Great Minds Think - and Slash - Alike ([personal profile] gmtaslash) wrote2008-09-07 11:48 pm

the S/D travesty part one

Title: Being an Account of the Love Life of Seamus Finnegan, Aged 16, as Told by His Rapidly Disappearing Sanity. Featuring a Full Cast of Cooing Girls, Disgusted Boys, Imaginary Squibs and Twinkle-Eyed Professors. With 1000 Elephants!
Author: [personal profile] gmtaslash
Rating: M
Pairing: Seamus Finnegan / Albus Dumbledore (unrequited). Others in the background.
Disclaimer: Do we look like JKR to you? And, given what we're doing to the characters, it's probably a good thing we're not.
Notes: Written in honour of [livejournal.com profile] hyel and Rule 34. AU, ignores HBP and DH, because we're still in denial about those two, but had to set this after OotP to make the characters of legal age in the UK. We're sorry, we're so sorry. Especially if you develop pogonophobia as a result of this fic. You wouldn't be the first to, either.
Links to other chapters here


Part One


***


Seamus Finnegan doodled idly on the desk in front of him. It wasn’t like he ever really paid that much attention in Charms; Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice bored into his skull and made concentration seem like some diseased figment of his overheated imagination. And the other figments of said imagination that paraded in front of his inner eye this morning were far more interesting, particularly the blue-eyed, gently smiling ones. His vulture-feather quill dug deep into the desktop, the wood made spongy by centuries of abuse and scratching from bored Charms students. The quill lazily gouged a heart, and then ‘SF&AD 4eva’. Seamus didn't really register what he was drawing until it was too late; he was too busy daydreaming of berobed, twinkle-eyed sirens.

'Who's AD then, eh?' muttered Dean in his ear. Seamus woke up, suddenly.

'What?'

'Who's AD? Is she in Ravenclaw? Or Hufflepuff?'

'No,' whispered Seamus, without thinking. He would later come to greatly regret this undue haste in answering.

'Well she's not Gryffindor or I'd know her name, unless she's a first year... Or is she? You sly dog!'

'No!' hissed Seamus, a trifle hastily. 'She's not in first year. And that’s disgusting, by the way.'

Dean's eyes narrowed. 'You're never dating a Slytherin.'

'No, she’s, ah, she's not at school.' That could work. Dean would have no way of exposing the slight white lie. And, in all fairness, it wasn’t as though the subject of Seamus’s daydreams was a student

Dean opened his mouth to let forth a veritable flood of questions, but the gods were obviously smiling on Seamus that day, as Professor Flitwick told them to pack up and head to their next class. Fortunately that was Potions, and even Dean didn’t dare risk the wrath of Snape by asking any questions unrelated to bats’ spleens and cauldron sizes.

Seamus thought he was safe.

Dean, however, had not been idle as he muttered over his cauldron and narrowly escaped setting his eyebrows on fire several times. His fertile mind had been bubbling with possibilities, all of which he sprung on Seamus at lunchtime.

'Pass the potatoes, please Neville,' said Seamus wearily, hoping that having a full mouth would excuse him from answering Dean's queries.

'She's a werewolf! Like Professor Lupin! No, wait, she'd be at school then. She's a Muggle. You're dating a Muggle. With all these fine witches around us, your heart lies with a Muggle. Seamus, I'm ashamed of you.'

'Seamus is dating a Muggle?' asked Neville, leaning closer. 'What's her name?'

'I can't believe you're dating a Muggle,' said Parvati, swinging her plait in disgust. 'Does she know about... Well, about magic and things? Will you tell her?'

'Maybe he's going to give up magic for her,' said Ron, sniggering. 'Going to become an accountant for your girlfriend?'

'She's not a Muggle!' said Seamus hotly, his face burning with embarrassment.

'Then why's she not at school?' asked Hermione.

There was only one plausible way out of this. Curse Dean and his sharp eyes! 'She's... a Squib,' said Seamus, lamely. At Beauxbatons! his mind screamed, seconds too late. A foreign girlfriend had overtones of suave sophistication. Going by the looks on the faces around him, a Squib didn’t.

‘Well,’ said Hermione, breaking the uncomfortable silence. ‘So long as she treats you better than Filch does.’

Seamus sank lower in his chair, uncomfortable in the attention of his classmates. His eyes darted round, looking for a way out of what was quickly becoming a ludicrous conversation.

‘It’s quite romantic, really,’ Lavender announced. Parvati, next to her, nodded sagely.

‘How is it romantic?’ Dean asked. ‘Even a Muggle’d be better, because you can lie, but a Squib? You’ll be spending your entire life having to do things for her.’

Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. ‘That’s not very tactful, Dean!’ she hissed, but Seamus wasn’t listening. His wandering eyes had alighted on the source of all joy in his heart, and he watched, entranced, as the object of his affections delicately nibbled a miniature sausage.

‘Seamus? I said, aren’t you even going to tell us her name?’

Albus Dumbledore.

Seamus was doomed.


***


Soft hands caressed him, and Seamus moaned giddily, vaguely aware that he sounded like the first year girls when they first met Harry, but not really caring that much, because the wandering hands had reached the back of his knees.

'Psst! Anyone awake?'

'I am now,' Dean grumbled, glaring in the direction of Neville's bed. His aim was obviously off, because an exasperated groan came from Ron and Harry's side of the room.

'D'you mind? I was having an absolutely brilliant dream...'

'That was you then?' Neville asked.

'What was?' Harry sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and not really awake at all.

'That noise. Sort of... groaning. Were you having a nightmare?'

'Me? No. No, no, I was, um, having a totally uninteresting dream, about, er, cows...' Harry lied, unwilling to share his nightly visits to a particular dormitory in a particular dungeon.

'It's probably just Ron dreaming about Hermione again,' Dean muttered, shoving his head under the pillow.

'Cows don't sound very brilliant, Harry...'

'They were, um,' Harry improvised wildly, 'standing in a line, lots of them, and one of them was playing a tuba.'

'What's a tuba?'

'Go to sleep, Neville!' Dean's muffled voice floated out from under his pillow.

The beard tickled, and Seamus couldn't stop a giggle escaping as the long white hairs trailed across his abdomen. It wasn't very manly, but then, Seamus was quite happy to be the girl in this situation, because the unseen figure slowly working its mouth up to his nipples was man enough for the both of them, if the pleasingly solid warmth now resting snugly by his thigh was anything to go by. Seamus groaned, wriggling about in a futile effort to obtain more intimate bodily contact.

'There it is again!'

Dean sighed. Clearly sleep wasn't going to be an option, at least not until Neville learned to sleep through the soundtrack of nocturnal emissions common to all the boys' dormitories from third year up. It had been years since Ron's testicles had started working overtime at night; he was renowned for his highly comical noises. Well, comical to the rest of Gryffindor, anyway. Ron didn't tend to find them quite so amusing, especially on the days following particularly lurid dreams, when breakfast was accompanied by all manner of orgasmic sound effects. Although the humorously shaped carrot, he had to admit, might have been taking things a little too far. At any rate, Neville ought to be able to sleep through it by now.

A flurry of movement from Dean's direction startled Neville, and he flinched, clutching at his duvet. He felt a little bad about waking them, but the breathy moans and strangled squeaks didn't sound like Ron, or at least not a sleeping Ron. In fact, they sounded a lot like a cat being run over. Repeatedly.

Dean shoved his head round the curtains.

'Neville?'

'Yes?'

'Right, it's not you.' Dean's head was briskly retracted. 'Harry?'

'Half a gallon, and I'll need to borrow your crook...'

'What?'

'Maybe he's still dreaming about cows?'

Dean kicked the end of Harry's bed, and cocked his head, listening intently.

'Wstfgl?'

'Harry?'

'Oh, yes...'

'Did you just kick my bed?'

'There it is again!'

'Shush!' Dean was just visible in the moonlight as he stalked over to Ron's bed. Bracing himself for the worst, he threw the curtains apart, and squinted down at Ron. Or at least, where Ron should have been.

'Is it him? It's not him, is it? I knew it wasn't him!' Neville gloated.

'It's not. He's not here. Harry?'

Harry shrugged and rolled over. After a moment, he rolled back, sat up, and joined his dorm-mates in staring at Seamus's bed.


***


‘I still don’t understand why you can’t tell us who she is,’ Hermione complained in Potions the next day. Why she was sitting next to Seamus at all was a mystery to him, although Harry and Ron could probably have explained it. Hermione’s face was sporting a look of rabid self-righteousness that was giving both of them horrible flashbacks to fourth year.

‘I ... I can’t. It’ll damage her ... reputation. Her parents don’t want people to know about her,’ Seamus explained, thanking whatever gods might be listening for a childhood spent lying his way out of trouble with his cousins.

‘But that’s horrible!’ Hermione hissed. Seamus shrugged.

‘That’s the wizarding world for you,’ Dean whispered from the next table. ‘Just look what we do to house-elves.’ Behind him, Ron and Harry were shaking their heads furiously, but to no avail. Hermione, fortunately, was too distracted by the gross injustice of locking away Squibs, and skipped the usual lecture about elf rights.

