This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Don't forget to leave a review!
Chapter contents: alcohol, mentions of sex, also a Carrow is mean
XO, Karo
The heavy awareness that came with carrying a secret in a worn, old bag around a crowded school returned quickly after lunch, and Seamus knew his nerves would not be assuaged anytime soon as he entered the dreary Muggle Studies classroom. Dread spread over his body like a cold, unpleasant wave as he chose a seat between Neville and Lavender at the back of the class, where all the Gryffindors retreated on Wednesdays and Fridays, leaving the front of the room to the Slytherins. Of course they'd been placed with them – the injury that was mandatory Muggle Studies classes taught by the vile Alecto Carrow would not be complete without the insult of straight-backed Slytherin students with unsurprising enthusiasm and perfect sneers painted on their faces.
The class was not so much a class as a platform for Alecto Carrow, whose greasy hair gave Snape's a run for its unwashed money, to rant about Muggles and their apparently boundless stupidity. She occasionally gave the floor to students – Parkinson particularly delighted in listing all the ways in which Muggle fashions were atrociously lacking, while Crabbe and Goyle took turns speaking in short bursts of insults that sounded more often than not like grunts.
The five seventh-year Gryffindors that were still at Hogwarts generally stayed quiet throughout the awful spectacle, having quickly learned that anything they did or said would merit them instant detentions. This was an especially difficult task for Seamus, who was the only one among them who was not a pureblood, and who was, of course, renowned for his quick tongue and rapidly-blazing temper. He'd also become his professor's favourite target. Seamus was not the only one in the class who was a half-blood – it was well-known that Tracey Davis' mother was muggle-born – but Alecto had decided early on that Seamus was to become the bullseye at which she would throw many of her anti-Muggle darts. More often than not, he held Lavender's hand tightly throughout the classes, squeezing when Carrow said something particularly denigrating, leaving red half-moon crescents stamped into her palm from his fingernails. Still, he mostly kept his mouth shut, after having earned three detentions in a row the first month.
And anyway, today was Friday, and Seamus had no energy to even focus on what the woman standing at the front of the room was saying, much less think of responding to the insults that were surely coming his way.
The fact that it was Friday, however, did nothing to dampen Alecto's spirit, and she started right into an expletive-filled lecture about Muggles' animalistic tendencies as soon as the students had sat, not even bothering with such formalities as greetings. Seamus looked to his right at Lavender, who was doodling on her parchment instead of taking notes. He reached over quietly and scribbled out a message on her sheet, careful not to make any sudden movements that would stun Alecto out of her rant.
I've got some Firewhisky stashed away. Drinks tonight?
He figured the slow burn of alcohol would settle his mind – it had been a strange week. Lavender smiled at him as she wrote out a reply.
Merlin, yes. Just me and you?
Her handwriting, unlike Seamus', was neat and rounded. His was sharp, thin lines, and frankly, quite difficult to decipher most of the time, but Lavender had years of experience.
Neville too, I guess, he scrawled. A quick look up confirmed that Alecto hadn't noticed anything, as she was in the middle of an impassioned rant on Muggle hygiene. Lavender looked up too, smirking, before scratching out another message.
Bit thick coming from her, don't you think?
Seamus bit his tongue so as not to laugh, but the chuckle died in his throat as quickly as it has risen when he realized someone other than Alector was speaking, and that that someone was Neville.
"—one to talk!" Seamus heard Neville spit. Alecto stopped, mid-sentence, her mouth wide. The Slytherins in front turned slowly, disbelief painting their faces. Seamus hit Neville's thigh under the desk and he heard Parvati hiss a warning at the desk beside them.
Alecto's mouth turned into a toothy smile as she strode purposefully toward the back of the room. Seamus quickly flipped over the parchment he and Lavender had been writing on, and she squeezed his hand so hard he suspected it was turning white.
"What's that, Longbottom?" Alecto said, and the serenity with which she said it made Seamus shiver. "Care to repeat that for the rest of the class?"
"I said," Neville called out, louder than necessary, as he stood slowly, and if the situation had been different, Seamus would have marvelled at the man's calmness and courage, "that you're one to talk about bad hygiene. It makes me wonder – how much Muggle blood have you and your brother got?"
