DISCLAIMER: All the characters you see here that are in any of the Harry Potter books belong to JK Rowling and I am not her. I am simply taking them out to play.

Scared

Seamus Finnegan pushed his way into a small and dingy pub, crowded with cheerful and raucous celebrators just as he thought it would be. He made his way to the bar, careful not to make any waves incase there were any sore losers in the place looking for a fight. That had happened before and he did not want it to happen again. The home team had won and looked to be going to the playoffs for the World Cup so the fans had much to celebrate. From the looks of things they had started early. The bar tender took a minute to get to him but was quick to fill his order and Seamus sat there thinking about how he would write up the exciting match. It had been very exciting indeed; he'd spent most of it on the edge of his seat. He tried his best to be impartial but Spain had been playing Morocco and he was sure that England stood a much better chance of beating Spain in the finals next week. He was sure Morocco would win when the Seekers sprinted across the field, neck and neck. He never even saw the Snitch but was overjoyed when the Seeker for Spain held up his fist in victory. He'd gone back to his hotel after the match to try to write it up but he felt restless. He wanted to celebrate. So he'd gone down the street and found the noisiest pub he could.

"Seamus?" He was ripped from his thoughts when a familiar female voice called his name. He looked around and felt a grin break over his face when he recognized the young woman leaning on the bar beside him.

"Francesca!" He cried in surprise, "I haven't seen you in ages!" Francesca had interned for a summer with the Daily Prophet when they were both young and the two had had quite a passionate, if short-lived, affair. When she went back to Spain they had agreed to call it off and he hadn't seen her since. She was just as beautiful as he remembered, with waist-length black curly hair, large brown eyes, ruby red lips, and a body to die for. He felt his heart rate quicken when she hugged him and he couldn't attribute it just to the alcohol in his system.

She gave him a dazzling smile, "It has been too long," she admitted in her light Spanish accent. "How are you my friend?"

"Great!" he had to shout to be heard over the roar of the crowd. "How are you?"

"Wonderful," she gestured to the crowd, "we won our match today."

He nodded, "I was there, covering the match."

"Still writing then?"

He nodded again, "I have my own quidditch column."

"Impressive," she replied with a smile. Despite himself he was pleased. "Come and meet my friends and have a few drinks with us."

Seamus hesitated, "I shouldn't," he replied, "I have an early day tomorrow."

"Just a few and then you can go," she begged.

He nodded and she clapped her hands together joyfully before leading him to a table full of the loudest people in the place.

It turned out to be more than just a few drinks. Before he knew it, it was three in the morning. The party had slowed down but the place didn't look to be clearing out anytime soon. "I've got to go," he told Francesca.

She frowned at him and her eyes crossed slightly. She'd had a lot to drink too. "Are you sure?" Her words slurred.

"I'm sure," he replied, grateful that he'd limited himself somewhat on how many drinks were too many, "Will you be alright getting home?"

She nodded and put her hand on the shoulder of the man beside her, "Victor will take care of me."

"Ok," he got out of his chair and felt the floor sway beneath him a little. Maybe he had had too much. "It was nice seeing you," he said loudly.

She got up too and gave him a hug, something he had not been expecting. He was slightly taken aback to find her in his arms and he suddenly felt an ache for Katie. He wished she was there. It was the first time he'd thought about her in hours and he immediately felt guilty. "It has been too long," she said again, "we should meet more often."

"We should," he agreed, though he thought it unlikely.

"Next time you're in Barcelona …" she paused, thoughtful, "what are the words?"

He frowned, not understanding, "What?"

"There are words, you say to each other, when you leave. If you're in town again …"

Seamus smiled, "Look me up."

"What is it?"

"Next time you're in town, look me up."

She nodded, "That's it."

"Ok," he took a few steps from her; she was wobbling on her feet. "Are you sure you're ok to get home?"

She nodded and nearly over balanced into the empty chair behind her. Giggling she used the chair to steady herself. He left the bar quickly, thinking of Katie and how much he wished he were going home to her.

When Seamus woke up the next morning it was to the sound of his telephone ringing. It took him a couple of disoriented moments, feeling around with his eyes closed, to find it and pick it up.

"Hello?" His voice was croaky, as though he hadn't used it in years.

"Good morning," her voice was too loud; he yanked the phone from his ear in a hurry. The sound reverberated painfully in his head.

"Morning," he mumbled.

"You sound awful," she replied a little quieter, "what happened? I called your room around ten last night but you didn't answer."

