1
As I lie here, face down in a rather wet patch of grass, I'm beginning to realize how odd these last weeks have been. I don't know why or how, but for the first time since I've known him, I don't believe it's directly related to Mr. Boy-Who-Lived. I mean, I love him; he's my fucking best. But sometimes, he's just a pain in the ass. And 'Mione. She's just...well, Hermione. Nothing new to report there. But, either way, neither of them have anything to do with my present situation, which happens to be that a small, purple flower is poking me in the eye. By the way, I'm not just lying in wet grass for my personal enjoyment. There've been a series of somewhat unfortunate events that have led to this painful, yet slightly amusing point in time. As I stand here, attepting to pick the tiny pieces of grass off my shirt, I can see lightning flashing over the lake. I should probably make my way to the common, before Harry organizes a search party to come look for me. He can be a bit manic sometimes, I've noticed.
Anyway--why I was sprawled like a baby deer on the front lawn. It started sometime early this morning, before I was even remotely conscious. I was sleeping, innocently enough, when I feel something bonk me right on the side of my head. Scared the hell outta me, to be honest. So I sat up, only to find a black sneaker perched in my lap. Still half asleep, I sat there, rubbing my head and scanning the room for the attacker. Dean was MIA, as usual...Harry appeared to still be sleeping, like any normal person would be doing at this hour...I couldn't find Neville, but he doesn't seem like the type to be tossing shoes at people's heads. Which only leaves one person: Seamus. I could hear things being thrown around in his general area. Now, it's not that I hate Seamus. We get along well enough...I just usually dislike him when we're forced to communicate. But generally, he's a prick bastard, if you ask me.
"Christ, Seamus. What in the bloody hell are you doin?" I shuffled my way over to him. He was on his knees, rummaging through the chest at the end of his bed, with everything he owned scattered about the room.
"Mind yer own, will ya?" He drawled back, not even looking at me. He was tossing things around like a madman; his clothes, books, cards, snacks, and, coincidentally, shoes, were now in every corner of the room.
"I'd just like to know what the hell you're doing, and why it can't possibly wait until morning," I said, somehow spotting the matching sneaker, causing me to rub my head again.
"Just fuck off, Weasley," he shot back, rather loudly. Instead of starting an argument, I just aimed the sneaker at his head and went for it. Unfortunately, it was dark and I'm not the best shot in the world, so it hit him in the shoulder and bounced off into his growing pile of belongings. It didn't seem to affect him one bit, so I turned and made my way back to my bed, mumbling obscenities under my breath.
In several hours, I was awakened by Harry rambling about "a bloody earthquake last night." I didn't even want to imagine what Seamus had done after I fell back asleep. I was hoping Harry and whoever might have cleaned up the mess before I got up. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case. The room looked even worse than it had before, probably because now I could actually see. Harry and Neville had just up and left it as it was. I don't really blame them; it's not their mess. I got dressed and wandered over to Seamus' bed, just out of curiosity. Sure enough, there he was: passed out on a pile of dress shirts and school books. Brilliant. It was a shame, really...he was a decent kid when he wasn't drunk off his ass or just being a dick for the fun of it. I sat down on his bed to get the full effect of his drunken rage last night, at which point I noticed two things. One, his bed was amazingly neat and well-kept in comparison to his other things. And two, he actually wasn't that bad to be around when he's...passed out. A part of me even felt a little bad for him, because when he woke up, he'd have to go around and clean up the whole room with a splitting headache. I sat there for almost ten minutes before deciding to gather some of his things from around the room and put them back in some sort of order. Why? I don't really know. Just hours before he'd told me to fuck off and mind my own. But it was Saturday, and I had nothing better to do. Besides, there was nothing he could've done about it right then anyway. So I went around, semi-folding shirts, getting his books together, and pairing up shoes, even the flying ones. I'll admit, I ate some of the stray snacks that I found. But I deserved it; I was cleaning up his mess. After about an hour, there wasn't really that much else to do. Now it was just Seamus, sprawled on the floor, out cold. I turned to leave, but stopped when I got to the doorway. I couldn't just leave him lying there. Christ. I went back over and picked him up. He wasn't heavy; he was shorter and weighed less than me, so it wasn't hard. I put him on his bed, but I wasn't about to undress him or go out of my way to make him comfortable. I'm nice, but I'm not that nice. I debated about whether or not I should leave a note saying it was me, and not to be such an asshole. But I decided against it. I was content with just knowing that he owed me for it.