A/N: Er, yes. I've been exceedingly busy, so forgive the lack of update
til now. Real life DOES come before ficcing, you know. In any case,
Seamus and Emma finally meet in this chapter! Fun stuff, no? The usual
acknowledgements must be given. A lot of thanks to Sky, Kayleigh and
Kimmie. You all rock the casbah!
Disclaimer: No amount of hour-whoring at work will bring me enough money to own HP.
Seamus Finnigan frustratedly raked a hand through his dirty blond hair and scowled at no one in particular.
Damn the blasted war and the fallout afterwards, anyway.
It had been seven years since the end of the war. Since Harry had won, and the Dark Lord had fallen for all time. And the war, like a lingering disease, still poisoned the air and the people that remained alive.
He remembered those days when he was a boy, and his mam would forbid him from joining in the gangs with the Muggle neighbor boys. And he never quite understood why, or why she kept it a strict secret from any of his father's friends that she was a witch.
Then one day there had been a hush-hush sort of dreariness over the town, and the son of Mr. McGowan, the next-door neighbor, didn't come out to cavort with his friends, and Seamus overheard his mother and father whispering that young Paddy McGowan's religion had been his doom.
Hogwarts would certainly be better, he thought.
The first year brought a possessed teacher, the second a Basilisk that tried to exterminate all the Muggleborns, and the third an escaped murderer of Muggles. The fourth had been the start of the killings, and the war hadn't even broken out yet.
And now...
He'd been Herbology partners with Megan Jones. He'd played Quidditch against Terry Boot. He'd exchanged insults in the hallways with Tracey Davis, and with the other first-years on the train, admired Lee Jordan's tarantula. Would he have done more... seen more, had he known what would happen to them?
Magic didn't make any of those problems go away, really. If anything, they were worse, even more complicated here.
Shutting his thoughts off with a click, he reached over his desk for the half-empty, lukewarm cup of coffee and poured in as much sugar as could possibly dissolve in the inky brown liquid.
The elusive Mrs. Jugson was still nowhere to be found. No relatives, no in-laws, and from the looks of it, she had lost contact with her school friends after her marriage.
And it just happened to be the case that parts of the house were inaccessible without the presence of Master or Mistress, as one of the cringing house-elves, imbibed with yet more truth potion, squeakily confessed.
"Bloody wonderful," he growled to Susannah afterwards. "So... no amount of blasting will break those spells?"
"I'd like to state that Murphy, of the infamous Murphy's Laws, was an ornery Irishman just like you," Susannah replied calmly. "So don't go raging at ME."
There was no living with Slytherin women, he decided darkly. Snarky, wily, holier-than-thou bints who loved to make his life miserable.
"Before you express any amazement on the topic, Montague put up with me as a partner because he was a Slytherin like myself and didn't have your Gryffindor allergy towards non-perky, non-peppy girls."
Seamus was forced to content himself with saying a few choice words under his breath and check through previous case files to get an idea of what hidden, unholy house a woman like Mrs. Jugson might be secreted away in.
"They tend to go either into the Muggle world, in which case a visit to the Muggle police might be necessary, or brothels, or occasionally back to their families or somewhere else they might feel safe while they find a way to get back their independence," Seamus set down his papers.
"Well. We'll save the Muggle world option for last, and investigate the other possibilities first," Susannah said sensibly. "Is she the type of girl to go into the world's oldest profession?"
"I wouldn't bet on it," he muttered. In his memory, Susan Bones had been a sweet-faced, bright-eyed Hufflepuff girl who liked Charms and chocolate chip cookies. Had probably been the pride and joy of her family, too.
"So... she's either slipped into the Muggle world, or found a place to stay. But she has no family or connections."
"There's GOT to be some sort of place that she could stay in."
Susan woke up in a warm bed in a strange room, smaller and less opulent than... Stuart's. The coverlet on the bed was thick and warm, a heavy duvet with an Egyptian cotton cover that had a pattern of pale green ivy leaves on a cream-coloured background. The whole room was done in shades of green, in fact, from the mint-green muslin frills at the window to the mossy dark carpeting. On a padded wooden chair by a small escritoire, there was a set of sensible dark robes, neatly folded.
