Chapter Text
Seams found it difficult to concentrate on his schoolwork. All the words swam across his vision, dancing and swirling and causing his head to ache. He knew that lack of sleep was an issue, but every time he walked into the dormitory, glares were hammered into his skull.
He scowled at the thought. Harry always thought he had special privilege because he ‘defeated’ You-Know-Who when he was a baby (there was part of Seamus that didn’t even believe that). Everyone had been thinking it, Seamus had just been the one to say it out loud.
(The look on Harry’s face had made him falter a bit.)
His mum had been worried, which was a first, as sometimes (most of the time) she was slightly (very) drunk. She rarely acknowledged Seamus, so her concern for him overruled any guilt he felt. He hadn’t been kidding when he said that his father had a nasty shock, so nasty that he left a few days later and returned drunk. But he had been worried as well, so Seamus accepted their concerns and pushed back any feelings on the topic.
Ron hated him now. Which was weird as he had hated Harry last year, during the tournament and Seamus had been more focused on wooing some French girls to pay much attention. Neville just ignored him, which wasn’t unusual, he had always been weird. But Dean, who was still his friend, was on his side.
But he was pretending.
It was obvious he wasn’t on his side, if the mean glances and angry scowls that were directed at him when they thought he wasn’t watching was anything to go by. Seamus and Dean had always been close, with Seamus meeting Dean for the first time on the platform.
And Seamus falling in love with him.
But Dean liked Ginny, so Seamus settled with being his friend. It was ending much sooner than he would’ve liked.
Slamming his potions book closed with an angry thud, Seamus rested his forehead against the desk. It was hard to admit, but Seamus had always had trouble making friends. An angry Irish boy who caused accidental explosions when stressed. Dean had been his only loyal friend.
And now he was gone.
It was lonely.
He left the library shortly afterwards, racing down the corridors. Hogwarts, usually quite warm seemed very cold suddenly. There were echoes of conversations warping around him like wind, brushing against his skin and sinking into his flesh.
“Well, what do we have here? Seamus Finnigan all on his lonesome.” It was Justin, the stupid, blond Hufflepuff who also didn’t believe that you-know-who was back. Seamus hated him.
“Fuck off.”
Justin leaned closer, “Is it true that you don’t hang out with the Gryffindors anymore?”
Seamus scowled, “So what?”
“Just thought that you’d like to know that we’d love to have you in our group,” Justin shrugged, like the offer of friendship wasn’t amazing.
To be honest, Seamus has never really talked to anyone outside his house before, and right now, that might be what he needs. Hufflepuffs were the friendly house, right? And they weren’t push-overs if Cedric Diggory had been anything to go by (although he’s dead, so he might not count.)
“Yeah, alright,” Seamus said, trying to play it off.
Justin squinted at him through slanted eyed before grinning again, “Great, we’ll be in the library, whenever you want to come.”
Seamus walked with him. The silence was awkward, which was weird because Seamus would’ve thought that a Hufflepuff knew how to make small talk. It was also slightly awkward because he had just left the library.
He settled down at the table, sinking slightly into his chair as the other students stared at him. No one spoke to him, whispering quietly to themselves and looking at him.
“What?” He snapped quietly.
Ernie glanced at him before grinning, “Why aren’t you with your Gryffindorks?”
“Because Justin invited me,” he replied.
Justin hid a smile behind his hand and Susan giggled. Hannah rolled her eyes and huffed, “Ignore them.” Seamus awkwardly nodded back.
Over the next couple of hours, Seamus learnt to things. 1) The loyalty and fairness that the hat spoke about? Only for the friends of Hufflepuffs, and 2) Honesty was brutally honest, like Slytherin honest, but about everything. It wasn’t cute badgers and rainbows; it was more like honey badgers (very violent) and rainstorms.
At first, Seamus liked it. They spent a lot of the time bitching over Snape and Potter and Umbridge, but then the conversation shifted. It shifted to racism (apparently Zachariah Smith really hated muggleborns and half-bloods, kind of like Malfoy) and apparently Justin’s parents had been some of those who had written about Lupin being a werewolf. To conclude, they all seemed like dicks.
Seamus missed Dean. Seamus missed Neville and Ron. Seamus even missed Harry. And he couldn’t replace them with these people. Not with these people, who are only loyal to those who are loyal to them, those who value honesty, even if painful, and fair play, even if it means losing the war.
Also, yellow really wasn’t his colour.
Looking around at their bright, expectant faces, Seamus couldn’t help but feel like he was letting them down. And he hated it. He had no obligation to them, he wanted friends. He thought they wanted that too, until-
“So, we were wondering if you could spy on the Slytherin and Ravenclaw quidditch teams for us.” Ernie said, leaning in slightly, “Ever since Cedric died, our new captain, Robert Queaty, has been pulling out all the stocks.”
“And, you think I’d do that because?” Seamus couldn’t help but ask.
Justin rolled his eyes, “You hate Malfoy, we hate Chang. Win- win if they lose.”
Seamus frowned, “You don’t hate Malfoy?”
“He’s a right tosser,” a boy named Joel said, “but, a useful one. His daddy’s got money, which, if you make the right deal, can get you anything.”
“You like Malfoy because he’s got money,” Seamus said, eyebrows raised.
