#clumsyherbologist

@clumsyherbologist​​ asked: Your muse is trying to calm down/unwind after a long, bad day in a hotel room/out of state, away from family and friends and most of their things. What do they do? (Blaise Zabini)

“Hey, Red! I think Ciarach was lookin’ fer ye!” 

“Which one?” 

“What do ye mean which bloody one? I only ken one of ‘em! On a more serious note, Filius has asked if ye would make sure all the years get the DADA packs he an’ Severus ordered in. Everything’s been paid fer by Conall but they’re worried no one’s goin’ tae get good DADA grades’ this year, due tae Lockhart.”

Although the Scottish werewolf’s accent was rather thick as he had only ever lived in the Highlands, Fred understood him easily. Unlike some of the non regulars to Diagon Alley, who eyed Sam with confusion as he spoke. “I can do that no problem. As a matter of fact I picked one of the first years packs up for Gin earlier. Also, I’ve been given permission to join your Pack during the full moons this year, so I’ll see you guys in a week.”

The 6ft6 Catanach Alpha just grinned at that last statement, knowing that his Pack always looked forward to seeing the Panther animagus during their monthly runs. He nodded, before disappearing off towards Gringotts.

Hermione’s not good when it comes to helping someone else. She’s too good in all of her classes; it almost seems NATURAL for them. And even with Harry and Ron, she usually lets them copy parts of her homework instead of explaining the subjects to them. Maybe she should change that, but she doubts her friends would let her do so.

“I think we all do.” Gideon Wilkes was not the confident, proud shining star he had once been. Azkaban, even without the Dementors, had taken its toll on his nerves, and coming back to face public opinion for his crimes had shattered what little confidence remained. “But you don’t have so much to regret, do you?”

Rosetta sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “It’s probably nothing. It’s stupid.” She shook away the thoughts and continued to work on her parchment. Working quietly, she felt another thought came in.

✿ for a sweet kiss on the cheek.

They’re the last two boys in their year at Gryffindor Tower and Seamus stomach is rolling. It’s been rolling since before the train and hasn’t stopped–trapped between trepidation and bone chilling certainty that his mother was right. Right not because of what she said (she was wrong about Harry and you-know-who, which Seamus had known well before that fight) but because of the fear in her eyes–like lancing a wound one thought was healed and finding pus.

Neville sits next to him and Seamus knocks into him–not leaning, it doesn’t seem quite like the time for that, but not quite cracking together: skull to shoulder.

“Y’know, I think its going to be fun.” Seamus says, and smiles. 

Neville must agree, though he isn’t smiling yet, “So long as we keep busy.”

*

Seamus isn’t a leader–he was never built that way and doesn’t try now. He leaves that to Neville, who seems to have found leadership under some potting soil at some point. Neville plans, Seamus just shouts and shouts and pushes everyone until they snap--but its not without reason.

Seamus has never been the best at planning but what he lacks in planning he makes up for knowing well before this year: its better to push and make a fuss then watch someone else hurt. Seamus’ loaner (see: stupid, reckless, aggressive ) choices simply often don’t align with Neville’s. “The more you act up, the more sweeps they do at night!”

“Oh, yah, sure! They’d leave the halls free and clear if not for me!”

They don’t yell, Seamus isn’t sure if any of them know how to yell at each other anymore. So even though the room is otherwise empty, even though they’re certain no one is listening in, they whisper, hands sometimes tangling in each other’s robes (or maybe that’s just Seamus’ hands, Seamus’ shoving, Seamus’ red face).

They haven’t made it to Christmas yet.

Later, when they’ve whisper-shouted out the last of their anger and despair, they collapse on one of the empty beds side by side. They don’t hold hands, they don’t curl into each other and hold tight, they just breath. Neville says, then, so quietly Seamus can pretend he heard nothing at all: “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

*

The Carrow’s aren’t interested in killing anyone–not yet, anyway, or else Neville would be right. Seamus talks back without thinking anymore (if he ever did) and detentions line up and up and up until Seamus figures he’ll still be in detention in ten years if he's lucky.

And Seamus isn’t sure he will be. By the time Easter rolls around, punishments have escalated. He sits in the room of requirement and listens to his head ring. He sits and barely notices the twitch in his arms or legs or the one that sometimes dances across the side of his face. It was worth it, of course--it always was--but Seamus has had to slow a bit now. He doesn’t disrupt classes as much (but he still will, he makes a point to at least some of the time) and tries to focus on the moments where a second year falls into an older Slytherin student, or when another one gets noticed by the Carrows.

What will happen next year? Seamus doesn’t ask because everyone is still hoping this will end before the school year. He doesn’t point out that they have ducked into a room with limited escape options.

Neville sits (falls) next to him and Seamus jumps, thinking for a moment that it was someting worse. “Hi,” He says, drawing the word out and around himself like a cover. 

“You alright?” Neville asks.

“Yeah,” Seamus curls his hand into Neville’s, using his palm to cut through the twitch that suffuses his ring and pinky finger. They thrum against Neville’s hand, anything but still. “You planning something?”

"Yeah.” 

There’s a bit of quiet and Seamus can’t find a way to break it, isn’t sure he wants to (and wouldn’t that be exactly what the Carrows have always wanted). When his eyes unfocus he can hear Dean’s laughter coming from somewhere and he turns slightly, catching sight of another wall before he stops short.

“You’re sitting this one out.” Neville decides as he stands back up.

That generates a response. Seamus gasps, struggling a moment to force out, “The fuck I am!” And make it sound anything but a play.

It’s good enough, he thinks. He’s never going to stay behind if he can walk.

*

Seamus doesn’t know its the night before Harry Potter comes back. He just knows his face is bruised and bloody and Neville might look better but he damn well probably doesn’t feel better. 

Even still, Seamus is certain he’s asleep when Neville kisses his cheek and murmurs something Seamus doesn’t catch.