into the house. After shutting the door, Seamus goes back to his stew but he's lost his appetite and it's cold, besides. He pours it into Finn's dish and then makes his way to his bedroom.
His duvet makes a nice cocoon around him as he curls into a ball on the mattress. A sound alerts him and he rolls over and smiles sadly. "Can you believe that Nev stopped by just like that? Acting like I wanted to be found, it's such shite, isn't it? If we'd wanted to be found, we would've talked to 'em. Instead, he just prances in, pleased as punch that he found me. Like we were hiding from him or something. We're here; we've post and the rest."
He doesn't wait for a response before punching his pillow and readjusting it. "Fuck's sake, Dean, I didn't know what to say to him. He was just so happy to be here, Apparated right into the house, can you believe the nerve?
"Fucking arse," he says but there's no heat in it. They've too much history together for Seamus to completely turn on Nev. "He's gone though, made sure of that."
The breeze picks up and the windchimes hanging in the windows tinkle merrily. Seamus finally falls asleep. He dreams of Hogwarts and the Final Battle.
~~**~~
After his icy reception yesterday - completely unexpected and confusing to him - Neville isn't sure what sort of reception he's going to receive today. Still, he Apparates to just outside of Seamus's house. A quick look around tells him that Finn, the beast that he still doesn't know the breed of, isn't around and Neville breathes a sigh of relief. He likes the animal but Finn sort of reminds him of Care of Magical Creatures, for some reason. Still, he's friendly enough - unlike the Skrewts or Hippogriffs or the rest of Hagrid's 'wee beasties'.
He knocks on the door and there's no response. Another knock and still no response. Deciding to seize the day - after all, he didn't come all the way from Scotland just to be put off by one unexpected let-down - Neville walks around back of the house. He can see the order and smiles at it. It's so different from the way that Seamus had been at Hogwarts. Seamus was ridiculously messy during school. His possessions would end up in whatever trunk was nearest when Seamus decided he was done with whatever. Neville couldn't remember how many times he'd open his trunk to find Seamus's pants and shoes, let alone his books and papers, in his own trunk or spread on his bed. There'd be a tussle when Neville demanded that Seamus remove his belongings. He'd never have guessed that he'd look back to those moments with fondness.
The neatness is in direct juxtaposition to the old Seamus and the smile on Neville's face fades as he realises that it's another piece of the puzzle of how much Seamus has changed. From indulgent humour to sad longing in a few seconds, his mood doesn't improve as he approaches the barn.
"Alo? Anyone?" He calls into the dark cavern of the barn. There's no answer but that doesn't deter Neville. If he can deal with recalcitrant First Years trying to get out of doing their homework, he can deal with one Seamus Finnigan.
He wanders into the barn and his eyes finally adjust to the dim light to see that there are a few sheep in the corner and some of the cleanest tools he's ever seen. With absolutely no idea what any of the various gadgets do, he pokes and prods at them, picking some up and weighing them while playing with others. They're all sorts of shapes and sizes. He's completely fascinated with them. So fascinated, in fact, that he doesn't hear Seamus coming up behind him.
"Great Merlin's balls!" He shouts as the scythe is taken from his hands in mid-swing.
"Going t'hurt someone with that, the way you're going." It's said as if they're engaged in a light conversation but Neville knows Seamus too well to believe that.
"Figured you wouldn't be sitting down for a meal right now so I thought I'd come earlier. Thought we could maybe get off on a better footing or something since I didn't exactly Apparate into your home invited and I did interrupt your meal and all. Plus your dog's, it is a dog, right?" Neville interrupts himself and then laughs. "Remember those giant beasts that Hagrid had in Care of Magical Creatures? That's what your dog reminds me of, one of those great big things. You never did say what sort of dog he was, you know."
"I'm aware of that. What're you doing back here, Nev?" Seamus hangs the scythe back on the hook and then goes to do whatever it is he'd been coming in to the barn to do. Neville has no clue how one goes about farming the Muggle way but it's fascinating to watch as Seamus fiddles about with something.
"I'm here to talk to you, of course. We worry about you; you just sort of disappeared and no one could find you after we buried the dead." If Neville could, he would snatch those last words back out of the air. The stricken look Seamus turns on him sours his stomach. Nev's forgotten who all they buried and he realises that he's done more than stick his foot in his mouth.
Seamus stalks over to him and leans in as close as he can and then hisses, "You think I fucking care? You think I do? I don't want a fucking thing to do with any of you. Not a single fucking one of you. Gryffindors were supposed to be loyal, weren't they? Fucking loyalty is all we ever asked and you were too busy playing the hero to be loyal. Fuck off, Nev. For the sake of the years, fuck off before we don't have any happy memories left."
With that and before Neville can react, Seamus walks out of the barn without a backwards glance. It's only when Finn whines that Neville realises that he's been standing there with his mouth hanging open in a barn. He sits down on the small stool. Finn trots over and pushes his head under Neville's hand.
As much as he'd like to pretend ignorance, he knows exactly where that vitriol came from. He hasn't a clue where to go from here so instead, he rubs Finn's head and stays where he's at.
~~**~~
Seamus's ire and rage fuel his steps into the house. The fire of it burns deep in his gut as he slams the door and then it abruptly leaves him, his knees once more buckling and sending him to the floor. How dare Neville act like Seamus would greet him like a returning hero when he'd let how many die? Friends that were deserving of protection. People like Creevey, who shouldn't have been there in the first place. Yet Neville's lauded as a hero for lopping off the head of a snake while good people died defending others.
"Can you believe it? Breezes in here as if he'd be welcome, fucking Neville," Seamus curses and kicks the leg of a table. "Can't believe the gall. Christ, what was he thinking?"
Shaking his head, Seamus heads into the kitchen, continuing speaking as he goes, "Enough about him. Fucking arse. Going to serve the roast. If Finn's wanting some, he'll just have to come round back, right? Right."