Danielle snorted, “The ponce doesn’t realise, of course.”
Seamus couldn’t help but feel bad for Malfoy in that moment. “Chang?”
“Right old slut that one,” Susan said, “We all think that she spelled Cedric into loving her. She’s a slag.”
“Right.” Seamus awkwardly muttered.
He didn’t know what was happening and felt a building panic in his chest. He looked around anxiously and saw Anthony Goldstein, from Ravenclaw at a separate table, paper did spread out around him, reading it all frantically.
“Hey look,” he said standing up, “there’s Anthony, I’m going to go say hi.”
He shuffled awkwardly over towards the Ravenclaws. They shifted their books to make room for him. Sitting down, he couldn’t help but feel stupid. None of them had spoken to him yet, but the silence felt stifling and condescending.
Since none of them were talking, Seamus decided to keep his head down and get on with some work. The only sound that surrounded them was the constant scratching of quills and soft huffs of frustration. Working on his potions essay, Seamus felt self-conscious of his writing, the weird spindly letters looking more and more stupid compared to the neat calligraphy of Lisa Turpin.
“Does anyone know what the correct temperature of Pepper-up potion needs to be?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
No-one looked up but they all simultaneously answered, “Thirty-five degrees.”
“Cool.” He muttered as the table descended back into silence.
There was a scoff of disgust from someone, and Seamus felt the back of his neck flush in embarrassment. He ducked his head and continued to work silently, glancing back at the Hufflepuff table, but found they had left.
Seamus felt something bitter well up in the pit of his stomach and suddenly, he couldn’t stand to sit at the silent table. He got up and left.
The Ravenclaw’s didn’t look up.
The next day, Seamus sat down at the table again. The Ravenclaw’s continued writing but they muttered a greeting to him. Seamus felt something warm-up in his body and he had to bite down a grin.
It was still silent whilst they worked, but not as stilted and awkward as before. There was now a warmth to the table that hadn’t been there before, and Seamus found himself embarrassingly excited about it. After a while with still no talking, Seamus began to get restless.
He twitched. Terry glared at him, flipping over the page of his textbook and continued writing. Seamus scowled down at the table before slowly nudging Lisa Turpin. She looked up as well, pouted slightly, biting her lip between her teeth, and fluttered her eyelashes.
“Yes?” she whispered, twirling a brown strand of hair.
Seamus felt bad for what he was about to say. Lisa seemed nice enough, but Seamus was not interested. She was leaning against him slightly, breath hot and wet against his neck. Seamus leant back slightly.
“What’s the correct order in becoming an Animagus? Is it the spell and then the potion, or the other way?”
Lisa reared back and glared at him, before muttering, “Spell every day, sunrise and set leading up to the potion.”
“Thanks,” Seamus said back. They all glared at him.
They didn’t make room for him the next day.
Seamus was wandering the halls of Hogwarts like one of the ghosts. No one glanced his way, no greetings or smiles. He saw Har- Potter walking down the corridor, Ron and Hermione flanking him with piercing glares.
He looks tired, Seamus thought to himself. He caught Ha- Potter’s eye and took in the growing bags.
Seamus had been casting a silencing charm over his bed every night to avoid conversations with his dormmates, not that any of them tried to talk to him anymore.
Potter glared at him, so Seamus glared right back. There was something bitter in Seamus’s throat as the trio disappeared around the corner. There was a familiar rage bubbling in his stomach as Dean and Neville walked by without looking at him, heads together.
Harry Potter is a twat, Seamus thought, now that everyone knows he’s a liar he isn’t getting away with anything. No more rule-breaking that seem to vanish, oh mighty Chosen One. When all this is over, we’ll see who deserves it.
“Why are you crying?” a voice said from next to him, deep and silky.
“I’m not crying, Zabini,” Seamus said without turning around, quickly wiping his eyes.
Someone scoffed and Seamus hunched down. “You know we can see you wiping your eyes, right?”
Seamus turned around and glared at Greengrass, before staring. They were all here; Zabini, Parkinson, Malfoy, Greengrass and Nott. Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode stood further away. They were all watching him curiously (and slightly disdainfully, but Seamus had learnt to ignore it).
One of Malfoy’s eyebrows had disappeared into his hair- which was much better now that he wasn’t gelling it back, not that Seamus would admit it. “Right,” he drawled out, “I’m not going to ask if you’re okay because, quite frankly, I don’t care. I am, however, going to ask if you need someone to rant to, because you look like you’re about to catch on fire.”
He was caught so off-guard by the comment that Seamus forgot what he was angry about. He let out some unintelligible mumbles and stammered out a quick agreement. Malfoy looked like he regretted asking.
Parkinson snorted before turning and strutting down the corridor with a grinning Greengrass following behind, Malfoy and Zabini swaggered and sauntered respectively after them. Seamus was disappointed, which he really didn’t want to feel as they disappeared around the corner, in the opposite direction of the Gryffindors.
Looking back, he saw that Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode had disappeared as well, most likely during the conversation- if that’s what you could call it.
Soon it was just him and Nott left. The brunet sighed and shoved Seamus slightly, gesturing in the direction that the others had went. “Are you going or not?”
Seamus looked at him, shocked. “You want me to go with them?”