the S/D travesty part two

[gmtaslash]

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: 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.
Authors' Notes: Written in honour of 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.
If you spot any errors, feel free to let us know; our betaing attempts were hindered rather by googledocs jumping about more than a frog on a pogo stick on a hot tin roof.



Other parts here, if the linky thing works


Part Two


Slip away from the table he might, but Seamus could not slip away from the fact that Albus Dumbledore seemed to be everywhere in the castle and the grounds that weekend. Seamus went out to get some air on Saturday evening – Hermione had said he looked hot under the collar as they sat swapping Chocolate Frog cards in the Common Room (was it his fault that Dumbledore kept winking at him from the little rectangles?) and sent him outside for a walk – and lo and behold there was Dumbledore taking the air with Professor McGonagall. He was always in the Great Hall for meals, which Seamus could just about deal with because it was part of Routine, but since when did Dumbledore just materialise seemingly out of nowhere every time Seamus walked down a corridor?

To top it all off the girls had not stopped giggling every time Seamus walked past. Parvati and Lavender had started writing up a dramatised version of the True Love saga of a wizard boy and a Squib girl, destined to be kept apart by cruel families and Fate, which was an immediate hit in Gryffindor Tower. Snatches of it kept getting read out, and Lavender seemed to regard Seamus as a fount of knowledge and her own personal inspirational Muse on the subject, and was almost as good as Dumbledore at surprising Seamus in corridors.

‘Are her parents Dark wizards?’ she asked on Sunday, having materialised near the toilets on the third floor. Fortunately, Seamus was coming out rather than going in, otherwise he probably would have had an accident when she popped up from behind a suit of armour.

‘Um, well, I’m not sure, because we’ve never met, what with the disapproval, and-’

‘They disapprove of you, then? They’re out to thwart the course of true love?’

‘Lavender, that was kind of the whole point-’

‘Hmm. Do they lock her away?’

‘Well, she has to keep to herself-’

‘Evil ... Dark enchantments ... slavery,’ muttered Lavender, scribbling notes frantically on parchment as she walked, the ink bottle in the pocket of her robes swinging dangerously. ‘Is she very beautiful?’

‘She, uh – yes! Yes, she’s gorgeous!’ Seamus exclaimed. Perhaps he could reclaim a tiny amount of credibility if the rest of Gryffindor at least thought his imaginary girlfriend was a knockout. Lavender eyed him expectantly. ‘She’s, uh, she’s got… hair and, and, uh… eyes, blue eyes…’

‘Eyes the colour of a summer’s day, and hair like a cascading waterfall of lilies?’

‘Um, yeah, that. And, uh, great big, uh-’ Seamus’s hands described the shape of a woman destined for serious spinal problems in the not too distant future.

‘But that’s not why you’re with her, is it? You’re following your heart’s desire against all odds.’

‘Me heart’s desire, right.’ And it must be his heart, surely, because if it was just the desires of other bits of him, then his dreams wouldn’t be plagued by tickling beards and he’d actually be able to say ‘Good morning’ when unexpectedly meeting his headmaster in the halls. In recent days, all he’d managed was a sort of squeak, and the one time he’d tried for actual words, his voice had wobbled so much that Seamus hadn’t dared speak to anyone else for a day and a half. He dreaded to think what would happen if he ever got up the courage to try a complete sentence.

‘So, do you think you’d be willing to die for her?’

‘Is this a trick question?’

‘No.’

‘Well… I, er, I… I’m late! For Transfiguration! Bye!’

‘True love takes precedence over Transfiguration!’ Lavender hollered, as Seamus ran down the corridor as fast as he could. As he bounded to safety up the stairs, he heard a final cry of, ‘So that’s a yes, then? It’s so romantic!’

Doomed. With a capital D.

***

The breeze at the top of the Astronomy Tower was cold, but Seamus's attention was elsewhere, and bits of him were very warm indeed anyway, so he hardly noticed. This was the only way they could be alone, of course, in a castle this crowded, and midnight was one of the few times of the day or night that the Headmaster didn't have other calls on his time. And of course, midnight, full moon, top of the Astronomy Tower ... what could be more romantic? Seamus sighed happily and rolled over for a cuddle.

Neville couldn't sleep.