Lavender and Parkinson both gasped in harmony. Seamus noticed that Zabini, sitting next to a gaunt-faced Malfory, hadn't turned around to stare like the others, but had stayed facing front, shoulders and back straight and sturdy.
Alecto whipped out her wand and pointed it at Neville, who had crossed his arms defiantly and lifted his chin. The smile had left her face and her jaw hardened, but Neville didn't so much as flinch when her short, stubby wand touched his chest.
"You'll pay for that, you filthy fucking blood traitor." She whispered something Seamus couldn't hear and suddenly Neville flew backwards, slamming into the rough stone wall, narrowly avoiding hitting his head. He scrambled up instantly, seeming unfazed by the attack, and Lavender whimpered.
"I thought we'd covered this," Neville said. Of all the chances Neville had had over the years to develop his courage and disdain for authority, why he chose these ones, Seamus never understood. "You're the filthy one."
"Silencio!" Alecto cried, and Neville didn't so much as blink. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon in my office. Say, three. Don't even think about skipping out on me, if you know what's good for you. I've got something special planned."
He slowly took his seat again, not once turning his gaze from the Death Eater's oily face, and when she finally strode back to the front of the class, Seamus banged his fist on Neville's leg. He didn't dare say a word, but he wanted to ask Neville if he had gone mad. Parvati was shaking her head at the other desk while Fay just stared straight ahead, eyes impossibly wide. Lavender was still shaking – she squeezed Seamus' hand. Neville's face remained impassive throughout the rest of the class, which was thankfully over quickly enough, and took his grand time packing up his things while the other Gryffindors darted out into the corridor as soon as they could.
The girls huddled around Seamus as they made their way back to the Gryffindor Common Room, Parvati squeezing Fay's shoulder as she fell away to go to her Magical Creatures class, which Neville had presumably gone to too. They stayed silent for a few minutes, and Seamus was glad for it, as he didn't quite know how to react to Neville's outburst.
"What do you think they'll do to him?" Lavender said as they approached their corridor and they were alone.
"Something special, whatever that is," Parvati said, her voice low. She hitched her bag higher on her shoulder and Seamus suddenly remembered what was in his bag – he'd almost forgotten.
Lavender shivered as they walked through a draught.
An image, unbidden, came to Seamus' mind as he said it, of little pudgy Neville Longbottom in striped pyjamas, all dimpled cheeks and shuddering breaths, clutching Trevor tightly and stuttering in the Common Room, trying to explain to Professor McGonagall how the toad had found its way into her quarters overnight. Then another: 15-yr-old Neville, hiccoughing spiced mead on the floor of their dormitory, having been goaded by Fred and George and Seamus to take one drink too many, teary-eyed as he told them all about his love for cacti and venus flytraps, as Dean whacked Ron on the back of the head for laughing. Then again, but this time broad-shouldered and hard-faced, Kedavra eyes boring holes into the oafish Muggle Studies professor, tongue sharp, voice strong and clear.
"Neville's tough," Seamus said.
"Well, he's going to have to be tough," and Lavender too, had changed, when she'd realized that her tragic romance novels were nothing at all like the real thing, and that what she was living was much more painful tragedy than it ever would be romance. Still, she determinedly transfigured every quill she got pink, and wore bows in her braids, and cooed over kittens, and sucked on lollies that stained her mouth purple, while her mind whirled with strategic curses and her wand tingled with healing magic.
They reached the portrait, Parvati giving the password – puffskein – and the Fat Lady nodded at them, letting it swing open.
"God," Lavender said, throwing her bag onto an armchair in the empty Common room and plopping herself down on another, "I need a drink."
::
As it was only three o'clock, Lavender dutifully waited for the promised drink by starting on a Potions essay while Seamus defeated Parvati soundly at chess.
"A-ha! Check and mate," he said. The white king bowed its head and dropped its tiny sword in surrender, and Parvati shrugged.
"You should play against Padma sometime," Parvati said, rising and fixing her tie, waiting for the others to be ready to go down to supper.