The roast smells divine and Seamus suppresses the rest of the emotions that Neville's visit brought. Just because it's unexpected, again, doesn't mean that Seamus isn't more than able to cope with it. He'll ignore Nev just like he's ignored them all for years and Nev'll go away. That'll be that. He'll be back to himself and Finn and Dean. The thought has his heart tightening again and he shakes it off, going back to the oven to pull the roast out.
"Don't be taking his side; I know you're wanting to. You don't have to say a sodding word, known each other how long now? I know what you're going to say and I won't hear it. I don't believe him, not at all. I was there and you weren't. You were in the castle and I was there when he did it. I saw the whole fecking thing and you're an arse if you think that he didn't play on it later. Neville's sure to have gotten the notoriety just like Potter did all those years ago." As he speaks, he waves the knife around, punctuating his rant with wild brandishes before going back to slicing. The windchimes dance but Seamus just talks over them, "I know I said I believed Har-- Potter but you should've seen him at the funerals, playing it up for the cameras and the reporters. Acting the mourner in public but going about like nothing ever happened in private. They're all a bunch of hypocrites and I'm not much caring if you think I'm full of it or not."
He sits at the table and takes a bite of the meat. "That dog's missing out, this roast is excellent, Dean. You should come have a bite. It's pretty tender. I'm farming and I'm cooking. What would mam think of that, I wonder?"
After he finishes, he cleans the mess and leaves the back door slightly cracked, just in case Finn ever decides to come back. Either he'll be back all on his own or he'll be getting a call from Mary Margaret down at the pub that Finn has, yet again, slipped in for some bangers and mash.
As he passes the sitting room, he finishes his diatribe, "It's their fault, mate. Their fault and I'm not forgiving 'em for it."
~~**~~
As Neville walks back to town, he's grateful for Finn's company. The dog's entertaining and keeps Neville's mind from the now two confrontations with Seamus. This wasn't going at all like he'd expected. He'd thought that maybe Seamus wasn't aware that they were looking for him. That or maybe his owls had gotten lost. Maybe there'd been Death Eaters or something? Anything but this icy hatred that permeates Seamus and makes Neville's heart twist. He hasn't a clue what to tell any of the rest. Even Lavender and Parvati, on the rare occasions he sees them, worry over Seamus.
Seamus was the great mystery of their group. He'd just disappeared after Dean's funeral and no one had heard from him since. They'd tried, Neville probably hardest of all of them, but they'd not found a trace of him. Eventually, the rest had slowly given up, figuring that Seamus hadn't wanted to contact them but Neville had believed differently, thought that there had to be a reason why they couldn't find him.
After their time at Hogwarts that last year, Neville knows Seamus better than the rest. Neville knows how fiercely loyal and devoted he is and it's hard to believe that that loyalty and devotion would just disappear in a moment. He'd just walked away without a backwards glance.
That's the part that chafes. Seamus hadn't said goodbye, at the very least. They'd defended one another, fought and protected, and to go from that to absolute nothingness in the space of a few weeks without any sort of explanation? Neville hadn't believed it. Truth be told, he still doesn't believe it.
As Finn bumps his hip for attention; Neville realises that perhaps the dog isn't quite as successful at keeping Nev's attention away from Seamus as he'd thought. A couple of pats and the dog gambols off after a hare. Neville watches as he gives chase for a bit and then returns without anything to show for it. His tongue lolls to the side, a self-satisfied grin on his face. It makes Neville smile.
"Seamus's going to be mad that you disappeared, you know that, right?" Finn barks and Neville shakes his head. "It's on your head, then. Hope the landlady lets you stay; otherwise, I have no idea what I'm going to do with you."
Another bark and then the rest of the journey is spent in silence. By the time he reaches town, Neville is, once more, hot and sweaty. Finn, on the other hand, seems energized and bounds off towards a pub. Crosby's, the sign declares it and Neville shrugs before entering. Finn trots in behind.
As he tries to shoo the beast out the door, one of the patrons shouts, "Is that Finn? Aye, it is. Finn, m'boy, come have a bit to eat!"
The dog leaves Neville standing with the door and his mouth hanging open. He shouldn't be surprised that an animal's allowed in the pub. Aberforth had his goat in the pub at all times, after all. He squashes the memories of hiding in the Room of Requirement with Seamus and the rest, though. Squashes it deep down so that he can concentrate on the now and the fact that the cold's blowing through the open door.
"Come on in, haven't seen you about the village. Could I get you a pint?" A woman comes out of the back carrying a tray of food. His mouth waters at the smells.
"Um, could I have a, err, that is," he stumbles over ordering a Muggle drink. He looks about and sees a few signs for a variety of drinks and picks one at random, "A Harp's, maybe? Or a Guinness?"
"Not too sure about them, are you? How about I pick for you? Maybe something to eat as well? You're looking hungry." She slaps a wandering hand as she sets food down but then kisses the top of the old man's head. "Be careful with that hand, Mister Keenan or you'll be eating left-handed instead."
Neville sits at a table and Finn wanders back over, curling around his chair. The woman grins and comes over to give Finn a pat.
"And just where's your master? Come into town on your own, then? I'll be ringing Seamus, don't think I won't. Naughty dog, you are, very naughty indeed. I'm half tempted not to bring you something while you wait for Seamus to come for you." She looks up at Neville and winks. "Sorry about this mongrel, he's a regular here, though. I'll get him out of your way, if you're wanting."
"Actually, he sort of came in to town with me." The woman's expression turns assessing at that and Neville hastens to continue. "I'm a friend of Seamus's. Well, sort of. That is, I used to be. We went to school together."
"Ah, that'd explain Finn, then. I'll be back with your drink and some food. None for you, though, mister." The last is said with a wink towards Finn. With that, the woman heads back towards the kitchen but she turns and gives Neville another couple of looks.
Finn's tail taps on the floor rhythmically while Neville looks around, seeing the way that the villagers clump together, talking about their families or their work. There's a good mix of young and old, farmers and shopkeepers. There's music in the background, leeching out from the kitchen, while a telly runs some sort of footie match. The waitress is back quickly with a pint of an amber ale.
