WHO: Morag MacDougal, Magnus MacDougal, Seamus Finnigan & cameo!Jack Sloper WHEN: Evening, Thursday, 10 October WHERE: The corridors of Hogwarts (gasp!) after hours. SUMMARY: Morag learns some unpleasant news about her eldest brother, scandalous inter-house hand holding, and also Seamus is a Big Dumb Idiot. RATING: PG-13 for lots of swears. STATUS: Complete
For a Ravenclaw, Morag was not terribly imaginative. So the very last person she might’ve expected to see on her way back to the Ravenclaw dormitory after that evening’s astronomy lesson wasn’t somebody (or something) spectacularly wild or famous or noteworthy, but her brother, Magnus. She was especially surprised to find that he was alone, and without his usual group of fifth-year Slytherin thugs. But it was after hours, and being the stupidest of the lot, he was likely the only one willing to risk detention.
What didn’t give her pause was his shifty, contemptuous expression when he spotted his older sister.
“Hey, Maggie,” he taunted, keeping his voice low. Morag scowled at the diminutive even her parents had given up using years ago, hitching her telescope case higher on her shoulder.
“Why aren’t you in the dungeon? I thought Slytherins leashed their younger years at night.”
It was Magnus’ turn to make a face.
“I’m practicin’,” he insisted, thrusting his shoulders back in an attempt to appear more intimidating than he was. He’d inherited their mother’s delicate bone structure and slight frame, same as Morag, same as Patrick. Only Errol rivaled their father in height, and if he kept on drinking like him, one day in bulk, too.
“Practicing?” Morag sneered, though her curiosity was genuinely peaked. “For what?”
“Got a letter from da. Says when I come home on holiday Errol’ll take me out on his new job.”
At this Morag’s brow furrowed. Errol had been unemployed for the better part of a year, and hadn’t seemed any more keen on finding work when she’d left for school than he had been since he’d been let go from his previous job.
“What’s Errol doing he needs your help for?” She hissed, aware that she was quickly leaving the reasonable window of time she was given to reach her dormitory after Astronomy, and close to being in just as much trouble as Magnus. But she rarely had reason to talk with her brother and almost never sought him out. Now was as good a time as any.
“I’m not goin’ to tell you,” Magnus replied, sniffing importantly. “You could be a blood traitor.”
At this, Morag swatted him hard on the shoulder.
“You’re an idiot. What’s he doing, stealing? Night trash pickup?”
Magnus smirked, wide and sloppy.
“Somethin’ like that.”
The only Gryffindor taking Astronomy this year, Seamus hadn't had the luxury of sending his telescope and bag back with any other students, rather than carry them on his rounds. It made him late, heading back to Gryffindor tower, so he and Parvati patrolled separately for the first hour, and then met in the Great Hall to finish the last half of the time together, checking classrooms and broom closets and baths for those sneaking a snog or up to no good. Rare was the occasion that Seamus could hear rule breakers before he could see them, and so as he descended a staircase in pursuit of obvious voices, Seamus rolled his eyes. Had Pansy not just made a declaration about 9:01, at weekend?
Morag didn’t like being toyed with, and she didn’t like not having the answers she wanted, either. Her irritation was compounded by the fact that this was Magnus, who’d needed to use Sticking Charms to keep his trainers on until his tenth birthday because tying the laces was too much of a challenge.
“Whatever,” Morag growled, contemplating using Accio to filch the letter from their father off of him but sure that if he was carrying it, he’d just wrestle it right back. Just as she deemed it worth the risk, she heard approaching footsteps and impulsively shoved Magnus away from her and turned to hasten in the direction of Ravenclaw tower. The last thing Morag wanted to be caught doing was appearing to conspire with her idiot of a brother. But he kept his footing, pushing her right back and sending her clattering into a suit of armor.
Well, if they’d had any chance of escaping notice, it was gone now.