Hannah had kept up a steady stream of warm, friendly chatter as they had gone from the sitting room of Pallas House to this room, two nights ago, and finally, in the weak light of the candle that she'd set on the nightstand, she had given Susan a clean flannel nightdress. Susan hadn't really gotten a chance to explore until now.
For two days, she hadn't ventured out, sleeping away the weariness and chill from the broom-flight, with House-Elves silently delivering her meals and medicinal potions. A mediwitch, too, had visited. Padma Patil hadn't asked too many questions, since she was reserved by nature and moreover, had seen it all before. Last night, after an inspection, the Indian woman had given her a small smile and told her that she was well.
At that moment, there was a soft knock on her door, and through the wood, she could hear Hannah's cheerful voice. "Susan? You awake?"
"Yes, yes I am," Susan pulled the door open to admit the other woman. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Hannah smiled at her. "I hope you had a nice night's sleep?"
Susan nodded, and Hannah stepped into the room with an ingenuous smile on her face. The blonde held out a bouquet of pink flowers with a friendly grin.
"Carnations," Hannah told her. "Thought you could use some decoration in here." She busied herself arranging them in one of the water-glasses sitting on a shelf. Susan perfunctorily got dressed in the robes laid out for her.
"So," Hannah, finished with her posies, turned towards her former roommate, "Will you come down to breakfast?"
Susan gazed about curiously as she followed Hannah down the hallway and descended the stairs. Pallas House by day seemed to be almost like a boarding house, with rows of rooms with gilt numbers and letters on the doors, properly and carefully maintained. There wasn't anything too grandiose or even very stately, though the diligent maintenance and good quality of the furnishings gave the rooms a very polished look nonetheless.
"We've many women of all ages here, and even a few children," Hannah told her. "Miss Dobbs runs this place, really... everyone was surprised that she took the inheritance that she'd gotten after the war to build this place, of all things. She's the one who makes all the arrangements, but we help organise and spend time with the people who stay here."
They had entered the dining room then, and Susan's eyes widened a bit to see at least two dozen other women there, seated together at a long, covered table that reminded her of a section of the Hogwarts Great Hall, though less homogenized. She smiled a bit uneasily, but a petite woman made room for her, and she sat down, a heaping plateful of eggs, toast, bacon and waffles immediately appearing in front of her.
Emma Dobbs, the founder of it all, was nowhere to be seen.
The dining room was in the back of the house, and therefore, the occupants had no idea of the altercation brewing by the front door.
A tall, glowering man with sandy blond hair was glaring down at a petite brunette woman, who returned his scowl full-force. "You don't seem to understand, Miss Dobbs," Seamus said in a clipped tone. "I. NEED. To see Mrs. Jugson. This is for her protection."
"And YOU don't seem to understand that this isn't a good time," Emma snapped at him, blue eyes full of icy fury. "She is PROTECTED here!"
"We have apprehended her husband, and his lawyers will, I assure you, do EVERYTHING in their power to free him. We need her testimony, and moreover, there are parts of his home that only he or she could access." Seamus glared at the foolish girl, his hands clenched at his sides.
Emma stared at him in disbelief. "Am I not speaking in perfectly clear English? Do you REALIZE, Mr. Finnigan, that when she arrived here, she'd been riding through the rain for HOURS? Bruised and battered, and that for the past two days, she'd been confined to her room to recover? If you think that for one MOMENT, I would allow some uncouth Irish git to drag her about through interrogations and unwelcome memories of the past, to her old HOUSE no less, you're vastly and terribly mistaken."
"I could have you arrested," Seamus told her, his jaw tightening in frustration.
"And no one opens the doors of Pallas House without my permission, so you'd still not get anything you wanted," Emma replied coldly. "I'm not harbouring a fugitive, Mr. Finnigan. I'm merely telling you that Susan Jugson is not going to leave this place today."
"Just let me speak to her!"
"You don't know what it's like, Finnigan," her voice was soft and pained, and he felt an odd sort of twinge in his chest. "You don't see it." But only for a moment, before Emma straightened and raised her chin. "Good day, Mr. Finnigan."
And with that, she inexorably and quickly shut the door in his face.
