springsmutfairy (springsmutfairy) wrote in hp_springsmut, @ 2008-03-09 00:00:00 |
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Entry tags: | fic, slash, theo/seamus |
Happy Springsmut!
Author: wook77
Recipient: All hp_springsmut watchers and participants. Enjoy!
Title: Tapestries, Meetings and Kisses
Pairing: Theodore Nott/Seamus Finnigan
Rating: R
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warnings: DH Compliant
Summary: A seventh year for Seamus means no Dean, no peace, quite a bit of pain and one confusing mess with Theodore Nott.
Wordcount: ~7300
Author's Notes: Please note that I copied, word for word, one pivotal moment from Deathly Hallows. This section is marked in italics. Obviously, this section is not mine and no profit is made from this. Many thanks to my betas and cheerleaders, C,Y&J, without whom, this story wouldn't be nearly as good. All remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.
Seamus raced down the hallway, breath catching as he tried to get back to the Common Room. If he could just get there, the rest of Gryffindor would swear he'd been there the whole time. If he could get to the Common Room, McGonagall would swear he'd been there, too. He'd be protected. He'd be safe.
Fucking stupid, he cursed to himself as he ran past a suit of armour. Really fucking stupid. The temptation to paint "Dumbledore's Army – Still Recruiting" one more time had been too great. Seamus had never been one to resist temptation. He was impetuous and that was coming back to bite him in the arse.
He was so screwed if the Carrows got him. They were worse than Umbridge and her Inquisitorial Squad: they were better trained and had more power. Add in that the professors couldn't stick up for the students like they'd been able to before and Seamus was in for it.
It was just his luck that he'd barely finished when the Carrows themselves rounded the corner. He thanked whatever deity had inspired him to cover his head with a cap he'd borrowed from Dean last year. That way, he could be any of a hundred different students.
His laboured breath seemed to echo in the dark stillness of Hogwarts at three in the morning. Even the paintings were asleep, a blessing that would keep the lie he might have to tell alive. He only had to go up one staircase and race down the hallway -- then there would be just one more set of stairs before safety.
But it wasn't to be.
Just as he reached the last staircase, a hand reached out and grabbed him.