"Went out," he replied, "had too much to drink; what time is it?"

"It's eight here," she answered, "but I'm pretty sure you're an hour ahead. So it should be nine there."

"Nine!" He sat straight up in his bed but immediately regretted it as his head throbbed and his vision swam. He lay back down with a groan. "Match starts at nine," he mumbled. "I should've been there by now."

"I thought this might happen," she said matter-of-factly, "so I packed a hangover potion in your bag before you left."

"Did you?" He loved her thoughtfulness. He sat up again, much slower this time, and looked at his bag that was all of the way across the room. "Hang on, I'm going to get it." He set the phone down on the bedside table and slid out of the bed. Walking was painful. His body ached and his head pounded with every step he took. When he finally reached his bag it didn't take him long to find the small bottle. He pulled the cork out and peered at the amber liquid inside. It looked like beer but smelled horribly – like rotting garbage. Wanting his hangover to go away as quickly as possible, he shrugged and downed it. It tasted worse than it smelled and for one horrible moment he thought he was going to vomit all over the floor. But as soon as the sensation was gone so was his headache. He headed back to the phone, amazed.

"What was that stuff?" He asked.

"I'm not sure," she replied, "one of the girls in the office, Melanie, gave me some after we'd gone out and I needed to be sober for an eight o'clock meeting. She's been buying it for me whenever I need it since."

"You're a life-saver Kate," he gushed, "I have to get ready and get to this match in a hurry. I'll be home tonight around seven or eight."

"Ok," he could hear the smile in her voice. "I'll see you tonight."

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you too."

The match had been shorter than Seamus expected. He'd had to travel to Portugal to watch them play Transylvania. Portugal had a solid team this year. He knew if they made it into the finals England would have a rough time beating them. When he arrived he knew Portugal would win it. They were up by fifty points in the first twenty minutes. He was hoping Transylvania would keep Portugal from scoring a lot but that didn't happen. They won, within an hour of starting, by two hundred and forty points. After the match he headed to his hotel to write up the matches, which didn't take too long, and then he headed home.

When he opened the door to his flat, he was surprised to find the candles lit. He knew he hadn't left them lit while he was gone, so someone must've been there. He stepped inside and dropped his bags beside the door.

"Hello?" He called out, "Katie?"

There was a stifled sob from the couch and alarm filled Seamus. He pulled out his wand, closed the door behind him, and headed to the living room.

"Katie?"

She was sitting on the sofa with her knees pulled to her chest in a casual pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Her long hair was down and from a glance at her face he could see tear streaks on her cheeks.

"What's wrong?" He asked as he knelt in front of her.

Her eyes blazed and she unfolded her legs, forcing him to back away from her before she kicked him, "What's wrong?" Her tone was venomous. "What's wrong?"

He was confused and frightened by her anger. What reason did she have to angry with him? He didn't know what to say.

"I'll tell you what's wrong," she spat and for the first time he saw that she had a piece of parchment clutched in one of her hands. "I came here after work today," he could tell she was barely controlling her rage, though he had no idea why. "To make dinner for you, because you've been out of town and I thought it would be nice." He agreed with her; that would've been nice, but said nothing because of her tone. "When I came in the door there was a pile of post on the floor by the open window." She gestured wildly to the window. He glanced at it. He had no idea where this story was going. It was perfectly normal for owls to drop non-urgent posts at his flat. "So I picked it up, thinking of putting it on the table for you And do you know what was on the top of the pile?" Her tone was accusatory, as if she were trying to get him to confess to some heinous crime. He shook his head, "This!" She brandished the piece of parchment in his face but he couldn't see it because she moved her hand too quickly.

"What is it?" He asked cautiously.

"Oh I think you know," she snapped.

"I don't," he answered trying to get a better look at it but she crumpled it in her fist.

"It's a letter," she snapped again.

He frowned, "Addressed to you?" He didn't understand. She'd gotten owl post delivered to his flat before. Why should she be so upset now? It must be whatever was in the letter that was upsetting her.

"No," she spat, "it's addressed to you."

The hair on the back of his neck stood up, "You read my post?" That was both surprising and alarming. She knew how much he valued his privacy. Why would she read his post?

For the briefest of instances she looked ashamed, but it was gone quickly, replaced by hostility toward him, "I wouldn't have," she resumed her venomous tone, "if I hadn't seen who it was from."

"Who was it from?" He asked calmly, anger mixing in with his fear and confusion. She read his owl post?

