Leigh!fic- Cultural Differences (1/1)- Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Title: Cultural Differences (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: G
Word Count: 428
Summary: Seamus spreads a little bit of holiday cheer.
Author’s Notes: First place winner and moderator's choice this week at sortinghatdrabs. Pairing was "Seamus/Slytherin of choice" and the prompt was "lucky charms."
Pansy had had it up to here with all this bloody St. Patrick's Day mess. First, it'd been the bagpipes- though Seamus was quick to point out that he didn't play true bagpipes, he played uilleann pipes, which were the national bagpipe of Ireland. She didn't give a flying whit about the name of the damned things; all she knew was that they sounded like a dying banshee.
Then, her normally charming Irish boyfriend had convinced her to try some sort of Muggle breakfast food- "Lucky Charms"- that his sister had brought over from America. Ignoring the sound of generations of her ancestors spinning about in their mausoleums at the idea of something Muggle in Parkinson Manor, she tried it... and promptly spit it back out all over the table. Whatever the bloody hell it'd been, it'd been inedible.
And there were the parties. Pansy loved dancing, she always had. But her idea of dancing was a waltz, a gavotte, or- if she was feeling particularly risque, a tango. Not these Irish jigs that seemed to go on for hours and hours with buxom redheaded Irish women pressing themselves against her boyfriend. Seamus had merely laughed and kissed her soundly before sweeping her back out onto the dance floor.
She could even handle the week of pub crawls that he insisted she accompany him on through the streets of Dublin. Whatever reservations his Gryffindor friends had had about a Slytherin accompanying them had quickly fled after the first few rounds of Guinness. He'd even bought her her own pint, which had been an experience in and of itself. As loathe as she was to admit it, it wasn't half bad.
But this? This was crossing the line.
She was sitting at the breakfast table, reading over the current issue of The Daily Prophet while she tried not to snap and hex Seamus. Honestly, just because he'd been a Gryffindor did not mean he had to try and live up to his house's reputation of being a slow on the uptake. But he just wouldn't shut up.
Snapping the paper shut, she gave him an irritated glare. "What did you say?"
"Tá grá agam duit," he repeated with a cheeky grin. His cheeks had the slightest dimple, and his green eyes were sparkling with unshed laughter.
"Finnigan, you know I do not speak that language of yours. If you wish to have a conversation with me, do it in either English or French." Finished with her tirade, she opened the paper and resumed her reading once more.
Seamus' lips twitched upwards. "Don't you at least want to know what I was saying?"
Pansy sighed and closed the paper again. "Fine," she said, giving him a pointed look. "What were you saying?"
He smiled and leaned across the table, capturing her lips in a soft, slow kiss. When they broke apart, he lay his forehead against hers and reached up to cup her cheek.
"I love you."
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Seamus Finnigan/Pansy Parkinson
Rating: G
Word Count: 428
Summary: Seamus spreads a little bit of holiday cheer.
Author’s Notes: First place winner and moderator's choice this week at sortinghatdrabs. Pairing was "Seamus/Slytherin of choice" and the prompt was "lucky charms."
Pansy had had it up to here with all this bloody St. Patrick's Day mess. First, it'd been the bagpipes- though Seamus was quick to point out that he didn't play true bagpipes, he played uilleann pipes, which were the national bagpipe of Ireland. She didn't give a flying whit about the name of the damned things; all she knew was that they sounded like a dying banshee.
Then, her normally charming Irish boyfriend had convinced her to try some sort of Muggle breakfast food- "Lucky Charms"- that his sister had brought over from America. Ignoring the sound of generations of her ancestors spinning about in their mausoleums at the idea of something Muggle in Parkinson Manor, she tried it... and promptly spit it back out all over the table. Whatever the bloody hell it'd been, it'd been inedible.
And there were the parties. Pansy loved dancing, she always had. But her idea of dancing was a waltz, a gavotte, or- if she was feeling particularly risque, a tango. Not these Irish jigs that seemed to go on for hours and hours with buxom redheaded Irish women pressing themselves against her boyfriend. Seamus had merely laughed and kissed her soundly before sweeping her back out onto the dance floor.
She could even handle the week of pub crawls that he insisted she accompany him on through the streets of Dublin. Whatever reservations his Gryffindor friends had had about a Slytherin accompanying them had quickly fled after the first few rounds of Guinness. He'd even bought her her own pint, which had been an experience in and of itself. As loathe as she was to admit it, it wasn't half bad.
But this? This was crossing the line.
She was sitting at the breakfast table, reading over the current issue of The Daily Prophet while she tried not to snap and hex Seamus. Honestly, just because he'd been a Gryffindor did not mean he had to try and live up to his house's reputation of being a slow on the uptake. But he just wouldn't shut up.
Snapping the paper shut, she gave him an irritated glare. "What did you say?"
"Tá grá agam duit," he repeated with a cheeky grin. His cheeks had the slightest dimple, and his green eyes were sparkling with unshed laughter.
"Finnigan, you know I do not speak that language of yours. If you wish to have a conversation with me, do it in either English or French." Finished with her tirade, she opened the paper and resumed her reading once more.
Seamus' lips twitched upwards. "Don't you at least want to know what I was saying?"
Pansy sighed and closed the paper again. "Fine," she said, giving him a pointed look. "What were you saying?"
He smiled and leaned across the table, capturing her lips in a soft, slow kiss. When they broke apart, he lay his forehead against hers and reached up to cup her cheek.
"I love you."