8. Where dreams went to die

I feel terrible.

Neville feels terrible, too, I suppose. We've been avoiding each other at Hogwarts, and after class I couldn't bring myself to go to the Leaky, but instead found myself wandering about, eventually entering Three Broomsticks. Hannah would have my head if she knew I had betrayed the patronage of the Leaky, but then again, how would she know? There are two kinds of people in the wizarding world, those who go the Leaky and those who go to the Three Broomsticks.

I enter cowled, just in case. And I find just the man I was looking for.

He is enormous, and his back is threatening to tear through his Auror uniform. There are rumors that even on his off days Seamus drinks at the Three Broomsticks until his wife Susan leaves the house. Seamus smiles, and it's always jowly. He looks haggard, and I can see a couple of strands of white hair in his short crop. I don't know whence he's been so huge, but Seamus has arms as thick as my thighs and everything about him screams 'all meat'. A platter of sausages spread before him with a large pint of beer that shimmers sweatly, begging me to take a swig. But it's a week day and I had promised Victoire to look up her personal project early in the morning.

"You don' have to worry about Lavender's family pursuin' you, hon." Seamus's accent has grown thicker and thicker each year. He looks like he doesn't even try to get his meaning across sometimes. "It's jus that Giselle gal is up to her neck. She's callin up the ministry sayin tha Harry's coverin yer ass, and it's a conspiracy."

My finger swims through the nut bowl. It's greasier than the ones Hannah keeps, and I withdraw an odd little fellow that seems to be covered in a mild coat of nut dust.

"Well," I shrug, "public opinion is not something anyone can change on their own. I'm just curious how the investigation is going."

Seamus is scratching his head, fidgeting.

"I've been through the memory you've supplied to the station's pensieve, and compared it with that of Giselle's," Seamus stifles a yawn, "and it's clear that neither of you killed Lav, if that's what yer askin. Both of you witnessed her death after runnin in from the hallway."

"Any clues to who might have?" It's been nearly a month since the murder and I had hoped for more than just hearing a confirmation of what I already knew.

"Lav had security measures," Seamus frowns, "some of the best. But the only ones there were you and Giselle. Dean was thinkin it might be suicide."

Seamus is a horrible liar. It was obvious that he also thought it was suicide.

"I heard people arguing, Seamus," I am exasperated, "she was chasing someone out of the room, before I entered."

"Yeah," Seamus looks away, then gulps down his beer before looking back at me square. "As I've said, Parvati, I've been through the Pensieve that I've practically memorised everything that's been collected. We have absolutely nothin."

"What about Lav's wand?"

"It was missin." Seamus mumbles. "Look Parvati, it's all I can tell you. Just leave it at that, okay? Lav's buried and laid to rest. The family isn't after you, and I'm sure once Giselle grows to noisy, we'll clamp down on her or somethin."

"Not that I like Giselle or anything, but it's that..."

"For her own protection," Seamus smirks and empties his mug. "Public opinion ain't so forgivin when you rant against Harry for too long."

"Neville," I finally say. "Neville called me a murderer the other day."

Seamus barks a laughter so loud that he garners attention of the usually uninterested crowd. I'm terrified that eyes are suddenly turning our way, but Seamus hardly notices.

"Neville's an idiot," Seamus pops a nut into his mouth. "He wasn't much of a sharp Auror back when, and he didn't quit the Force just because of 'his love of Herbology'."

"I thought he was this really big Auror guy," I am mildly surprised.

"Neville wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed even back then. He never had the street smarts, always just a bit book smart, and only when it interested him."

I suppose Neville was like that. I recall back in the day how he had earned Gryffindor points by stubbornly trying to stop Harry Potter from sneaking out at night.

"You think a guy like our Neville," Seamus grinned, but I detect a bit of resentment on his part as well, "the square and by-the-books guy would cut it as an Auror? He's more square than Hermione. At least Hermione had Harry and Ron to let her see the flip side of the world. Well, he ain't no Harry Potter, our Neville."

"It's funny how Harry's no longer an Auror as well," I shrug.

"Who says he ain't?" Seamus winks at me. Then in sotto voce, he leans in closer, "Harry was born to be an Auror. He's so good at being an Auror that the Auror office can't even handle him. They just have to deny that Harry's involved once in a while, since he's so bloody famous."

Harry Potter. I haven't thought about Harry Potter as a human being for a long time. But Seamus, with Dean, had remained with the Aurors for so long, and no doubt close to Harry.

"But he's so... he's so..." I can't even grasp the magnitude of the person that had once bumbled about with me at the Yule Ball.