"Oi!" Seamus shouted over the din of armor crashing to the floor, having glimpsed only the last of the action between the two rule breakers. The boy glanced at Seamus and immediately broke into a run, prompting a scowl and a further shout of "Stop!" followed by "I see you, MacDougal!" Why were Morag's brothers such stupid twats? Were all the brains in the bloodline dedicated solely to the female sex? Seamus pulled out his wand as he picked up speed, hurtling a Body-Bind Curse at the boy's back.
Magnus' momentum sent his petrified figure tumbling forward, rolling gracelessly onto his back and sliding a few steps further, arms and legs comically extended in a runners pose that left him lopsided in still life. Seamus turned hastily back to the unfortunate co-conspirator that had been unceremoniously shoved to the floor, aiming his wand in case they decided to pull a runner as well. "Morag," Seamus groaned, wand arm dropping back to his side as she picked up her case and bag. For once he was unhappy to see her.
Morag couldn’t decide if she was relieved that it was Seamus who’d happened upon them or not. She supposed it depended on how he handled the situation.
Petrifying Magnus was a step in the right direction.
“Finnigan,” she breathed, thinking fast. She took a few quick steps over to where Magnus was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, like a human icicle, and spotted the corner of parchment peeking out of his robe pocket. She snatched the letter and turned to face Seamus.
“He took this from me,” she lied, surprised that she felt a little guilty. But the tickling heat in her chest was because it was lying to Seamus. “Otherwise I’d be back by now.”
"Give it here," Seamus said, holding his hand out for the parchment she'd found in his pocket. He wanted to believe her without looking, but when she hesitated, he knew something was amiss. "Morag," he said, in his best serious tone, "let me see the paper."
Though she considered resisting him, Morag thrust the parchment toward Seamus, not meeting his eyes. If he scolded her like some tardy third year, though, she’d punch him in the nose.
He unfolded the letter and struggled to contain a grimace - 'Magnus,' was the first word, so it certainly wasn't something he'd pilfered off her. Seamus continued to read at a brisk skim, grimace spreading south into a full frown. Magnus was to be respectful of the Carrows and mind what they had to say, do whatever was needed to get on their good side so that if everything went according to plan he would be among the Purebloods with the right mentality. His brow furrowed too as he read the last.
'Errol's found a new job, one that even he can't muck up too badly, and if you're good this term he's said he'll take you out with the rest of them Snatchers, let you rouse out a few of your mudblood classmates who've decided to bugger off instead of turn themselves in as the thieves that they are, or ones who try to make a break for it over hols rather than go back.'
Seamus passed the letter back to Morag without comment, crouching down closer to Magnus where he lay motionless on the hallway floor. "I'm going to unbind ya now," he narrated, rolling the boy over to search through his other pocket. "But first I'm taking your wand in case you've any funny ideas about retaliatin' against a Prefect, and if you try to run off again, you're just going to take another tumble and then I'll have to levitate you to Slughorn, and nobody here wants to spend the evenin' listenin' to stories of Prefects and troublemakers of the past, right? Right."
Attention torn between whatever it was Seamus intended for Magnus and curiosity about the letter, Morag’s eyes darted between the two. Her father’s untidy hand won for the few seconds it took her to digest the letter’s contents, lips and nose crinkling in an expression of confusion, uncertainty, and a hint of fear.
Maybe Magnus knew better what her father meant, or maybe Morag was just hoping she hadn’t already guessed.
Seamus performed the countercurse and Magnus hunched forward, his smirk trembling only a little. He obviously wasn’t afraid of the Gryffindor, but he wouldn’t have liked getting caught, either.
"Up you come," Seamus offered, extending his empty hand as he stood, but Magnus scoffed and stood unaided, muttering something that sounded like 'muggle-lover' under his breath in the process. Seamus pursed his lips but didn't respond.