"Try this, you'll like it. You don't strike me as much of a drinker," she says as she sets it down in front of him. She slides into the seat next to him, bumping Finn's head out of the way as she maneuvers the chair.
"Not much of one, no. Don't have much time for it, really." Neville gingerly picks up the drink and takes a sip. It tastes better than he'd expected and he smiles his thanks.
"And what is it that you do that doesn't leave you much time for a night out at the pub?" She rests her head on her hand, staring at him. He's slightly uncomfortable under that gaze as it feels like she's trying to see into his soul or some such.
"I'm a teacher at a, err, special school." She looks like she's about to ask another question so he hastens to explain, "I teach plants and such. In Scotland. Actually, at the same school that Seamus and I went to."
"Ah, a teacher. You have the look about you. So you've known Seamus awhile, then?"
"Yeah, since we were eleven until about three years ago. A bit longer, I guess, but yeah, about three years ago, we lost contact." It's the politest way he can think to explain the abrupt severance of their friendship. And more, a little voice whispers in the back of his head and he tamps that down as well. It's not important, not in the large scope of things.
"So you'll be knowing Dean, as well?" The question is asked so innocently that Neville knows that she knows more than she's letting on. It's said with a flutter of lashes and an intense gaze all paired up together.
"I knew Dean, yeah. All of us went to school together." Neville doesn't know what she's asking or wanting with her questions. He suddenly feels like he's standing in the middle of a pile of quicksand and he's been sinking without realising it. She's led him into a trap.
"Knew him?"
"Yeah, Dean, err, that is, Dean's dea-err, that is yeah, I knew him."
"It isn't my place to tell anyone this but as you're knowing Seamus all those years and you came all the way over here to talk to him, I'll tell you that I worry over him. Every year, he comes into the pub, sits in the corner and drinks himself until he doesn't know which way's up or down. Only drinks like that once a year and there's no helping him. Every June, it is, and he'll just sit there until I take him home. Once he's there, he'll talk about Dean and…" Her voice trails off and Neville can only imagine what Seamus says or talks about.
"So you know Dean's dead, then?" he asks quietly.
"I thought so, yeah, but the way Seamus talks, well, I wasn't sure. Doesn't really drink except for that one day in June. He says other things, too, barmy things." She's about to continue when there's a bellow from the kitchen and she waggles a finger. "Just a minute and I'll have your food and we'll have a talk."
Neville looks around but doesn't see anyone else paying a whit of attention to them. The woman hustles out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with food that smells so good that his stomach growls in anticipation. There're three plates on the tray and she sets one down to the floor before sitting with him once more.
"I don't think I asked you your name."
"Neville, it's Neville Longbottom."
"Oh." And there's a wealth of meaning in that exhalation. Neville knows, just from that sound, that Seamus's 'barmy' things include him in there somewhere. He's suddenly not very hungry but he keeps eating to be polite. His Gran would box his ears if he were rude. She might be over in England but he still believes that she has powers that extend to anywhere in the world when it comes to Neville.
"So he's talked about me, then?"
"Aye, a bit. Not much, y'ken? I don't much care that he's, well, that he's," her voice lowers to a whisper as she looks around the pub, "that he's gay, but others might so I've kept it to meself."
"Oh, right," Neville says as if he understands when he doesn't at all. What does being gay have to do with … oh, right. Neville remembers now. It'd been a small thing, not that it was forgettable. It wasn't, isn't forgettable. It's just one of those things that Neville's kept pushed deep down so that it doesn't hurt, doesn't twist the feelings further and meaner.
Neville sat by the fire, wondering just how it was that he'd be able to keep everyone afloat and safe. He had Aberforth fighting him every time they needed supplies out there and Seamus in here fighting him. He wouldn't get the whisky that Seamus wanted, no matter how many times he asked. It was a crutch, a crutch and a cliché and Neville wasn't going to be a part of it.
It was hard to deny Seamus, extremely hard considering how much pain he was in. Neville can still taste the acrid taste of fear from when he'd found Seamus lying bloody and broken on the ground. The light flutter of a pulse under his fingers still haunts him. He wasn't ever very far from Seamus, not in those first weeks after Parvati and he had pulled Seamus away from Crabbe and Goyle. Seamus's sleep was tormented and, sometimes, it was only Neville muttering nonsense at him that soothed him back into sleep.
Now, though, weeks on, Seamus's ribs were still bothering him and he still had problems sleeping. A moan from Seamus echoed in the darkness and stillness of the night so Neville walked over to where Seamus struggled to get comfortable in the hammock.
"Lie still," he commanded in a soft voice so he wouldn't disturb the others.
"Can't get comfortable," Seamus admitted. Neville heard the tortured pride in that voice, the way that Seamus didn't want to admit the weakness. He was quite sure that the only reason Seamus admitted it was because Neville had already seen him in worse straits.
"I know, here, this'll help." Neville rummaged around until he found a pot that Aberforth had grudgingly delivered a couple of days ago. "Take your shirt off."
"You're just after a gander of my chest, I know your sort," Seamus said with a leer but Neville knew it was forced. Staring until Seamus reached for the bottom of the shirt, he helped remove it. The mottled greens, blues, yellows and purples were ugly, even in the wavering light given off from the fireplace. Neville didn't know it but this moment was when things changed between them.
His hands were gentle as they rubbed the salve into Seamus's skin, swiping across his chest, down over his stomach and then around to his back. The back was awkward to reach and Neville leaned in so he could get to the center. He turned his head and realised how very close their faces were. As the observation passed through his mind - I could kiss him so easily right now - they were kissing already. Neville didn't know which one moved first, whether it was him or Seamus, but it didn't matter as it felt so good. Seamus was warm under his hands and lips, warm against his tongue.
Michael Corner muttered in his sleep and they pulled back abruptly. Each put a hand on their respective lips and Seamus whispered, "Dean…"
"Just because you're missing Dean is no reason to kiss me," Neville responded.
Neville regrets saying it now, simply because of what came after. If he'd known that Dean wouldn't make it, that Seamus wouldn't have more than a brief hug and a few snatched glances while the battle raged, he wouldn't have been so callous about their relationship.
