A/N: Hey guys, remember that D/G-with-a-million-side-ships... thing... known as Secrets and Shadows? Being the utter t00b that I am, I decided to write a series of vignettes... outtakes, if you will, of scenes that were not shown in the fic. Perhaps a bit of tying up loose ends and the like. No matter. I hope you enjoy! This first is how Emma Dobbs met Seamus Finnigan.
Disclaimer: The day that I gain ownership of HP characters is infamous for a completely different reason, one explained in the Book of Revelations in the Bible.
~*~
It was rather unfair, she figured, that despite being able to trace her bloodline back to sterling purity for fifteen generations, she was just like any other first year now. On equal grounds with the most filthy of the Mudbloods and lost, small in the hallway and unsure of where to go.
The hallway. Many hallways. Stairs that did not like to stay put and did not obey her orders. Students flitting back and forth with no cessation, no care.
And where was the Transfiguration classroom anyway?
She had become separated from her Housemates after breakfast, taking the time to write an owl back to her parents that she had made it into Slytherin, and with every passing second, ominous tickings like a death watch beetle, she was more and more small against the wall, eyes wide, uncertain.
Where was she to turn?
Missing class was unheard of in her family. There were expectations that she had to fulfill. Despite the rabble of plebeians filling the school, she was a student, and a Dobbs was perfect in his or her purity.
Purity couldn't save her now.
She meandered hopelessly down the hallway, her small face pale and frozen into a blank mask (show no emotions, because you have none). No, that room could not be the Transfiguration classroom... there were cauldrons and Hufflepuffs in there. Must be a dangerous combination. But there were so many places that she could go, and none of the right, and this proud pureblooded Slytherin was but a child now, back to the wall and eyes trying to find the right way.
And then another student, taller than her, sandy hair and easy smiles and a garish red and gold tie, stepped into her path, looking down at her inquisitively. "Hello."
She was not to associate with riff-raff. That was Rule #1.
He was almost about to step past her when her hand, as if of its own accord, reached out and tugged on his sleeve (close enough to feel the warmth coming from his skin). "Hello, I'm lost..."
And he stopped, cocking his head to the side and giving her a crooked, boyish smile. "And where might you be headin', me lass?" An Irish accent, exaggerated, and she felt... easy, free.
"The Transfiguration classroom," she told him, her voice almost shy rather than cool and haughty. She wasn't his 'lass', really. But he was the first person who stopped for her that day.
"Ah, come with me," he told her, taking her small hand in his larger one in a rather frank and impulsive manner, leading her down the right path with sure-footed steps. "I'm Seamus Finnigan, by the way."
"Seamus Finnigan," she repeated, trying to emulate the lilt that his voice had put into the name. He grinned at her, leading her around a corner.
The passed three statues, five suits of armour and seven doors before he came to a stop. Pointing to the name engraved on a placard overhead, he read aloud. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration. Right here, then, Miss..."
"Dobbs," she whispered, giving him a genuine smile, "Emma Dobbs."
"Charmed to meet a charming lady," he jokingly bowed over her small white hand, before releasing her and stepping back. "Good luck, Emma."
And then he was gone, striding down the hall and Emma stepped silently into the classroom, taking a seat next to a sour-looking Cecilia Pyre.
His surname wasn't one of the pureblood clans.
But his hand had been warm, and his voice had been kind.
She was too young to want to kill him yet, anyway. It wasn't too wrong if no one knew, right?
As Professor McGonagall walked into the classroom and shut the door, Emma glanced at the Transfiguration teacher and smiled to herself.
So Gryffindor was a houseful of hotheaded, arrogant heroes.
But there was at least one instance of redemption. She was lucky to have found him. It must mean something rather special, really, but she would think about it later.
Disclaimer: The day that I gain ownership of HP characters is infamous for a completely different reason, one explained in the Book of Revelations in the Bible.
~*~
It was rather unfair, she figured, that despite being able to trace her bloodline back to sterling purity for fifteen generations, she was just like any other first year now. On equal grounds with the most filthy of the Mudbloods and lost, small in the hallway and unsure of where to go.
The hallway. Many hallways. Stairs that did not like to stay put and did not obey her orders. Students flitting back and forth with no cessation, no care.
And where was the Transfiguration classroom anyway?
She had become separated from her Housemates after breakfast, taking the time to write an owl back to her parents that she had made it into Slytherin, and with every passing second, ominous tickings like a death watch beetle, she was more and more small against the wall, eyes wide, uncertain.
Where was she to turn?
Missing class was unheard of in her family. There were expectations that she had to fulfill. Despite the rabble of plebeians filling the school, she was a student, and a Dobbs was perfect in his or her purity.
Purity couldn't save her now.
She meandered hopelessly down the hallway, her small face pale and frozen into a blank mask (show no emotions, because you have none). No, that room could not be the Transfiguration classroom... there were cauldrons and Hufflepuffs in there. Must be a dangerous combination. But there were so many places that she could go, and none of the right, and this proud pureblooded Slytherin was but a child now, back to the wall and eyes trying to find the right way.
And then another student, taller than her, sandy hair and easy smiles and a garish red and gold tie, stepped into her path, looking down at her inquisitively. "Hello."
She was not to associate with riff-raff. That was Rule #1.
He was almost about to step past her when her hand, as if of its own accord, reached out and tugged on his sleeve (close enough to feel the warmth coming from his skin). "Hello, I'm lost..."
And he stopped, cocking his head to the side and giving her a crooked, boyish smile. "And where might you be headin', me lass?" An Irish accent, exaggerated, and she felt... easy, free.
"The Transfiguration classroom," she told him, her voice almost shy rather than cool and haughty. She wasn't his 'lass', really. But he was the first person who stopped for her that day.
"Ah, come with me," he told her, taking her small hand in his larger one in a rather frank and impulsive manner, leading her down the right path with sure-footed steps. "I'm Seamus Finnigan, by the way."
"Seamus Finnigan," she repeated, trying to emulate the lilt that his voice had put into the name. He grinned at her, leading her around a corner.
The passed three statues, five suits of armour and seven doors before he came to a stop. Pointing to the name engraved on a placard overhead, he read aloud. "Professor Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration. Right here, then, Miss..."
"Dobbs," she whispered, giving him a genuine smile, "Emma Dobbs."
"Charmed to meet a charming lady," he jokingly bowed over her small white hand, before releasing her and stepping back. "Good luck, Emma."
And then he was gone, striding down the hall and Emma stepped silently into the classroom, taking a seat next to a sour-looking Cecilia Pyre.
His surname wasn't one of the pureblood clans.
But his hand had been warm, and his voice had been kind.
She was too young to want to kill him yet, anyway. It wasn't too wrong if no one knew, right?
As Professor McGonagall walked into the classroom and shut the door, Emma glanced at the Transfiguration teacher and smiled to herself.
So Gryffindor was a houseful of hotheaded, arrogant heroes.
But there was at least one instance of redemption. She was lucky to have found him. It must mean something rather special, really, but she would think about it later.