AUTHOR: Elizabeth

TITLE: The Gods must be Crazy

RATING: R...eventually

DISCLAIMER: Last I checked, no-one was calling me J.K. Rowling. So...I'm not her. I'm just a bad-mannered person who takes her possessions without asking, and hopes she won't be sued into next week.

NOTES: I've been reading a few really cute stories where Harry and Seamus hook up. Sadly, there aren't too many of these stories. I'm doing my bit to push the ship. 'Cause it's cute.

NOTES 2: This is slash. Not so evident in this chapter, but I figure I should warn you, in case that ain't what you wanna read.

SUMMARY: A convenient case of Festering flu brings Harry and Seamus together. But what happens next?

FEEDBACK: …would be very welcome. All comments and criticisms valued(it's my first HP story, so…)

Also - many thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter - that was WOW. And much much appreciated. Remember, it can only go downhill from here (sorry. My inner pessimist. I call him Frank).

Anyway, thanks again!

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"His long artistic fingers tangled in his messy dark hair, the colour of powdered ravenwing, and he took several steps toward her. Irrationally, the Lady Araminta felt some apprehension at his advance. She told herself sternly that she had nothing to fear from the Honourable Lord Hamish Bellingsworth. After all, she was one of the youngest witches ever to have graduated from the Bella Donnata Academy, and he was merely a Muggle. *Though he does have a sort of smouldering power about him * she thought, in spite of herself."

"Seamus - what are you doing?" Harry asked in confusion.

Seamus raised a hand in the universal 'be quiet' motion. Harry had no idea that Seamus knew what it meant.

He continued reading, raising his voice slightly. "Araminta took a faltering pace backwards, as Hamish continued to press forward. His strong, beautifully shaped hands grasped her shoulders, holding her in place.

'What the blazes do you think you're doing?' she inquired haughtily. 'Get your hands off me!'

He laughed darkly, and bent his head close to hers. She could see his sea-blue eyes darken to storm colour as he whispered, 'No. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since that night…that night at the Jasmine dance. Your lips, your jewel-like eyes, the living flame that is your hair. I NEED you Araminta, and I know you need me too. Open your stubborn heart.'

With that, he devoured her mouth hungrily. Araminta found herself moaning in abandon as he kissed her as she had never been kissed before. His skilful hands cupped her face tenderly, and the instant that his lips touched hers, she knew that she was a woman owned - heart, body and soul."

Seamus snapped the book shut and tossed it to Harry.

"What do you think?" he asked.

The dark-haired boy studied the black cover. The gilt lettering proclaimed the title to be 'The Taming of a Witch'.

"Er…I would have to say that that was bad," Harry supplied finally. "Very bad, as a matter of fact," he continued thoughtfully. He studied the picture on the cover. He didn't think that people should look so abandoned, in such restrictive clothing. Even if half of it _was _ tastefully ripped off.

"Fifty bloody pages of scene-setting, and _that's _ all I get! 'I like your big eyes Jasmine. I think you're quite snoggable really.'"

"Wasn't her name Araminta?" Harry asked. Seamus flapped his hand dismissively.

"Anyway, why are you reading…that?" he asked. He couldn't bring himself to actually say the title.

"They're 'Enchanted Silhouette' books. All the girls read them."

Harry vaguely remembered seeing books like that on Mrs. Weasley's dresser table sometimes.

"Hasn't Hermione got any?"

"Um…no," Harry said carefully. "I think if she read something like that, she'd probably start a campaign. She doesn't believe in girls being um…owned."

Harry imagined Hermione reading 'The Taming of a Witch'. ("Honestly, Harry, it's archaic! It's like going back to the dark ages. I mean, here's a strong, powerful woman - suddenly she meets Mr Tall Dark and Titled, and she melts quicker than butter. It's an insult to witches - and women - everywhere! Someone should do something! If you want me, I'll be in the library looking up 'Wizards are from the dark Nebula, Witches are from Earth, thank you very much', a study of oppression in several volumes.")

"Bet she has the ones where it's up to a Muggle girl to convince a wild-card wizard to change his ways, though." Seamus grinned.

Harry shook his head to clear it. Then he shook it again, in case it worked better the second time. He sighed and settled for -

"And you would be reading this because…?"

Seamus shrugged. "Thought there might be something I could _use _ in there. But - 'He devoured her mouth hungrily'" he wrinkled his nose. "It sounds like he's sitting down to roast beef."

A smile curled on Harry's lips. "I wouldn't have thought _you'd _ need advice on what to do. Thought you were already corrupted." He clucked disapprovingly. "I expected better from you Seamus."

Harry watched in interest as Seamus schooled his features into a scowl. It looked out of place, like someone had superimposed it onto his face.

"It's not the 'what to do' that I have p…it's more the 'HOW to do the what' that I'm looking for."