"Dean and him, they were close, best mates and all. There was more but they kept it between them. Our last year at school, there were some things that happened that kept them apart. Before they could really get back together, well, things happened." Neville keeps his voice quiet and tries to not give everything away. He still respects Seamus's privacy, after all, and between that and the Statute of Secrecy, he's not going to discuss the wizarding world with a Muggle.
"No charge for the meal or the drink. You can leave Finn here, if you'd like. Lottie at the inn isn't so fond of him and Seamus'll be in to get him by the by. Give him time, he's stubborn but you'd be knowing that, better than I do." With that admonishment, the waitress gathers up the empty plates and heads back towards the kitchen once more.
"Yeah, I know that," he whispers and touches his lips before finishing his pint.
Part 2
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Neville, Seamus, Dean
Era/Time-Frame: post-Hogwarts, for the most part.
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~13,900
Summary: Seamus is determined to live the rest of his life as a Muggle farmer and forget the past, but Neville is determined to make him to remember.
Warnings: past character death (plausible though not mentioned within Deathly Hallows). Spoilers for DH. Epilogue Compliant.
Author's Notes: Written for ceria_taliesen at Round 4 of hpslashnotsmut. Many thanks to my betas, yodels, why_me_why_not and janicechess. All remaining mistakes are my own.
Bitterness imprisons life; love releases it. Bitterness paralyzes life; love empowers it. Bitterness sours life; love sweetens it. Bitterness sickens life; love heals it. Bitterness blinds life; love anoints its eyes. - Harry Emerson Fosdick
It's a quiet life and one that, ironically enough, suits Seamus. After the Final Battle of Hogwarts, the chaos and the loss and the fear and the death, Seamus had fled to Ireland. Dublin had been too loud, too busy, too chaotic. Shannon had been almost as bad. Limerick had almost suited but not enough. He kept moving: inward, upward, to the shore, to the center. As he'd gone walking through County Roscommon, he'd found this little plot of land for sale.
One look at it - the green fields and the stone wall that looked to have been built long before Cromwell - and Seamus's heart eased, his mind quieted and he felt peace. It'd been a quick sale since the old owner was dead and the nephew didn't want the land anymore. For a moment, Seamus wanted to curse the lad for blasphemy but that blasphemy was benefiting him so he held his tongue, handed over the money and became a farmer.
Now, three years into it, Seamus has finally got on how to farm. The first year, he'd pulled out his wand and, shaking, put it back again. He'd eaten at the pub more often than not. Thankfully, his neighbours had taken pity on him and helped him, teaching him just when and how to raise the crops and shear the sheep. This year is the first he's done everything on his own and though the take isn't as much as he'd hoped for, it's still an impressive enough amount.
Times like now, riding on the tractor with nothing but the sound of the motor and the rolling fields for company, are his favourite. When he needs more than the fields, he has his dog, Finn. When he needs human company, he heads down the pub and raises a pint to whatever footie team might be playing. Talk ranges from sheep to hogs to cows to crops. There's talk about this man's nephew doing well at uni and that one's niece finally getting married to that no-good-layabout what got her pregnant. He feels a part of the community and Seamus basks in that, absorbs it to ease the pain of loss and loneliness.
When he cut ties to the wizarding world, he did so with a knife's edge. The owls from friends went unanswered; the eventual Howlers shredded themselves on his doorstep. His wand lies hidden in the back of a dresser, there should he ever need it but he knows that he won't. Still, it's one of the few things that he can't quite get rid of.
Finn starts barking and Seamus looks over to where the Irish Wolfhound bounds after a rabbit. Shaking his head, Seamus finishes the tilling of the old to feed the new and then turns the tractor towards the barn. As he rides back to the house, his mind is focused on the stew that's been cooking all day and on the way Finn tries to pace the tractor but fails miserably. He's a big dog but a pup still, all heart and no brains. The observation makes Seamus smile and that smile stays on his face as he enters the house.
"Got a good day's work done today. Field's are ready for next year's planting. Going to have Frankie from up the way come and take a look, though, just in case I forgot something like last year. I'm getting on to this, though, y'have to admit, yeah?" A windchime sings under the light breeze. Seamus takes his cap off and sets it on the small rack in the corner. He sheds his coat and then opens the door for Finn. "The dog was a good idea, thanks for it."
Breathing deeply, he heads in to the kitchen, not waiting for a response. The stew's ready and he gives it another stir before pulling out a loaf of brown bread and slicing off a large piece. As he eats, he plans out his next day and what all he'll need to get done. There's the feedings in the morning and the shed's seen better days. The rock wall that he fell in love with needs a bit of repairing, as well. He'll get it all done when it's meant to get done.
That's another thing he's learned out here. Things get done when things get done. He can fight against fate all he wants but, in the end, the bitch is the one with the last laugh. He's fortune's fool and - now that he knows it, lives with it, accepts it - he's fine with it.
As he heads to bed and a book, he calls out, "Good night, Dean. See you in the morning."
~~**~~
The lane is much longer than Neville expects. For all the chill in the air, he's far too warm and he thinks that it probably has more to do with the exertion than his sweater and robes. He'd forgotten - an honest mistake, as far as he's concerned - that Muggles don't wear robes. The lady at the inn had only rolled her eyes at him, though, so he has to be close to Muggle, right? Right, he decides as he trundles further down the lane. He stumbles on a rock and barely holds back a curse. It's tempting, far far too tempting, to start muttering to himself about exactly what he's doing and why he's doing it and how everyone had better appreciate this or he'll make them.
The area is beautiful; he can't fault that. It looks a bit like a postcard what with the way the fields stretch into the distance, all emerald greens and dark chocolate browns. Rock walls dot the landscape and meander as they will. The lane he's on is well-packed dirt but Neville can't help looking to see if the sheep from a field over might've left anything in the road. Yet again, he wishes he could've taken a Portkey, because beautiful scenery or not, he's hot and tired and miserable.