"Francesca," Katie spat the name as if it were foul-tasting in her mouth. He frowned in deeper confusion. "Would you like me to read it to you?" She asked as she smoothed out the parchment a little violently.

"No," he answered but she didn't listen to him.

"My dearest Seamus," Katie adopted a high-pitched, slightly hysterical, voice as she read, "I had such a wonderful time last night. Next time you're in Barcelona make sure you look me up again. I would love a repeat of the night anytime you are up for it. All of my love, Francesca." Her gaze felt like piercing daggers, "How could you?" She whispered as angry tears spilled down her cheeks.

"You don't understand," Seamus replied, finally understanding why she was so upset. That letter made it sound like a lot more went on then a few innocent drinks at a bar. "I went to a bar, ran into Francesca there, we had a few drinks, caught up, and that was it."

"That was it?" She scoffed angrily, "that's not what this says," she brandished the letter at him again.

"I know how it sounds," he couldn't keep the anger from his tone. How could Katie be accusing him of cheating on her? "But it's misleading. Nothing happened with Francesca."

"Nothing happened?" Katie's voice was more than a little hysterical now, "I'm supposed to just take your word on that?"

She hit a nerve. "Yes," he barked, "you're supposed to trust me."

"Trust you?" She shook her head and wiped fiercely at her tears, "I don't think I even know you anymore. How am I supposed to trust you?"

"You don't think you know me?" That stung more than he could stand, "How can you say that you don't know me?"

She brandished the letter again and he had a vicious impulse to rip it out of her hand and shove it down her throat. "I never in a million years would have thought you would cheat on me."

"Then how can you believe it now?"

"Because of this!" She shook the letter in her hand, "It's solid proof!"

"Solid proof?" He couldn't believe his ears, "It is not! We can fire-call Francesca right now and have her settle this whole thing!" He took a few steps toward the fireplace.

"Don't," her command stopped him.

He turned to face her again, "Why not?"

"I don't want to see her face," she answered, "in fact I don't want to see your face either." She stood up and walked toward the door.

"Let me get this straight," he called and she paused to turn back to him. Fury was coursing through his veins. "You went through my post," he could hear the aggression in his tone, "opened a letter that was addressed to me," he was getting angrier by the second, "read it, got the wrong impression, and now you believe I cheated on you?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she answered as she began putting on her traveling cloak. All the fight seemed to have left her.

"Because it's bullshit!" He shouted, "This is bullshit and you know it! Nothing happened with Francesca and I cannot believe that you would believe a letter from a woman you've never met over me!"

Tears were filling her eyes again, "When I called you this morning," her voice was cold, "why didn't you tell me you'd gone out with her - if nothing happened?"

"I didn't think it mattered," he answered honestly.

"Or you were hiding it from me on purpose."

"I had just woken up," he snapped, "I had an awful hangover and I was running late for a match. I'm sorry that in all of that I didn't think it was necessary to have a five hour conversation detailing every single person who was at the bar with me."

"Or she was lying beside you in bed."

He felt as though she'd slapped him across the face, "How could you say that?" He asked, "How could you even think that?"

She shrugged, "I thought I knew you," she said quietly.

"And I thought I knew you," he returned sharply.

They stared at each other in silence for a long moment, it was as though they were both seeing each other clearly for the first time. Seamus was outraged that she didn't believe him – that she would question his character like this. How could she believe that he would cheat on her? How could she think he would do something like that? What kind of a man did she think he was?

She broke the silence softly, "I guess this is goodbye then?"

"I guess so." He answered stiffly.

"Fine," she picked up her purse and slung it over her shoulder, "goodbye Seamus."

He didn't respond. He just watched her go, unable to move. He could not believe this was happening. Had they just broken up? He heard the door shut with an angry snap and at that moment his knees gave out from under him. He fell into a chair that was luckily behind him and he replayed what had just happened in his mind. Katie read his owl post. That thought caused anger to swell inside him again. What business did she have reading his post? Sure they were dating, but that did not give her the right. If she had trusted him before today then she wouldn't have done that. She didn't trust him. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. He knew how it looked. He understood why she would get the worst impression upon reading that letter but once he told her the truth she should have believed him. Not only did she not trust him but she thought him capable of cheating. That thought stung. How could she think that?

She was angry, he reasoned. Obviously she wasn't thinking straight. In a day or two she would see reason and apologize. In the meantime – he took a deep shaky breath. He didn't know what he would do in the meantime. All he knew was that he was left feeling … scared.

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