"He's larger than life, our Harry," Seamus wistfully smiles. "Yeah, he's so friggin rich that he's richer than Ron, despite not having to sell little magic gadgets. He's so good at his job that the Auror Command flatly denies that he's involved in all those sneaky sneaky things they need him to do; and he does them alone. He's the single most powerful Wizard I have ever seen, and we've all seen Dumbledore and You-Know-Who."

Seamus had not been the greatest fan of Harry's Fame back at Hogwarts. But now I see he is truly respectful of the Chosen One.

"The best thing about Harry," Seamus gulps down his beer, looking up as though he's been fulfilled. "is that he loves what he does. That's what I think keeps him going. Returning again and again to the Auror Command, despite his obvious need not to earn money, risk his neck, yadda yadda yadda. That is Harry, Parvati. And I am bloody proud to have served with the best of them."

Seamus's words are Harry seeps in, less hurtful or jealous than before. You take the good with the bad, and you can't make everyone like you. For every Harry Potter there was bound to be someone like Seamus and I in the shadows. But while Seamus was inspired by Harry, I let it mire me down. Why did I let it mire me down like that. I just say that life wasn't what I hoped it would be. Seamus is a better person than I. It takes a while to let reality and expectations come to terms. And though his marriage isn't in the best of places, Seamus has a fervent love of his work that I had found lacking in me for quite some time.

"Quidditch World Cup on the horizon," Seamus beams expectantly.

"Oh?"

"All of Dumbledore's Army have been invited by Kingsley to sit in the VIP box with him."

"Oh?"

"Haven't you got the Owl, yet?" Seamus fishes his pocket for his tab. "It'll be like a class reunion."

The Tri Wizards and pre-holiday exams were too much on my mind, lately, to say nothing of Lavender and Neville and Sprout. I am suddenly gripped with terror.

Seamus gets up and flips a ten Galleon at the Barkeep.

"See ya round, hon," Seamus waves, "don't worry. I'm sure we'll have something turn up."

Victoire Weasley is apologetic, as she sheepishly apologizes that her mother wanted someone else to supervise her in Charms for the Tri-Wizard.

Neville has taken Teddy Lupin as his protege to compete for the Tri-Wizard, and is building grooming him to be his "Star Pupil". I have yet to present a Star Pupil to Sprout, and my hope that Victoire would be it is dashed. She said her mother has asked her Beaubatons mentor to personally come over to the Weasley estate to oversee her training, and that she would have to skip classes leading up to the Tournament. I don't mind.

I see Victoire bow curtly, in all sincerity, and walk out the door.

I used to be passionate about something, but where did that evaporate to? Have I just become a big ball of jealousy? Is that what drives my life? I am again thrown into disappointment about myself. Again, I feel like I am back at Slughorn's.

"What is this?" Slughorn looks at my research proposal. I had spent a couple of days running through the literature, combing over the recent development in charms. I had to postpone Blaise's birthday party, and Blaise was kindly understanding. which hurt more. But there I had finished my proposal with a modicum amount of expectation that Slughorn would be surprise, please, and even look at me in a new light.

And he's holding up my proposal with his fingers, as though he didn't want to defile his desk with it.

"It's a novel method of identifying latent magical signatures in common Muggle items-" I try to explain with relish, noticing that with each word out of my mouth Slughorn's expression sours.

"I asked you, Girl," he says, sounding patient, oh so infinitely patient, "to conjure up a simple proposal for the Malfoys."

"Sir," I try to explain, perhaps he hadn't got the gist of it, "this method is an entirely new way to do things. You know how the most frequent accident in mass producing Magical artefacts is that the object of enchantment unwittingly has a -"

"Are you trying to teach me, Girl?" Slughorn looks at me with mock surprise. "Are you so bloody daft that you can't even handle a simple proposal? Do I have to put it to words, so it can get through to your thick head? I want a proposal that can be easily managed, so I can divert the rest of the funds for setting up the Weasley project."

"Sir," I feel the blood drain from my head, "I thought-"

"I didn't hire you to think, Girl," Slughorn snaps. "I hired you because you were Harry Potter's friend at Hogwarts. You're here to be nice to Ronald Weasley and Draco Malfoy, not here to bloody THINK!"

He ends it in a scream.

That day I quit. Who am I kidding? That that I took the day off, drank myself silly in my room. Blaise asked me again to quit my job. We had a fight. Again. Blaise left a few days later. And I returned to work for the Slug, as though nothing had happened. So, where is my passion for the things I love, Seamus? I think I let it whither away in my heart somewhere. To fetch it back, I have to wade through a ton of dead bodies that had accumulated over it. The dead body of a happy life with Blaise, a dead body of a scholar of Charms, a dead body of living my own life is all piled over my dream that I left there.

I fought for my dreams back then, and I think I lost.