If it wasn't for…he gives a yelp as a giant animal leaps over a rock wall. Stumbling backwards, over the rock in the lane, he falls on his arse. The animal continues bounding over until he's standing over Neville. When he looks up, he sees that it's not a pony or any sort of wolf, at all. Instead, it's the largest dog he's seen other than Fang. Rather than the bulk and lumbering strength of the boarhound, however, this one is all lean sinew and grace. It's also extremely friendly as it nudges him with his nose, snuffling and licking.
"Off, beast, off. Where did you come from anyway?" Neville reaches a hand out and pats the dog on its giant snout and then starts to push off the ground.
"Finn, for the love of Mary, where the fuck are ye? Christ, sodding dog. More trouble 'n'y're worth. Fuck's sake, Finn!" Neville looks from the dog to the rock wall where the voice is coming from and back to the dog.
"Your name's Finn?" The dog leans in and licks Neville's face one last time. "Your owner doesn't sound too happy with you. You might want to go back before you get in more trouble."
The dog doesn't budge, even when Neville pushes on it with one arm while the other keeps him upright. "Go on, then, you'll get in trouble. Be a good dog now and go." He punctuates each word with a tentative pat on the dog's muzzle.
"Fuck's sake, Finn, get back here. Come, you mangy mutt!" The voice sounds even more irate and upset and Neville pushes against the dog's chest. Finn looks a bit mournful but when another curse word comes, he gives Neville one last lick and then bounds back over the wall. Shaking his head, Neville pushes himself off the ground, swipes a hand down his robes and then looks around. There's no one in sight so he pulls out his wand and quickly spells the rest of the dirt away. The blow to his pride for getting knocked over by a dog - a dog the size of a pony, he mentally corrects himself - isn't quite as easy to dismiss.
As he walks the rest of the way to the house he can now see in the distance, Neville can hear Ron's teasing voice in his ear going on about how Neville hasn't grown out of his klutziness yet and he can hear Ginny telling Ron to shut his gob before she shuts it for him. Hermione would be rattling on about whatever sort of beast it was while Harry would've just offered him a hand to help him up.
The richness of those friendships reminds him of exactly why he's here, approaching this tiny house outside the village of Tarmonbarry.
~~**~~
Seamus has just sat down to his stew, reheated from yesterday's batch, when there's a knock on his door. Hoping that it's Frankie McCormack from up the lane, he goes to answer with a glare tossed over his shoulder. "I'm watching you, Finn. You eat my stew and that's it, you'll be out in the barn the rest o' the night."
He puts a smile on his face, grateful for the help even if it comes at the loss of his meal to Finn. Opening the door, he starts to greet Frankie when he realises that it isn't Frankie at all. His smile melts off his face as memories swamp him and he shuts the door in Neville's face. His knees give way and he slides to the floor, resting the back of his head against the door.
He'd not been expecting that. Hadn't been expecting anyone, really, not with the way that he'd returned their owls and ignored the pleading. No one was to have known where he'd gone and he thought for certain that he'd made sure of that. His hands are still shaking and he jumps when there's a crack and Neville appears before him.
"Didn't think that would work. Where're your wards?" Neville slides his wand into his pocket and Seamus doesn't quite know how to respond. He's not ready for this. Fuck's sake, he's not ready at all.
Thankfully, he's saved by Finn, who comes bounding from the kitchen and slides across the wooden floors, bunching up the runner as he goes, and taps the back of Neville's knees. They both fall to a heap on the floor though the dog comes out on top. As Finn mauls Neville with licks and nudges, Seamus has a bit of time to collect his thoughts and figure out how he's going to respond.
"So this's where you're from? You're a big one, aren't you? What sort of dog is this?" Seamus doesn't answer him; instead, he pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around them. "Seamus?"
It's obvious that Neville's not going to leave without some sort of response from Seamus. He whispers, "What're you doing here?"
"Looking for you, of course." Neville's tone makes it patently obvious that Seamus should've already known the answer to that question.
"But why?" His voice's still a whisper.
"Serious?" Seamus finally looks up at the question and nods. Neville looks gobsmacked. "You disappear for three years and you don't think anyone's going to come looking for you? We've been looking for you this whole time. Finally had someone say that they thought they saw you down at a pub in town here. Since Hogwarts is out of session, I volunteered to come look for you. We've been taking turns, Ron, Harry, Hermione and me."
Seamus still doesn't quite understand why. He'd made it obvious that he hadn't wanted a thing to do with them. Standing, he opens the door and Finn shoots out before gamboling back to sit by the step. "You've found me so you can tell 'em that I'm fine. Good day to you."
"But what?" Neville's still on the floor and staring up at him.
"'M fine. Don't be stopping by again, yeah? If I'd wanted company, I would've sent an owl or something." Seamus's tone hardens and he watches the confusion spread across Neville's face. Finn cries in the doorway.
"What?"
"Not now, Nev, please? Didn't want to be found. I've moved on and I expected that the rest of you would've, as well. Tis sorry I am for the rudeness, but I was just sitting down to a meal so you'll need to be leaving." Seamus gestures towards the door once more.
"Wait, what? I don't understand." Neville finally pushes himself off the floor and Seamus nods his head and then gestures. "Alright, so I'll stop by when you're not eating."
"Not necessary, yeah?" Seamus watches Neville walk out the door and then he waves at Finn. "Come on, Finn, into the house with ye."
The dog gives a whine as he watches Neville start down the dirt lane but comes back into the house. After shutting the door, Seamus goes back to his stew but he's lost his appetite and it's cold, besides. He pours it into Finn's dish and then makes his way to his bedroom.
His duvet makes a nice cocoon around him as he curls into a ball on the mattress. A sound alerts him and he rolls over and smiles sadly. "Can you believe that Nev stopped by just like that? Acting like I wanted to be found, it's such shite, isn't it? If we'd wanted to be found, we would've talked to 'em. Instead, he just prances in, pleased as punch that he found me. Like we were hiding from him or something. We're here; we've post and the rest."
He doesn't wait for a response before punching his pillow and readjusting it. "Fuck's sake, Dean, I didn't know what to say to him. He was just so happy to be here, Apparated right into the house, can you believe the nerve?
