November. 3rd, 1978 - The Troubles

Northern Ireland

Following a brutal attack on the Capitol city by the Republic, Northern Ireland retaliates with a platoon of soldiers.

Piaras lit a thin cigarette. His match seemed to be the only warmth he had felt since he'd smoked in the morning, nine hours ago. Now the sky was a miserable, cold, grey colour, making his skin prickle in the anticipation of rain.

"Hey, mate," said a friend, and Pie turned. The blonde was stationed outside the small collection of tents, as a casual watch. They weren't too worried about any attacking company out in such bleak settings.

"Hey." His voice cracked. Amos always teased him about that.

"D'yah mind if I ...?" He wanted a cigarette.

"Go ahead."

"Thanks, man." He took the fag that peeked out of the box. Pie tucked it back in his breast pocket.

He found it almost amusing how fast he'd started craving cigarettes. He'd only started smoking them since his last year at Hogwarts, when Amos had left; and his mothers' illness had escalated to a frightening point. Now the cancer sticks were hard to come by, being out on the field and all.

Funny, how they made him feel happy. Not marijuana-happy; a bitter happy. A sort of ceasefire in his mind that stilled him, but made him ache all the same. His mother always told him never to smoke— Pie remembered his dad. Lung cancer probably would have killed him if the train accident hadn't.

He figured he wouldn't live very long anyways. He'd already done some pretty hard drugs back in Hogwarts, so a few cigarettes couldn't hurt him too bad now. If anything he'd probably die in this damn war. He wanted to make it back home, though. Back to his ma. "Don't go dying on me, kiddo," she'd coughed out, giving him a tired smile that didn't reach her watery eyes.

And he wanted to see Amos again. Bloody Amos. How did the two of them even meet? Probably just bumped into each other one day and then joked inappropriately about a gang of Slytherin girls and then walked off to smoke a blunt together. Amos was charismatic like that. People were drawn to him like he was some kind of magnet. He made people feel wanted. Pie probably would never have made it on to the Quidditch team if it wasn't for Amos, the popular Hufflepuff captain. He smiled when he thought of him, but he didn't know it until one of his friends pointed it out.

"Whatcha thinkin' 'bout, Pie? Girl back 'ome?" He snickered.

Piaras shrugged, picking at a trampled daisy in the earth.

"Somethin' like that."

He'd never outright told anyone how close he'd gotten with Amos. He'd never felt the need to. Everyone had their secrets, and theirs' was delicate. At least, he'd always assumed that. Maybe he was selfish. Maybe he just wanted that private touch that was always his, and no one else's— Wasn't that right? What they had wasn't a romantic relationship, and it wasn't a platonic friendship, either. It was a need that drove two empty people into each other looking for something to make them feel whole again. It wasn't anything made to last forever.

"'M headin' back, 'kay?" His friend dropped the cigarette butt onto the grass and ground on it with a booted heel, motioning to their tent.

"Hugh'll be out in a few t' relieve you." He walked off, and Piaras was alone.

Damn, it was cold out. These stupid army suits may have covered him in the ditches, but they were thin as hell. He grabbed a blanket from beside the dead radio and wrapped himself up, breathing onto his frozen hands. His gloves, he remembered, were back in his tent.

Out here you couldn't have much with you. The governments' idea of travelling light meant that Pie couldn't bring his dads' guitar when he left to serve, so the evening was chillingly silent.

He wondered if Amos had ever used a gun. Then again, he wondered if Amos even knew what a gun was. Piaras remembered Muggle Studies as a class the two of them would often skip. How ridiculous then, the armies must seem, shooting at each other with their silly death machines with blind faith. Pie had only been shot once— a bullet had grazed his side a few weeks ago. That was pretty damn lucky, considering many of his comrades weren't around anymore to boast about their wounds. Being at war wasn't at all what Pie thought it would be. He cracked a weak smile, remembering all the old movies his dad had owned about World War ll and others. How some cool, macho guy would always go into battle and come out a hero with a bruised eye. How glorified all the fighting had been. Pie resented it. He went to bed with tears in his eyes almost everyday for the first couple weeks, with images in his head of his new friends, fallen, with the life bleeding out of them on the muddy ground.

Pie only had two more months to serve, and then he would be be able to return home. Two months, that was it! If he was allowed a calendar, he would count down the days till then. He'd write Amos a letter lickety split and practice guitar all day (he figured his strumming skills had grown pretty rusty) and, oh man, he'd even help his ma in the garden all day just to see her face. He'd ask around for a place to stay. Maybe him and Amos could room together somewhere? He knew Amos wanted to work for the Ministry of Magic or something. Piaras could probably dig that; he could go in too. He'd graduated Hogwarts with decent marks. They'd let him do something moderately entertaining, with a fancy pay. Amos and him could grow to be old bachelors some distant day, with a family of live-in cats or something. Maybe their band would go somewhere.

The future seemed so happy.

A green flare went up a long ways away. Someone tapped Pie on the shoulder.

"I'll take it from 'ere, mate," said a puffy-eyed Hugh. Pie smiled in relief.

"Good luck."

He shambled off to his tent and zipped open the door, crawling inside. The four other boys inside were fast asleep. Piaras collapsed wearily next to them, sighing, but he was smiling.

Only two more months to go, and he'd be home.