He stared in disbelief for a moment at the oak panel, before storming down the steps. "You haven't seen the last of me, Miss Dobbs," he muttered to himself.
Surely he'd find a way to wear her down and make her see reason.
Disclaimer: No amount of hour-whoring at work will bring me enough money to own HP.
Seamus Finnigan frustratedly raked a hand through his dirty blond hair and scowled at no one in particular.
Damn the blasted war and the fallout afterwards, anyway.
It had been seven years since the end of the war. Since Harry had won, and the Dark Lord had fallen for all time. And the war, like a lingering disease, still poisoned the air and the people that remained alive.
He remembered those days when he was a boy, and his mam would forbid him from joining in the gangs with the Muggle neighbor boys. And he never quite understood why, or why she kept it a strict secret from any of his father's friends that she was a witch.
Then one day there had been a hush-hush sort of dreariness over the town, and the son of Mr. McGowan, the next-door neighbor, didn't come out to cavort with his friends, and Seamus overheard his mother and father whispering that young Paddy McGowan's religion had been his doom.
Hogwarts would certainly be better, he thought.
The first year brought a possessed teacher, the second a Basilisk that tried to exterminate all the Muggleborns, and the third an escaped murderer of Muggles. The fourth had been the start of the killings, and the war hadn't even broken out yet.
And now...
He'd been Herbology partners with Megan Jones. He'd played Quidditch against Terry Boot. He'd exchanged insults in the hallways with Tracey Davis, and with the other first-years on the train, admired Lee Jordan's tarantula. Would he have done more... seen more, had he known what would happen to them?
Magic didn't make any of those problems go away, really. If anything, they were worse, even more complicated here.
Shutting his thoughts off with a click, he reached over his desk for the half-empty, lukewarm cup of coffee and poured in as much sugar as could possibly dissolve in the inky brown liquid.
The elusive Mrs. Jugson was still nowhere to be found. No relatives, no in-laws, and from the looks of it, she had lost contact with her school friends after her marriage.
And it just happened to be the case that parts of the house were inaccessible without the presence of Master or Mistress, as one of the cringing house-elves, imbibed with yet more truth potion, squeakily confessed.
"Bloody wonderful," he growled to Susannah afterwards. "So... no amount of blasting will break those spells?"
"I'd like to state that Murphy, of the infamous Murphy's Laws, was an ornery Irishman just like you," Susannah replied calmly. "So don't go raging at ME."
There was no living with Slytherin women, he decided darkly. Snarky, wily, holier-than-thou bints who loved to make his life miserable.
"Before you express any amazement on the topic, Montague put up with me as a partner because he was a Slytherin like myself and didn't have your Gryffindor allergy towards non-perky, non-peppy girls."
Seamus was forced to content himself with saying a few choice words under his breath and check through previous case files to get an idea of what hidden, unholy house a woman like Mrs. Jugson might be secreted away in.
"They tend to go either into the Muggle world, in which case a visit to the Muggle police might be necessary, or brothels, or occasionally back to their families or somewhere else they might feel safe while they find a way to get back their independence," Seamus set down his papers.
"Well. We'll save the Muggle world option for last, and investigate the other possibilities first," Susannah said sensibly. "Is she the type of girl to go into the world's oldest profession?"
"I wouldn't bet on it," he muttered. In his memory, Susan Bones had been a sweet-faced, bright-eyed Hufflepuff girl who liked Charms and chocolate chip cookies. Had probably been the pride and joy of her family, too.
"So... she's either slipped into the Muggle world, or found a place to stay. But she has no family or connections."
"There's GOT to be some sort of place that she could stay in."
Susan woke up in a warm bed in a strange room, smaller and less opulent than... Stuart's. The coverlet on the bed was thick and warm, a heavy duvet with an Egyptian cotton cover that had a pattern of pale green ivy leaves on a cream-coloured background. The whole room was done in shades of green, in fact, from the mint-green muslin frills at the window to the mossy dark carpeting. On a padded wooden chair by a small escritoire, there was a set of sensible dark robes, neatly folded.
Hannah had kept up a steady stream of warm, friendly chatter as they had gone from the sitting room of Pallas House to this room, two nights ago, and finally, in the weak light of the candle that she'd set on the nightstand, she had given Susan a clean flannel nightdress. Susan hadn't really gotten a chance to explore until now.