"Fucking arse," he says but there's no heat in it. They've too much history together for Seamus to completely turn on Nev. "He's gone though, made sure of that."
The breeze picks up and the windchimes hanging in the windows tinkle merrily. Seamus finally falls asleep. He dreams of Hogwarts and the Final Battle.
~~**~~
After his icy reception yesterday - completely unexpected and confusing to him - Neville isn't sure what sort of reception he's going to receive today. Still, he Apparates to just outside of Seamus's house. A quick look around tells him that Finn, the beast that he still doesn't know the breed of, isn't around and Neville breathes a sigh of relief. He likes the animal but Finn sort of reminds him of Care of Magical Creatures, for some reason. Still, he's friendly enough - unlike the Skrewts or Hippogriffs or the rest of Hagrid's 'wee beasties'.
He knocks on the door and there's no response. Another knock and still no response. Deciding to seize the day - after all, he didn't come all the way from Scotland just to be put off by one unexpected let-down - Neville walks around back of the house. He can see the order and smiles at it. It's so different from the way that Seamus had been at Hogwarts. Seamus was ridiculously messy during school. His possessions would end up in whatever trunk was nearest when Seamus decided he was done with whatever. Neville couldn't remember how many times he'd open his trunk to find Seamus's pants and shoes, let alone his books and papers, in his own trunk or spread on his bed. There'd be a tussle when Neville demanded that Seamus remove his belongings. He'd never have guessed that he'd look back to those moments with fondness.
The neatness is in direct juxtaposition to the old Seamus and the smile on Neville's face fades as he realises that it's another piece of the puzzle of how much Seamus has changed. From indulgent humour to sad longing in a few seconds, his mood doesn't improve as he approaches the barn.
"Alo? Anyone?" He calls into the dark cavern of the barn. There's no answer but that doesn't deter Neville. If he can deal with recalcitrant First Years trying to get out of doing their homework, he can deal with one Seamus Finnigan.
He wanders into the barn and his eyes finally adjust to the dim light to see that there are a few sheep in the corner and some of the cleanest tools he's ever seen. With absolutely no idea what any of the various gadgets do, he pokes and prods at them, picking some up and weighing them while playing with others. They're all sorts of shapes and sizes. He's completely fascinated with them. So fascinated, in fact, that he doesn't hear Seamus coming up behind him.
"Great Merlin's balls!" He shouts as the scythe is taken from his hands in mid-swing.
"Going t'hurt someone with that, the way you're going." It's said as if they're engaged in a light conversation but Neville knows Seamus too well to believe that.
"Figured you wouldn't be sitting down for a meal right now so I thought I'd come earlier. Thought we could maybe get off on a better footing or something since I didn't exactly Apparate into your home invited and I did interrupt your meal and all. Plus your dog's, it is a dog, right?" Neville interrupts himself and then laughs. "Remember those giant beasts that Hagrid had in Care of Magical Creatures? That's what your dog reminds me of, one of those great big things. You never did say what sort of dog he was, you know."
"I'm aware of that. What're you doing back here, Nev?" Seamus hangs the scythe back on the hook and then goes to do whatever it is he'd been coming in to the barn to do. Neville has no clue how one goes about farming the Muggle way but it's fascinating to watch as Seamus fiddles about with something.
"I'm here to talk to you, of course. We worry about you; you just sort of disappeared and no one could find you after we buried the dead." If Neville could, he would snatch those last words back out of the air. The stricken look Seamus turns on him sours his stomach. Nev's forgotten who all they buried and he realises that he's done more than stick his foot in his mouth.
Seamus stalks over to him and leans in as close as he can and then hisses, "You think I fucking care? You think I do? I don't want a fucking thing to do with any of you. Not a single fucking one of you. Gryffindors were supposed to be loyal, weren't they? Fucking loyalty is all we ever asked and you were too busy playing the hero to be loyal. Fuck off, Nev. For the sake of the years, fuck off before we don't have any happy memories left."
With that and before Neville can react, Seamus walks out of the barn without a backwards glance. It's only when Finn whines that Neville realises that he's been standing there with his mouth hanging open in a barn. He sits down on the small stool. Finn trots over and pushes his head under Neville's hand.
As much as he'd like to pretend ignorance, he knows exactly where that vitriol came from. He hasn't a clue where to go from here so instead, he rubs Finn's head and stays where he's at.
~~**~~
Seamus's ire and rage fuel his steps into the house. The fire of it burns deep in his gut as he slams the door and then it abruptly leaves him, his knees once more buckling and sending him to the floor. How dare Neville act like Seamus would greet him like a returning hero when he'd let how many die? Friends that were deserving of protection. People like Creevey, who shouldn't have been there in the first place. Yet Neville's lauded as a hero for lopping off the head of a snake while good people died defending others.
"Can you believe it? Breezes in here as if he'd be welcome, fucking Neville," Seamus curses and kicks the leg of a table. "Can't believe the gall. Christ, what was he thinking?"
Shaking his head, Seamus heads into the kitchen, continuing speaking as he goes, "Enough about him. Fucking arse. Going to serve the roast. If Finn's wanting some, he'll just have to come round back, right? Right."
The roast smells divine and Seamus suppresses the rest of the emotions that Neville's visit brought. Just because it's unexpected, again, doesn't mean that Seamus isn't more than able to cope with it. He'll ignore Nev just like he's ignored them all for years and Nev'll go away. That'll be that. He'll be back to himself and Finn and Dean. The thought has his heart tightening again and he shakes it off, going back to the oven to pull the roast out.
"Don't be taking his side; I know you're wanting to. You don't have to say a sodding word, known each other how long now? I know what you're going to say and I won't hear it. I don't believe him, not at all. I was there and you weren't. You were in the castle and I was there when he did it. I saw the whole fecking thing and you're an arse if you think that he didn't play on it later. Neville's sure to have gotten the notoriety just like Potter did all those years ago." As he speaks, he waves the knife around, punctuating his rant with wild brandishes before going back to slicing. The windchimes dance but Seamus just talks over them, "I know I said I believed Har-- Potter but you should've seen him at the funerals, playing it up for the cameras and the reporters. Acting the mourner in public but going about like nothing ever happened in private. They're all a bunch of hypocrites and I'm not much caring if you think I'm full of it or not."