It wasn't, as the others had teased, that he enjoyed lying awake listening to creaking bedsprings. It was more that his sleeping brain tended to misinterpret the creaks, and led to wholly inappropriate dreams involving rocking chairs. Unfortunately, thanks to his upbringing, his brain had inexorably linked rocking chairs with his grandmother. The resulting mental horror was particularly scarring, and so Neville, once again, was lying awake at three in the morning, his head under a pillow so as to better facilitate the blocking out of the curious whimpering sounds emanating from one of the other beds. He wasn't entirely sure which.

There was a creak, a thump, and a muffled curse.

The cursing was new. Neville peered cautiously out from under the pillow, to see a dark figure, silhouetted in the moonlight, clutching its shin as it made for the door.

Probably Ron, Neville decided, after some thought. His nocturnal perambulations were still a mystery, but Neville was in no mood to go wandering the castle in search of answers. He burrowed under the pillow again, breathing evenly and wondering why whoever was responsible for designing wizardkind had not seen fit to include earlids.

He was covered in goosebumps now, and was getting damp. Seamus flicked some beard out of his eyes, and glanced upwards, to see snow falling. The solid, angular warmth suddenly became even more appealing, and he pressed himself against it, ducking back under the beard and winding it round himself. It seemed to have got longer, and matted, almost like a blanket, and that seemed a little unhygienic, but it was gloriously snug, and under its whiskery white warmth he resumed his oral explorations.

The creaking was becoming rhythmical. Neville sighed, and gave up, and threw one of his pointless pillows at Seamus's bed. This having no discernible effect, he selected another, and threw it at Harry's bed, reasoning that misery loves company, and if he wasn't going to get any sleep, he didn't see why anyone else should either.

The pillow sailed past Harry, and landed in a dusty corner of the dormitory atop a heap of discarded parchment and socks.

Neville rolled over and reached under the bed, seeking more aerodynamic projectiles.

Heat. He had a strong impression of heat, and hardness and softness and angles and curves, all melding together. He could see little, but what he could was blurred, pale, shimmering. The ephemeral beauty danced before him, and he reached out, trying to make contact, to pull it towards him, to lose himself within its - and his perspective changed, in the blink of an eye, the blurred lines clearing, flowing together to form the shape of -

Harry woke with a strangled yelp, just as a slipper flew over his head and landed with a soft thump somewhere in the dim recesses of the dorm.

***

It was when McGonagall had a cold, and Dumbledore turned up to take their class, that Seamus began to get suspicious that the Headmaster was stalking him.

'And now, if Mr. Finnegan could please raise his wand, and make the first attempt? Remember, nice and calmly, don't frighten the raven. One, two, and a three, swish and flick, Mr. Finnegan, and voilà, we have a writing desk.'

In fact, they had a very disgruntled wooden raven, which rolled its eyes at them in a menacing manner. Dumbledore calmly returned it to its original form. 'That happens depressingly often. Now, all of you have ravens. Let us hope you all have writing desks by the end of the lesson.'

Seamus, blushing a bright and extremely Gryffindor red, hoped against hope that now Dumbledore would advance among the class, distributing advice and Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. Alas, his luck had still not returned.

'Let's see what we can do about that wand technique of yours, Mr. Finnegan,' Dumbledore said with a gimlet look in his eye, and prodded the raven, which had been trying to waddle off, back in Seamus' direction.

'I, uh, yes...' Seamus coughed, and tried to focus on his raven. Swish and flick, and he had two disgruntled ravens now. One of them made a jab in the direction of his wand. Seamus blushed.

'Smoothly and gently does it, Mr. Finnegan. Try again.'

Seamus did so, feeling the blush crawling inexorably up towards his face.

One of the ravens sprouted a beard. A big white one. That's a good trick, Seamus thought, must remember that. Wait, what? The blush advanced further, and Seamus couldn't shake the image of his pillow transfigured to sport a flowing white beard. He shuddered, wondering what was wrong with his brain. Beside him, Dumbledore was smirking.

'You're being a little rough,' Hermione told him. 'You need to be more gentle, like this.' She swished her wand, and one of the ravens turned into a desk. Seamus glared at her, but at least Dumbledore had wandered off, and was assisting Neville, whose raven now had twice the usual number of legs and a very bad temper. Perhaps without the distraction he'd perform a little better. Mentally cursing himself for thinking about Dumbledore and his own performance at the same time, he tried again.

The raven, now denuded of its feathers, but still bearded, took flight momentarily, before settling on Seamus's head and cawing malevolently.

'You're not concentrating, are you?' Hermione asked him.

'No,' Seamus admitted gloomily.