He wasn't looking forward to whatever Pansy or the Carrows were going to have to say about how this had all happened, but he hadn't been about to let the fifth year dart off unchecked. Ernie or Anthony or Jack would better know what to do in this kind of situation, though Seamus wasn't keen on attempting to track them down in order to display a lack of confidence in his decision making skills. "So," he began with a sigh, "five points each from Slytherin and Ravenclaw for being out after curfew, another ten from Slytherin for not listenin' to and attempting to evade a Prefect, and I'm taking you both back to your dormitories personally." Certain she'd finished reading by now, Seamus added one more reluctant instruction, this one in favour of the Slytherin. "Morag, give him back his letter."
Morag was too absorbed in what she’d read to do more than flash Seamus a dirty look, but she did as he asked, crumpling the letter in the process of handing it to Magnus.
“I think I know how to get to my dormitory from here,” she insisted, hating how tangled up and uncertain she was feeling. Morag wanted to get as far away from both of them as possible, and quickly.
Swallowing the urge to tell Morag to shut up, Seamus closed his eyes momentarily. He didn't want her brother to think she was listening to him any more than she had to, but it was disappointing to say the least, to think that this was what her family was really like. "No," he said finally. "I don't know what you're both doing out, and somehow," the word was directed at Magnus, "I don't think you're going to tell me the truth, so I'm walking you both back. Let's go." He nodded toward the staircases that continued through the castle in a descending pattern, from the Astronomy tower all the way to the Great Hall. Magnus would go first; even if the Slytherin common room was further out of the way, it would give Seamus the opportunity to quiz Morag alone on the route back to Ravenclaw tower, to see if she was part of this family scheme as well.
Under normal circumstances Morag would’ve told Seamus to sod off, but she didn’t want to cast her lot with Magnus when it came to defying a Prefect. Even if that Prefect was Seamus.
She held her tongue on the way down to the dungeons, not looking at either of them and barely registering the details of the corridor ahead. The details of her father’s letter to Magnus tumbled over and over again in her head, and she had a fair guess what a Snatcher might be.
But she knew what idiots her father and Errol and Magnus were, how they’d take any order if it meant feeling important or powerful, how they thought their blood entitled them to airs and graces the MacDougals had never enjoyed. How gladly they’d lord over halfbloods and muggleborns who were ten times the wizards they were because they had absolutely nothing else to recommend them.
What bothered her most was that Seamus knew now, too.
When they reached the dungeons Magnus slipped away with a smirk, but Morag was too deflated to scowl.
Seamus didn't want to look at her now that they were alone. He started back toward the staircase that led up to the entrance hall but pulled up short as he spotted Jack, coming out of one of the dungeon classrooms up ahead. He held up his hand in a wave of recognition. "Just bringin' one back down," he explained, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of the Slytherin common room entrance. "Magnus MacDougal, they were up in the north wing."
"After hours? Someone's got a high opinion of himself." Jack didn't startle, but he did lower his wand. "He'll get an earful from Pansy, I suspect." Jack paused and looked from Seamus to Morag. "And you from Padma."
Morag only rolled her eyes. It was bad enough getting the Prefect treatment from Seamus, but Jack was insufferable.
"Keep an eye out if he tries to make another go at whatever he was doin'?" Seamus requested, keen on getting a peevish Morag away before she dug herself into more trouble with someone who might have less of an appreciation for her... wit.
Back out in the entrance hall, Seamus paused, stowing his wand and pushing his hands into his pockets. Where did he start? There were a dozen questions clustered at the forefront of his mind, each pushing to be first off his tongue. The least loaded, the least accusatory beat the lot. "What happened?"
Morag crossed her arms over her chest protectively, but one of her shoulders canted to the side, as well, a little brooding attitude.
“I ran into him on my way back from Astronomy. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer about what he was doing out, only that it had something to do with that letter.”
She paused, cringing again at the thought of Seamus being privy to its contents.
“And I don’t get letters from our father, so.”