For two days, she hadn't ventured out, sleeping away the weariness and chill from the broom-flight, with House-Elves silently delivering her meals and medicinal potions. A mediwitch, too, had visited. Padma Patil hadn't asked too many questions, since she was reserved by nature and moreover, had seen it all before. Last night, after an inspection, the Indian woman had given her a small smile and told her that she was well.
At that moment, there was a soft knock on her door, and through the wood, she could hear Hannah's cheerful voice. "Susan? You awake?"
"Yes, yes I am," Susan pulled the door open to admit the other woman. "Good morning."
"Good morning," Hannah smiled at her. "I hope you had a nice night's sleep?"
Susan nodded, and Hannah stepped into the room with an ingenuous smile on her face. The blonde held out a bouquet of pink flowers with a friendly grin.
"Carnations," Hannah told her. "Thought you could use some decoration in here." She busied herself arranging them in one of the water-glasses sitting on a shelf. Susan perfunctorily got dressed in the robes laid out for her.
"So," Hannah, finished with her posies, turned towards her former roommate, "Will you come down to breakfast?"
Susan gazed about curiously as she followed Hannah down the hallway and descended the stairs. Pallas House by day seemed to be almost like a boarding house, with rows of rooms with gilt numbers and letters on the doors, properly and carefully maintained. There wasn't anything too grandiose or even very stately, though the diligent maintenance and good quality of the furnishings gave the rooms a very polished look nonetheless.
"We've many women of all ages here, and even a few children," Hannah told her. "Miss Dobbs runs this place, really... everyone was surprised that she took the inheritance that she'd gotten after the war to build this place, of all things. She's the one who makes all the arrangements, but we help organise and spend time with the people who stay here."
They had entered the dining room then, and Susan's eyes widened a bit to see at least two dozen other women there, seated together at a long, covered table that reminded her of a section of the Hogwarts Great Hall, though less homogenized. She smiled a bit uneasily, but a petite woman made room for her, and she sat down, a heaping plateful of eggs, toast, bacon and waffles immediately appearing in front of her.
Emma Dobbs, the founder of it all, was nowhere to be seen.
The dining room was in the back of the house, and therefore, the occupants had no idea of the altercation brewing by the front door.
A tall, glowering man with sandy blond hair was glaring down at a petite brunette woman, who returned his scowl full-force. "You don't seem to understand, Miss Dobbs," Seamus said in a clipped tone. "I. NEED. To see Mrs. Jugson. This is for her protection."
"And YOU don't seem to understand that this isn't a good time," Emma snapped at him, blue eyes full of icy fury. "She is PROTECTED here!"
"We have apprehended her husband, and his lawyers will, I assure you, do EVERYTHING in their power to free him. We need her testimony, and moreover, there are parts of his home that only he or she could access." Seamus glared at the foolish girl, his hands clenched at his sides.
Emma stared at him in disbelief. "Am I not speaking in perfectly clear English? Do you REALIZE, Mr. Finnigan, that when she arrived here, she'd been riding through the rain for HOURS? Bruised and battered, and that for the past two days, she'd been confined to her room to recover? If you think that for one MOMENT, I would allow some uncouth Irish git to drag her about through interrogations and unwelcome memories of the past, to her old HOUSE no less, you're vastly and terribly mistaken."
"I could have you arrested," Seamus told her, his jaw tightening in frustration.
"And no one opens the doors of Pallas House without my permission, so you'd still not get anything you wanted," Emma replied coldly. "I'm not harbouring a fugitive, Mr. Finnigan. I'm merely telling you that Susan Jugson is not going to leave this place today."
"Just let me speak to her!"
"You don't know what it's like, Finnigan," her voice was soft and pained, and he felt an odd sort of twinge in his chest. "You don't see it." But only for a moment, before Emma straightened and raised her chin. "Good day, Mr. Finnigan."
And with that, she inexorably and quickly shut the door in his face.
He stared in disbelief for a moment at the oak panel, before storming down the steps. "You haven't seen the last of me, Miss Dobbs," he muttered to himself.
Surely he'd find a way to wear her down and make her see reason.