"Uh-huh."

"I mean, it's not the sort of thing girls want to talk about, is it?"

"What isn't?" Harry asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Seamus rolled his eyes. "Technique. I mean - imagine it. 'Lavender, y'know when we snogged - oh, right, you don't like that word - fine, when we kissed…Was it a good practice? Are there any tips you could give me? In case I ever do it with someone that actually matters?'" He made a face.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I don't think that would go down too well," he agreed.

"See?" Seamus sounded aggrieved. "All they _really _ want to hear is undying love, and how you were scared they'd say no when you asked them. Mention anything about tongue or body contact and they look at you like you're one of Hagrid's Flobberworms."

"Um" Harry managed.

"I mean - I think I'm okay - but there's always room for improvement and stuff and…hey!"

Harry shied away from the speculative gleam in Seamus' eyes.

"What?" he asked apprehensively, sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Just lie back and think of Gryffindor," Seamus replied, and before Harry could wonder _why _ he would be thinking about the long-dead, gout-afflicted founder of their house, there was a sudden pressure on his lips and Seamus had expanded to become the only thing in his immediate line of vision.

He jerked back in surprise, but blunt fingers slid around to the back of his head and held him firmly in place.

Harry gave in to curiosity and relaxed. It wasn't really what he had thought it would be like. Someone else's mouth was attached to his and it was…strange. Not at all like the fixed poses in the old films Aunt Petunia used to watch. Instead Seamus' lips were soft and constantly moving.

It felt like the kiss had been going on for a long time. Harry just sat back and tried to keep track of the new and odd sensations slipping through him.

Unexpectedly, there was a small flickering at his lower lip and Harry opened his mouth - possibly to ask "What are you _doing _?" It was a good thing the introduction of Seamus' tongue rendered him speechless, because actually saying that, would have resulted in a mute Seamus, and a potentially embarrassing visit to Madam Pomfreys.

Strange, thought Harry distantly, that something that sounded pretty…disgusting in theory, could actually be rather…pleasant. Seamus' tongue stroked and slid against his and he felt something a little like a full-body blush go through his entire person.

And then, and then Seamus pulled back and it was over. He rocked back on his heels, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and looked at Harry expectantly.

"Well?"

"Um," Harry managed intelligently.

"How was I?"

"That was…okay," He said cautiously. Seamus' face fell.

"Pretty good actually," he hastened to reassure the fair-haired boy. Harry was feeling a little off balance. It felt a little too unreal to be heartening Seamus Finnigan about his kissing technique. Perhaps, he considered, it was all a dream.

"Great! That's cool!" Seamus bounced back, immediately satisfied. He picked up the discarded novel again and flipped through the pages. Harry waited a few minutes before bringing up the inevitable.

"Seamus?"

"Yeah?" he looked up.

Harry swallowed and feigned sudden interest in the cushion patterns. "How was I?"

Seamus actually looked a bit embarrassed. "You were okay," he said hesitantly.

*I wonder if those swirls are meant to be roses? * "Okay?"

"Yeah. You were fine - just…" Seamus paused. "A bit of a Lavender," he finished reluctantly.

Harry squinched up his eyes. *No, actually, I think they're rhododendrons * "A bit of a…?"

"Nothing bad, really. It was pretty nice - just, just, you seem to kinda letsomeoneelsedoallthework," Seamus rushed apologetically.

Harry flushed. "Well, it's not like you gave me much warning! I didn't exactly know what was coming. And I - I thought this was about _your _ technique! Which isn't…I mean, if I'd known we were _both _ um - assessing, I would have…" he trailed off miserably.

Seamus stared at him in consternation. He probably wasn't used to delivering bad news, and had a woebegone expression on his face. Which brightened all too quickly.

"But it doesn't matter!" He wilted under Harry's glare. "I _mean _ we can fix it. All it takes is practice, and we could _both _ do with some practice." He beamed hopefully. "What do you think?"

Harry considered. It was quite a blow to be considered a - a Lavender, even if it was only by Seamus, and not Cho Chang, or Fleur Delacour or…or any number of girls whose names danced just outside his memory at the moment. Suddenly, his Most Important Things in the World list changed. Instead of 1) Stay alive, 2) Do best to ensure Voldemort's defeat 3) Win Quidditch World cup for Gryffindor, it became - 1) Make Seamus change his opinion, 2) Stay alive, 3) Make sure you are never again associated with Lavender in any way.

"All right," Harry agreed, and closed the distance between them. He stared determinedly at Seamus, trying to figure out where to start.

"Except…" Seamus began apologetically. "Could we leave it till a bit later?" He flapped the book in front of Harry.

Harry stared disbelievingly at him.

"She's just found out that Hamish MacWhatshisface is the son of the man who set up her father," Seamus mumbled sheepishly.

Harry slumped backwards in resigned incredulity.