Two questions answered in one, at least. And he believed her, even though a niggling part of his brain wondered if it wasn't partially to do with wanting to. He inclined his head toward the stairs leading up, since she'd wanted to go back from the beginning, and there wasn't any point in forcing her to stay out with him. "Do you know what he means, about Snatchers?" The question was carefully articulated and sounded as much. Seamus was sure that it meant more to him than to her, but her thoughts on the subject mattered more to him as a person than a Prefect.
“I can guess,” Morag said darkly, imagining that her oldest brother probably reveled in hunting down wandless muggleborns. He’d liked to kick crups when they were kids, too.
She started up the stair, risking a glance at Seamus when she spoke again. His expression was in shadow, but it probably wasn’t one she wanted to see, anyway. Was he worried about Dean? Fucking Errol. Seamus was really going to hate her now, and Morag was past the point of being able to pretend she didn’t care.
“Why, do you know something?”
"Did ya listen to Potterwatch?" Seamus asked, fielding her question with one more of his own. He meant to answer though, and after she shook her head, he carried on. "They mentioned them. They're roundin' up missin' persons for the bounty. Muggleborns," specified Seamus, though you didn't need to know him well at all to understand who he was really talking about. Dean and Seamus had been seen together more than apart since they found their way into the same compartment on the Hogwarts Express. "Apparently they're usin' any means necessary to get them."
Morag pressed her lips to a thin, troubled line. Somehow this felt even worse than Errol taking the Dark Mark, though Morag had never believed there was a threat of that actually happening. Just because the MacDougals were Purebloods didn’t mean they weren’t a joke.
And now her brother was basically collecting “trash,” and they were just despicable, all of them. Her father, the Malfoys, the Flints, everybody getting off on making other people powerless. They were just exchanging one shit world for another, but it didn’t matter that Morag could see it and refused to buy in. Her family already had.
Her cheeks burned with shame.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Morag grumbled quietly, her plea real and small but oh-so-hard and heavy to say.
"I won't." She looked as miserable as he felt, and as they climbed another flight of stairs, his hand reached out to find hers.
Morag flinched, her hand curling away for an instant at Seamus’ touch. But it was surprise, and not disgust, that had caused her to react the way she had. Before she could think or look or her heart had hammered out two hot beats, she caught Seamus’ hand and laced her fingers through his.
Seamus swallowed and didn't look at her. There was more he wanted to say, more questions he wanted answers to, but despite how strong Morag was, vicious even sometimes, the moment felt fragile as fairy wings. Dean would be reaching out to choke him through however many miles were separating them, telling him this was a bad move to make in this way, two weeks after finagling fifteen free-spirited minutes behind a suit of armor with Susan. Morag would retaliate too if she knew, pull her hand from his and throw it solidly in a fist against his jaw. But if he didn't do it now, in the rarest of vulnerable moments from one of the most obstinate, misanthropic people at this school, when was his chance going to come again?
Tender gestures were not something Morag had a great deal of experience with, but despite appearances to the contrary, she was still a teenage girl with (most) of the usual feelings in a situation like this one. A current charged up her arm and throughout her whole body from the hand that Seamus was holding, hot and cold at the same time. Even the roots of her hair were tingling. For a moment she wasn’t thinking of how they’d come to be walking after hours up to Ravenclaw tower, but then they passed the place where Seamus had intercepted she and Magnus arguing. Her fingers tightened reflexively, just a little, and she remembered something else he’d said.
“What’s Potterwatch?”
Bollocks.
Well, it hadn't been banned the first time, just a bit of a poor idea. "Ahhhhh," stalled Seamus, rapidly attempting to formulate a story about where he had been and how he had heard it that didn't involve the Room of Requirement. Better to stick just to the programme itself, and speak before his palm started to sweat.