"I've played against Ron. I already know what losing feels like, thank you," Seamus said as he tucked away his battered old pieces into their battered old box. "It's kept me humble all these years."
"Seamus, you are many things—"
"Smart, handsome, hilarious, charming, dead sexy, bloody excellent at chess…"
"—but humble is not one of them," Lavender finished loudly over his litany as Parvati laughed, a tumbling peal of ringing giggles.
They did not see Neville again until night had fallen and Parvati had padded off to Ravenclaw Tower with the interim Chess Mistress of Hogwarts. He finally trudged in, dirt staining his clothes in just the way Seamus expected it would, a leaf stuck firmly in his hair. Lavender was sitting cross-legged on Seamus' bed with him, two full pints of Old Ogden's laying in the cavity her pyjama-clad limbs made.
"Well, look what the Kneazle dragged in," Seamus drawled, conjuring three glasses and sticking out his hand for a bottle. Lavender passed him one and sat back, leaning on her hands.
"Hullo to you too," Neville said stiffly, shedding his dirty robes and pulling off his button-up before sitting on Seamus' bed lightly in his vest and trousers. He took the first glass Seamus poured and took one searing gulp.
"Neville, you'd tell us if you'd gone mad, right?" Lavender asked, her tone light but her shoulders tense. His smile did not quite reach his dimples.
"If I was truly mad, then I wouldn't know it."
"Well then," Seamus said, passing another glass to Lavender, "you'll tell us when you're no longer bonkers, that way we'll know when to have you committed." He poured himself a final portion and twisted the cap back onto the bottle, inhaling the bracing smell of cinnamon and alcohol.
"Really Neville, what got into you?"
He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance and disaffectedness. "Didn't really have the patience for her today."
"Christ, Neville, you make the patience, or you get yourself killed." Seamus was struggling to keep the sharpness from edging into his voice, and tried to replace it with concern, but instead the words came out strangled and his voice cracked.
Lavender snorted. "Balls not dropped yet, Finnigan?"
"Ach, go 'way with you. I'm serious." He sneered at her, but it was without malice. She stuck her tongue out.
"So am I," Neville said. "I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of doing nothing against them."
"We're doing plenty," Lavender said, sipping from her drink and grimacing as it burned down her throat. "We've got meetings, and a garden."
"But all that's for us. We're not doing anything – shove over, Shay – to fight them."
Seamus shifted so Neville could haul his legs up on the bed. "There's nothing we can do to fight them, Nev. In case you hadn't noticed, we're in a war, and from what it looks like here, our side is losing. Best to keep our heads down, innit?"
Maybe Seamus had changed as much as Neville and Lavender, then, because that was a sentence he would never have dreamed in his wildest nightmare of saying just a few months ago. But then again, this was a war, or something like it at least, and it was being fought in draughty astronomy towers and London townhouses and school classrooms and Ministry offices.
Neville peered at him over his glass as he paused from raising it to his lips. "Cauldron and kettle, mate."
"I'm not – Jesus, Neville, just don't go around provoking them like that again."
"Enough," Lavender said, and they both turned to look at her. "Let's not fight about this tonight, please. There are more pressing matters."
"More pressing than war?" Seamus asked, raising one eyebrow coolly.
"Well, for starters, what are you going to do about Hannah, Nev?"
Neville spluttered, and just like that, the tension was lifted from the shoulders and was replaced by a different kind of awkwardness, creeping red on Neville's cheeks. Seamus couldn't help but laugh.
"Hannah? What about Hannah?" Neville quickly gulped down the rest of his drink but miscalculated how much was left, if his sudden coughing fit was any indication. "Christ, that burns," he said as Seamus thumped him on the back, still chucking.
"Oh, come on, I know you're not as daft as you look!" Lavender cried.
"Not saying much though, is it?" Seamus said, winking and Neville slapped him on the back of the head.
"Oi, watch it, Fire Boy," Neville said. His face was positively scarlet.
"Missed opportunity. Could have gone with Flamer, " Seamus quipped easily even if the title wasn't exactly deserved, unscrewing the bottle of whisky and pouring himself some more. Lavender giggled.