He sits at the table and takes a bite of the meat. "That dog's missing out, this roast is excellent, Dean. You should come have a bite. It's pretty tender. I'm farming and I'm cooking. What would mam think of that, I wonder?"
After he finishes, he cleans the mess and leaves the back door slightly cracked, just in case Finn ever decides to come back. Either he'll be back all on his own or he'll be getting a call from Mary Margaret down at the pub that Finn has, yet again, slipped in for some bangers and mash.
As he passes the sitting room, he finishes his diatribe, "It's their fault, mate. Their fault and I'm not forgiving 'em for it."
~~**~~
As Neville walks back to town, he's grateful for Finn's company. The dog's entertaining and keeps Neville's mind from the now two confrontations with Seamus. This wasn't going at all like he'd expected. He'd thought that maybe Seamus wasn't aware that they were looking for him. That or maybe his owls had gotten lost. Maybe there'd been Death Eaters or something? Anything but this icy hatred that permeates Seamus and makes Neville's heart twist. He hasn't a clue what to tell any of the rest. Even Lavender and Parvati, on the rare occasions he sees them, worry over Seamus.
Seamus was the great mystery of their group. He'd just disappeared after Dean's funeral and no one had heard from him since. They'd tried, Neville probably hardest of all of them, but they'd not found a trace of him. Eventually, the rest had slowly given up, figuring that Seamus hadn't wanted to contact them but Neville had believed differently, thought that there had to be a reason why they couldn't find him.
After their time at Hogwarts that last year, Neville knows Seamus better than the rest. Neville knows how fiercely loyal and devoted he is and it's hard to believe that that loyalty and devotion would just disappear in a moment. He'd just walked away without a backwards glance.
That's the part that chafes. Seamus hadn't said goodbye, at the very least. They'd defended one another, fought and protected, and to go from that to absolute nothingness in the space of a few weeks without any sort of explanation? Neville hadn't believed it. Truth be told, he still doesn't believe it.
As Finn bumps his hip for attention; Neville realises that perhaps the dog isn't quite as successful at keeping Nev's attention away from Seamus as he'd thought. A couple of pats and the dog gambols off after a hare. Neville watches as he gives chase for a bit and then returns without anything to show for it. His tongue lolls to the side, a self-satisfied grin on his face. It makes Neville smile.
"Seamus's going to be mad that you disappeared, you know that, right?" Finn barks and Neville shakes his head. "It's on your head, then. Hope the landlady lets you stay; otherwise, I have no idea what I'm going to do with you."
Another bark and then the rest of the journey is spent in silence. By the time he reaches town, Neville is, once more, hot and sweaty. Finn, on the other hand, seems energized and bounds off towards a pub. Crosby's, the sign declares it and Neville shrugs before entering. Finn trots in behind.
As he tries to shoo the beast out the door, one of the patrons shouts, "Is that Finn? Aye, it is. Finn, m'boy, come have a bit to eat!"
The dog leaves Neville standing with the door and his mouth hanging open. He shouldn't be surprised that an animal's allowed in the pub. Aberforth had his goat in the pub at all times, after all. He squashes the memories of hiding in the Room of Requirement with Seamus and the rest, though. Squashes it deep down so that he can concentrate on the now and the fact that the cold's blowing through the open door.
"Come on in, haven't seen you about the village. Could I get you a pint?" A woman comes out of the back carrying a tray of food. His mouth waters at the smells.
"Um, could I have a, err, that is," he stumbles over ordering a Muggle drink. He looks about and sees a few signs for a variety of drinks and picks one at random, "A Harp's, maybe? Or a Guinness?"
"Not too sure about them, are you? How about I pick for you? Maybe something to eat as well? You're looking hungry." She slaps a wandering hand as she sets food down but then kisses the top of the old man's head. "Be careful with that hand, Mister Keenan or you'll be eating left-handed instead."
Neville sits at a table and Finn wanders back over, curling around his chair. The woman grins and comes over to give Finn a pat.
"And just where's your master? Come into town on your own, then? I'll be ringing Seamus, don't think I won't. Naughty dog, you are, very naughty indeed. I'm half tempted not to bring you something while you wait for Seamus to come for you." She looks up at Neville and winks. "Sorry about this mongrel, he's a regular here, though. I'll get him out of your way, if you're wanting."
"Actually, he sort of came in to town with me." The woman's expression turns assessing at that and Neville hastens to continue. "I'm a friend of Seamus's. Well, sort of. That is, I used to be. We went to school together."
"Ah, that'd explain Finn, then. I'll be back with your drink and some food. None for you, though, mister." The last is said with a wink towards Finn. With that, the woman heads back towards the kitchen but she turns and gives Neville another couple of looks.
Finn's tail taps on the floor rhythmically while Neville looks around, seeing the way that the villagers clump together, talking about their families or their work. There's a good mix of young and old, farmers and shopkeepers. There's music in the background, leeching out from the kitchen, while a telly runs some sort of footie match. The waitress is back quickly with a pint of an amber ale.
"Try this, you'll like it. You don't strike me as much of a drinker," she says as she sets it down in front of him. She slides into the seat next to him, bumping Finn's head out of the way as she maneuvers the chair.
"Not much of one, no. Don't have much time for it, really." Neville gingerly picks up the drink and takes a sip. It tastes better than he'd expected and he smiles his thanks.
"And what is it that you do that doesn't leave you much time for a night out at the pub?" She rests her head on her hand, staring at him. He's slightly uncomfortable under that gaze as it feels like she's trying to see into his soul or some such.
"I'm a teacher at a, err, special school." She looks like she's about to ask another question so he hastens to explain, "I teach plants and such. In Scotland. Actually, at the same school that Seamus and I went to."
"Ah, a teacher. You have the look about you. So you've known Seamus awhile, then?"