‘It’s so insensitive! It’s just the kind of attitude the Death Eaters want to foster; it’s only one step from segregating wizards and Squibs to segregating purebloods from other wizarding families.’

‘Might not be such a bad idea,’ Dean muttered. ‘Then we wouldn’t have to put up with Malfoy.’

‘Honestly, I know he’s a slimy little git, but I’m sure if we just extended the hand of friendship, he might…’

‘Curse us all behind our backs?’

‘Probably. No, Seamus, the mandrake roots need to be finely chopped! Weren’t you paying any attention?’

Seamus, predictably, had not in fact been paying attention when Snape had explained the complicated potion they were making today. Nor was he paying attention now. As so often seemed to happen ever since he had realised the identity of his one true love, his mind had wandered, and was currently wondering whether the beard's tickle would be distracting or disturbingly erotic.

'Surprised he can pay attention to anything, after last night,' Dean pointed out.

'Why, what happened last night?' Hermione asked, oblivious to the fact that this question, when posed to a sixteen year old boy in relation to another sixteen year old boy, was unlikely to lead anywhere pleasant.

'There was this terrible noise in our dormitory.'

'Kept us awake half the night,' agreed Harry.

'Really? I didn't hear anything,' Ron said, in a misguided attempt to disguise his nocturnal wanderings.

'Where were you listening from?' Harry asked pointedly. Ron coughed and looked embarrassed, turning his attention back to his cauldron.

'I didn't hear anything either,' Seamus said. 'Can't have been that loud. What was it?'

'You.'

'Me?'

'Yep,' Dean said, grinning hugely. 'You were moaning. And flailing.'

'And then you were, well, I'm not quite sure what you were trying to do with your pillow, but I'm surprised you didn't choke,' Harry added.

Seamus blushed a deep red, his mind drawn inexorably back to the delightfully tickly beard his subconscious had been teasing him with for what seemed like hours, and attempted to busy himself with his cauldron.

'Dreaming about your lady friend?'

'So where was Ron?' Seamus asked, trying to change the subject.

'Good question. Ron?'

Ron, however, was practising his selective deafness once again, and did not respond.


***


Friday lunchtime, and once more Seamus was being harangued. He ought to have been used to it by now, but there was something about Lavender's exhortations on the subject of pure adolescent true love that grated on him.

'It's the ultimate story, really. It speaks to something deep within the soul of every boy or girl who ever lived.'

'What?'

'It doesn't speak to anything in my soul,' Neville said, reaching for his pumpkin juice.

'Well, you're just a hopelessly cynical and twisted old crone, Neville,' Dean told him with a smirk.

‘Lavender’s right,’ said Parvati. ‘This is so romantic! It’s just like Romeo and Juliet!’

‘What?’ Seamus said, again. 'How?'

‘Gods and men said it was not to be, but they would not listen!’ continued Parvati, leading to a storm of romanticizing from the nearby Gryffindor girls, which Seamus deliberately ignored.

'What have gods got to do with it?' Ginny Weasley asked, slipping into a seat beside Dean.

'Absolutely nothing,' Seamus insisted. 'And nor have men.'

'Well, if there aren't gods, there should be,' Parvati decided.

'Yes,' Lavender agreed. 'And an evil step-father, and stolen kisses on a balcony, and --'

'I haven't got a step-father.'

'Well, has your girlfriend?'

'I ... don't think so?' Seamus wasn't sure. It was hard to keep track of the lies. All he was really certain of by this stage was that the combination of Lavender and illicit love was extremely dangerous. Perhaps he could try to distract her.

'Well, has she got a balcony?'

'Nope.'

Lavender and Parvati exchanged glances, and sighed in unison.

'Well, it's a good initial idea,' Lavender conceded. 'But I think the details need some work.'

'You're going to edit his love life?' Dean asked, slightly alarmed.

'Well. Maybe not his actual love life, that'd need an Amorcommito spell, and we don't learn those until next year. Unless...?' She gave Hermione a pleading look.

'Absolutely not!' Hermione protested. 'That would be completely unethical!'

'Of course it wouldn't! We'd just be making things better for Seamus! We'd be doing him a favour.'

'And it's not like the Ministry has a Department of Ill-Advised Ethics or anything.'

As his housemates launched into a debate over the finer points of manipulating someone's life for fun, comedy, and the facilitation of True Love, Seamus managed to slip away from the table, feeling distinctly like he’d created some kind of monster. Dean watched him go, a calculating expression on his face.

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