"She likes you, Nev," Lavender said passionately, throwing an arm out. The man ducked his head to stare at the swirling amber liquid in his glass.
"She does not," he mumbled. "And anyway, plenty of people like me. My grandmother likes me. Seamus likes me."
"Doesn't mean I want to suck your cock and have your children," Seamus said, and his vulgarity was rewarded when Neville shuddered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Unless you're offering," Seamus added and Neville shook his head quickly.
Lavender, the damn lightweight, was probably already feeling tipsy, or else she would have slapped him for that. Instead she just laughed some more. Sex was Seamus' favourite topic of conversation, tied with Quidditch and just above Dean Thomas and salmon fishing. In his foolish youth, he'd prided himself on being the first of the boys of their year to have had it, and now he prided himself on being good at it.
Seamus had been the first, thanks to an awkward, fumbling tryst with a Muggle girl passing through his town the summer before sixth year, then Dean (which had irritated Harry immensely at the time), then Ron (as confirmed by Lavender), then Harry (which had, in turn, annoyed Dean). Neville, though, had yet to reach that particular milestone of adulthood, and Seamus quite believed it was for lack of trying. He delighted in taking the piss out of Neville for it, who, depending on the day, would throw it right back in Seamus' insolent face or whose youthful stutter reappeared with all the grace of a man uncomfortable in his sexuality.
"Here's a question, Seamus," Neville said, too loud for their close proximity, "how does it feel to be, you know, sodomized?"
Lavender cackled.
"Sodomized? Who even talks like that anymore? You need to be lobotomized," Seamus said, rolling his eyes. He too was starting to feel the liquor's effects. "Besides, how do you know I'm the one being sodomized?"
Neville reddened some more, looking stricken, and Seamus thought the boy might burst.
"Oh hush, I know you are," Lavender said.
"That's the last time I give you the gory details of my sex life."
"Please, ever since Finch-Fletchley fucked off, you don't have a sex life."
Seamus gasped at her. "Language, please Miss Brown! Neville, put your fingers in your ears, there's a dear."
The dear in question rolled his eyes and raised his middle finger at them both.
"Besides, he didn't fuck off, as you so eloquently put, he went into hiding. War, and all that."
"Semantics! Here's a better question then," Lavender said, "how do two blokes decide who does what?"
Seamus laughed. "Like, who tops and who bottoms?"
"Yes, good question. The logistics do seem complicated, don't you think?"
"Do you all collectively forget that I'm not gay, and that I enjoy sex with women too?"
"Well, we already know how that works so it's not as interesting than the sex with boys part. We've got less intel on that," Lavender said, waving her hand as if to say that the answer was obvious. Seamus sighed, but the alcohol stopped him from feeling properly irritated.
"I don't know. You just know. Or you ask."
"Like I said, complicated," Neville said, nodding knowingly.
"Hey! You changed the subject! We were talking about Hannah!" Seamus poked Neville squarely in the chest, his drink sloshing around in his glass.
"She does not like me!"
They talked late into the night, the whisky bottles slowly emptying into their stomachs, their minds getting foggier and their language stilted. Lavender nestled herself in Seamus' bed with him when the liquor was gone and Neville's head drooped dangerously low. It was nice, Seamus thought, to have someone else in bed with him, even if it was only Lavender, and it was nicer still to forget for a night what lay beyond the comforting, familiar walls of Gryffindor Tower. He knew it wouldn't last – it never did – but it felt good to pretend that this was normal, that they were normal, and that they were not child soldiers in an invisible war. A sharp pang of guilt sliced through Seamus suddenly as he settled in next to Lavender; he thought of Dean, who was Schrodinger's Wizard, and who could be either alive or dead depending on the state of Seamus' hope and confidence at any given moment, and who was probably shivering somewhere deep in a forest, hungry and far away from Hogwarts.
He pushed the thought away quickly. It did no good to think like that, and he certainly wouldn't get any sleep if he did.
The alcohol pressed down on his eyelids and soon he too was halfway to sleeping, the slow rise and fall of Neville's breathing and Lavender's compact warmth lulling him into security. Yes. Pretending was good.