"Yeah, since we were eleven until about three years ago. A bit longer, I guess, but yeah, about three years ago, we lost contact." It's the politest way he can think to explain the abrupt severance of their friendship. And more, a little voice whispers in the back of his head and he tamps that down as well. It's not important, not in the large scope of things.
"So you'll be knowing Dean, as well?" The question is asked so innocently that Neville knows that she knows more than she's letting on. It's said with a flutter of lashes and an intense gaze all paired up together.
"I knew Dean, yeah. All of us went to school together." Neville doesn't know what she's asking or wanting with her questions. He suddenly feels like he's standing in the middle of a pile of quicksand and he's been sinking without realising it. She's led him into a trap.
"Knew him?"
"Yeah, Dean, err, that is, Dean's dea-err, that is yeah, I knew him."
"It isn't my place to tell anyone this but as you're knowing Seamus all those years and you came all the way over here to talk to him, I'll tell you that I worry over him. Every year, he comes into the pub, sits in the corner and drinks himself until he doesn't know which way's up or down. Only drinks like that once a year and there's no helping him. Every June, it is, and he'll just sit there until I take him home. Once he's there, he'll talk about Dean and…" Her voice trails off and Neville can only imagine what Seamus says or talks about.
"So you know Dean's dead, then?" he asks quietly.
"I thought so, yeah, but the way Seamus talks, well, I wasn't sure. Doesn't really drink except for that one day in June. He says other things, too, barmy things." She's about to continue when there's a bellow from the kitchen and she waggles a finger. "Just a minute and I'll have your food and we'll have a talk."
Neville looks around but doesn't see anyone else paying a whit of attention to them. The woman hustles out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with food that smells so good that his stomach growls in anticipation. There're three plates on the tray and she sets one down to the floor before sitting with him once more.
"I don't think I asked you your name."
"Neville, it's Neville Longbottom."
"Oh." And there's a wealth of meaning in that exhalation. Neville knows, just from that sound, that Seamus's 'barmy' things include him in there somewhere. He's suddenly not very hungry but he keeps eating to be polite. His Gran would box his ears if he were rude. She might be over in England but he still believes that she has powers that extend to anywhere in the world when it comes to Neville.
"So he's talked about me, then?"
"Aye, a bit. Not much, y'ken? I don't much care that he's, well, that he's," her voice lowers to a whisper as she looks around the pub, "that he's gay, but others might so I've kept it to meself."
"Oh, right," Neville says as if he understands when he doesn't at all. What does being gay have to do with … oh, right. Neville remembers now. It'd been a small thing, not that it was forgettable. It wasn't, isn't forgettable. It's just one of those things that Neville's kept pushed deep down so that it doesn't hurt, doesn't twist the feelings further and meaner.
Neville sat by the fire, wondering just how it was that he'd be able to keep everyone afloat and safe. He had Aberforth fighting him every time they needed supplies out there and Seamus in here fighting him. He wouldn't get the whisky that Seamus wanted, no matter how many times he asked. It was a crutch, a crutch and a cliché and Neville wasn't going to be a part of it.
It was hard to deny Seamus, extremely hard considering how much pain he was in. Neville can still taste the acrid taste of fear from when he'd found Seamus lying bloody and broken on the ground. The light flutter of a pulse under his fingers still haunts him. He wasn't ever very far from Seamus, not in those first weeks after Parvati and he had pulled Seamus away from Crabbe and Goyle. Seamus's sleep was tormented and, sometimes, it was only Neville muttering nonsense at him that soothed him back into sleep.
Now, though, weeks on, Seamus's ribs were still bothering him and he still had problems sleeping. A moan from Seamus echoed in the darkness and stillness of the night so Neville walked over to where Seamus struggled to get comfortable in the hammock.
"Lie still," he commanded in a soft voice so he wouldn't disturb the others.
"Can't get comfortable," Seamus admitted. Neville heard the tortured pride in that voice, the way that Seamus didn't want to admit the weakness. He was quite sure that the only reason Seamus admitted it was because Neville had already seen him in worse straits.
"I know, here, this'll help." Neville rummaged around until he found a pot that Aberforth had grudgingly delivered a couple of days ago. "Take your shirt off."
"You're just after a gander of my chest, I know your sort," Seamus said with a leer but Neville knew it was forced. Staring until Seamus reached for the bottom of the shirt, he helped remove it. The mottled greens, blues, yellows and purples were ugly, even in the wavering light given off from the fireplace. Neville didn't know it but this moment was when things changed between them.
His hands were gentle as they rubbed the salve into Seamus's skin, swiping across his chest, down over his stomach and then around to his back. The back was awkward to reach and Neville leaned in so he could get to the center. He turned his head and realised how very close their faces were. As the observation passed through his mind - I could kiss him so easily right now - they were kissing already. Neville didn't know which one moved first, whether it was him or Seamus, but it didn't matter as it felt so good. Seamus was warm under his hands and lips, warm against his tongue.
Michael Corner muttered in his sleep and they pulled back abruptly. Each put a hand on their respective lips and Seamus whispered, "Dean…"
"Just because you're missing Dean is no reason to kiss me," Neville responded.
Neville regrets saying it now, simply because of what came after. If he'd known that Dean wouldn't make it, that Seamus wouldn't have more than a brief hug and a few snatched glances while the battle raged, he wouldn't have been so callous about their relationship.
"Dean and him, they were close, best mates and all. There was more but they kept it between them. Our last year at school, there were some things that happened that kept them apart. Before they could really get back together, well, things happened." Neville keeps his voice quiet and tries to not give everything away. He still respects Seamus's privacy, after all, and between that and the Statute of Secrecy, he's not going to discuss the wizarding world with a Muggle.
"No charge for the meal or the drink. You can leave Finn here, if you'd like. Lottie at the inn isn't so fond of him and Seamus'll be in to get him by the by. Give him time, he's stubborn but you'd be knowing that, better than I do." With that admonishment, the waitress gathers up the empty plates and heads back towards the kitchen once more.
"Yeah, I know that," he whispers and touches his lips before finishing his pint.
Part 2