"You know how our radios are gone? It's the reason why," he admitted. "It was a programme that was probably not strictly legal since it's likely it came from the Order of the Phoenix. They were supportin' Harry, tryin' ta get information out that wasn't what the Prophet and Ministry are printing. More like what the Quibbler had going on the last couple of months, talkin' about what they're really doing to Muggleborns, tellin' us not to say You-Know-Who's name since supposedly it calls Death Eaters to your location. Not exactly cheerful, but… I guess it doesn't matter for us in here anymore."
Seamus had recognized one of the voices - multiple years of having Lee announce Quidditch made his voice an easy catch for a younger generation of listeners, not to mention his allegiance to Harry. Another had seemed familiar, and Seamus had overheard some people speculating that it might have been Professor Lupin, which sounded roughly the right amount of outlandish, all things considered. The third, the Minstry source, he couldn't put his finger on.
Morag nodded, anchoring herself in the information he’d offered and not the fact that he was still holding her hand. She considered asking him how he knew about it, but decided against it… either he’d been listening when he knew he shouldn’t have, which she liked, or he’d been among the student authority who’d busted the listeners. It seemed to Morag Seamus took his duties as a Prefect seriously, whatever his political leanings, so she really couldn’t be sure which it was.
They rounded a corner, growing nearer Ravenclaw tower with every step, and Morag’s shoulder brushed against Seamus’ when she shifted her telescope case. She looked up at him, her smirk nearly reaching her eyes, hooded beneath a fringe of dark hair.
“Do you always escort rulebreakers so personally?”
"No," Seamus laughed, feeling self conscious enough to untangle his hand from hers and scratch the back of his head oh so casually as he willed his cheeks not to pink. "Sorry. You seemed…" She wouldn't like it if he said upset. "It seemed like you could do with a bit of a boost." He had needed it just as much, but Morag would likely enjoy jabbing him with that awareness.
He hesitated as they drew near the stairs that led up to her common room. Was she going to make fun of him for it? It was nearly time to meet Parvati, he could use it as a reason to beat a hasty retreat, if she did.
Could do with a bit of a boost? Morag really needed to hit something. Or throw up. Boosts were something you gave firsties who couldn’t reach a book on the shelf at the library, not something you gave to girls who maybe fifteen seconds ago were foolish enough to consider snogging you.
Instead she just gritted her teeth, looking away from Seamus. For a Ravenclaw, she was pretty damned stupid.
“I’m a regular delicate fucking flower,” she said hotly, unable to keep her temper from flooding her voice.
"Oh fuck off," Seamus groaned, rolling his head as well as his eyes. "I'll never do it again, I said I'm sorry." He should have known better than to do anything but ignore what would have felt like a nice moment with anyone else - Morag, Devoid of Weaknesses didn't want anyone spotting any sort of crack in her loathing of everything that surrounded her.
Morag slid her telescope case off her shoulder and swung it into Seamus’ arm, hard, prompting an exclamation of Jesus' name and a staggering step to the side.
“You’re sorry? You’re a fucking idiot,” she hissed. “D’you think if I didn’t want you to hold my hand I would’ve let you?” She couldn’t bear to stand there a second longer, so she fled up the tower stairs. If the door challenged her with a particularly loathsome riddle, she’d scream.
Seamus stared at her blankly in the instant before her footsteps clattered up the staircase. His mouth fell open though no words escaped until she had already retreated more than halfway up to the door and he heard the echo of her case banging into the stone wall along with a muttered curse. "What?" he asked lamely, though he hardly expected her to turn back and explain. Even if she did, did he want to take her on when she was armed with heavy objects?
"What?" repeated Seamus, pushing a hand into his hair. "Yah fecking eejit," he agreed, repeating her admonishment of himself in a similar low growl. "Mor!" Seamus shouted, gaining five steps up the tower in the span of two before he heard a door slam above him. He turned round, wishing desperately for something other than a span of stone and mortar to thrust his fist or foot against in order to dispel the monumental frustration at being so bloody close, and falling so bloody far.