'Is it her? Your... girlfriend?'

He nodded. 'I can't stop thinking about her.' Hermione patted his arm awkwardly.

'Would it help if I had a word with Lavender? This saga of hers can't be helping much.'

'Please. It's very distracting.'

'I'll do my best. Now, let's give it another go.' She indicated the raven. 'Swish and flick!'

Unfortunately, the raven was still on Seamus's head.

***

When he returned from the hospital wing, eye healed, head no longer desk-shaped, and Pomfrey's words of caution still echoing round his brain, it quickly became apparent that Hermione had had little success in derailing the horrific train-wreck that was Lavender's idea of fine literature.

Seamus had clambered through the portrait hole in a fug of depression, only to be greeted by the sight of Lavender Brown, waving a thick wad of paper and making doe-eyes at Colin Creevey, declaiming 'At last, my love, we are together, far from those who would tear us asunder!'

'Er, er, yes, my only one, we are free of our oppressive parents and the ... hide-bound society that kept us apart?'

Assorted Gryffindors were arrayed about the common room, observing the dramatic reading with a mixture of amusement and horror.

'Come, my angel, let us fly on wings of love towards the glorious sunrise of our new life together!'

As Colin nervously moved to take Lavender in his arms, Seamus swore loudly. They broke apart, startled, and, at least in Colin's case, tremendously relieved.

'Please tell me this isn't what it looks like?' Seamus asked plaintively.

'Well, it's not a re-enactment of the Fall of Rome,' said Harry judiciously, eyeing Lavender's toga-thing in a rather jaded manner. 'Which is what it looks like to me, at least.'

'It's chapter three,' Lavender announced, with a disturbingly bright smile. 'Colin's kindly offered his services.'

'Services?' Seamus spluttered. 'You're making the poor lad sound like a prostitute.'

'Don't be silly. He's just helping me work out how to end this scene.'

Various of their classmates, ever alert to comedy cues, chimed in with potential endings.

'Colin could turn into ... a chicken!'

'Fight! Fight!'

'An epic battle of good, evil, and hairdressers!'

'Godric Gryffindor swings in and rescues Lavender from Creevey!'

'Actually,' Lavender said huffily, not noticing that her co-star had abandoned his script all over the floor and scrambled to safety in the makeshift wings, 'I was thinking a passionate kiss might be more in keeping with the overall theme.'

There was a banging of doors and a flurry of footsteps as Colin made a break for freedom. Seamus didn't blame him.

'Overall theme?! This is my life!'

'Yes. Your life seen through the lens of literature. And also scene thirty seven of - Parvati, did we decide what to call the play yet?'

'We've narrowed it down to Whirlwind of Love, Worlds Apart, or Sword of Passion,' Parvati supplied, shuffling what looked suspiciously like pages and pages of horribly inaccurate notes.

'Please tell me that this is the last scene?' Seamus said glumly, sinking weakly into a chair and burying his face in his hands. Unnoticed, the Weasleys began passing round popcorn.

'Certainly not,' she said. 'And leave out the climactic final battle with the forces of oppression, and the tragic mutual suicide?'

'Lavender, none of this ever happened. Or ever will happen. Can you please just drop it?'

'Your problem, Seamus Finnegan, is that you don't understand Art.'

'And yours is that you don't know when to keep your nose out of other people's business!'

'You chose to tell everyone!' she snapped back. 'If someone wants to record it for posterity and, and, journalistic desire for the truth to be known, it's not my fault. Lie back and enjoy the biography!'

'But it's all LIES!' he shouted at her, waving his hands impotently. 'You're making it up!'

'I might be embellishing on the raw material you've given me, but, honestly Seamus, I know how these things go!'

'Oh, so last time you had a crush you and the unlucky man-thing committed mutual suicide, did you?'

'Well, no-'

'Precisely. You're just making this up, and embarrassing me, and torturing poor Colin -' Seamus indicated the total lack of Lavender's unwilling leading man - 'and distracting everyone from NEWTs study.'

To his amazement, the evil authoress just smiled knowingly. 'I'm sorry,' said Lavender, patting him on the back. 'I didn't mean to cut so close to the bone, but the public want the juiciest details possible. I'm sure once this term is over you'll be able to go to her.'

'I'm going to bed,' Seamus announced.

'There to dream of true love?' Lavender asked.

'There to dream of choking you on that damned quill,' Seamus muttered, stalking over to the stairs.


TBC