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Apr. 20th, 2006 03:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
liptonrm_backupAll Stories End (2/?)
Part One
The sky was grey and the feel of the air made Ron think of the Great Hall dressed for Halloween and of leaves crackling underfoot on the Hogsmeade path.
“Ron!” A voice called out and he had his back pressed against a wall, a hand on his wand, before he realized who had shouted at him.
Seamus’s broad, kind face was just as Ron remembered it. If his eyes sparkled a little less and his face was worn by stress more than laughter it didn’t really bear noticing. No one was as bright as he had been, once upon a time.
He came at Ron like a force of nature and before Ron knew it he was enveloped in an embrace that smelled of ozone with a firewhiskey chaser.
“It’s fantastic running into you like this, mate.” Seamus gushed as he pulled away, his brogue especially thick. “Here I was at loose ends after reporting to His Nibs over at the Ministry and thinking how brilliant it would be to grab a pint with one of the old Hogwarts chums and then ‘whoosh’ there you were. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention in that Trelawney bat’s class, eh?” Ron couldn’t help but smile when faced with the grin and wink that capped the verbal eruption.
“Seamus, mate, a pint sounds like a bloody fantastic idea.” Ron readily agreed, his eyes still crinkled with mirth.
“Brilliant, I know just the place.” Seamus grabbed his hand and disapparated them both away with no regard for the muggle-crowded streets.
They appeared somewhere completely Unchartable, moors stretching to every horizon. The sun had just set and everything was colored the same shade of washed out grey, even the ratty little shed hunkering before them. It was the only building in sight, ramshackle and crotchety with smoke rising from an incongruous chimney in its middle.
“Best spirits in all the Isles.” Seamus said with a dramatic flourish and pushed him through the misshapen door.
An hour and half a bottle of firewhisky later Ron was obliged to concede the point. He happily munched on some of the finest fish ‘n chips he’d ever eaten and enjoyed the way everything had become pleasantly blurry. The pub itself was comfortably large on the inside, dark and dingy no matter how high the lamps were set with a low hanging cloud of smoke that clung to the ceiling and a surly barkeep who Ron was sure had troll blood in him somewhere.
“ ... And that’s why the Chudley Cannons’ll never hold a candle to the Dublin Daredevils, no matter how well they might’ve played in their last few games.” Seams glared blearily across the table and stabbed his finger into his stew for emphasis.
“Was someone making a point ‘cause all I heard was somebody’s team giving up the ghost.” Ron was smug as only the long-disappointed yet loyal fan could be.
“Shove off.” Seamus grumbled and took another shot of whiskey. “S’just a shame Harry never got to see the Cannons make good.”
Ron flinched, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. Seamus blinked, his mouth flapping as if he’d just realized he’d said the last bit out loud.
“Ron, I’m sorry, I never should’ve ...” Seamus flailed, his eye wide with a deep blush creeping up his neck..
Ron poured himself another shot and threw it back, the liquor a comfortable numbing burn.
“Nah, forget it.” Ron waved his hand distractedly. “S’all right.”
Seamus nodded and the moment passed. The night went by in a blur of liquor and tobacco smoke. Ron was vaguely conscious of climbing on the table and singing Gryffindor House songs as Seamus banged an accompaniment but that was the last thing he could recall. He never was completely sure just how it was he got back home.
The next thing he knew he was waking up in a heap on the sofa in his front room, his mouth dry and his head pounding. There was something sticky on his face and he was fairly certain one of Hermione’s books was wedged in between his ribs.
He opened his eyes, the sun pouring in through a crack in the curtains making him groan. There was a steaming mug on the floor which on closer inspection contained an analgesic potion. Ron silently thanked Hermione’s thoughtfulness and drank it down in on long pull, the pounding in his head immediately dulling to a faint ache. Thus fortified Ron picked up the note and squinted at Hermione’s scribble. He groaned again and balled up the parchment, throwing it across the room while falling back down onto the sofa. He’d forgotten about lunch with his mum.
Part Three
Part One
The sky was grey and the feel of the air made Ron think of the Great Hall dressed for Halloween and of leaves crackling underfoot on the Hogsmeade path.
“Ron!” A voice called out and he had his back pressed against a wall, a hand on his wand, before he realized who had shouted at him.
Seamus’s broad, kind face was just as Ron remembered it. If his eyes sparkled a little less and his face was worn by stress more than laughter it didn’t really bear noticing. No one was as bright as he had been, once upon a time.
He came at Ron like a force of nature and before Ron knew it he was enveloped in an embrace that smelled of ozone with a firewhiskey chaser.
“It’s fantastic running into you like this, mate.” Seamus gushed as he pulled away, his brogue especially thick. “Here I was at loose ends after reporting to His Nibs over at the Ministry and thinking how brilliant it would be to grab a pint with one of the old Hogwarts chums and then ‘whoosh’ there you were. Maybe I should’ve paid more attention in that Trelawney bat’s class, eh?” Ron couldn’t help but smile when faced with the grin and wink that capped the verbal eruption.
“Seamus, mate, a pint sounds like a bloody fantastic idea.” Ron readily agreed, his eyes still crinkled with mirth.
“Brilliant, I know just the place.” Seamus grabbed his hand and disapparated them both away with no regard for the muggle-crowded streets.
They appeared somewhere completely Unchartable, moors stretching to every horizon. The sun had just set and everything was colored the same shade of washed out grey, even the ratty little shed hunkering before them. It was the only building in sight, ramshackle and crotchety with smoke rising from an incongruous chimney in its middle.
“Best spirits in all the Isles.” Seamus said with a dramatic flourish and pushed him through the misshapen door.
An hour and half a bottle of firewhisky later Ron was obliged to concede the point. He happily munched on some of the finest fish ‘n chips he’d ever eaten and enjoyed the way everything had become pleasantly blurry. The pub itself was comfortably large on the inside, dark and dingy no matter how high the lamps were set with a low hanging cloud of smoke that clung to the ceiling and a surly barkeep who Ron was sure had troll blood in him somewhere.
“ ... And that’s why the Chudley Cannons’ll never hold a candle to the Dublin Daredevils, no matter how well they might’ve played in their last few games.” Seams glared blearily across the table and stabbed his finger into his stew for emphasis.
“Was someone making a point ‘cause all I heard was somebody’s team giving up the ghost.” Ron was smug as only the long-disappointed yet loyal fan could be.
“Shove off.” Seamus grumbled and took another shot of whiskey. “S’just a shame Harry never got to see the Cannons make good.”
Ron flinched, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut. Seamus blinked, his mouth flapping as if he’d just realized he’d said the last bit out loud.
“Ron, I’m sorry, I never should’ve ...” Seamus flailed, his eye wide with a deep blush creeping up his neck..
Ron poured himself another shot and threw it back, the liquor a comfortable numbing burn.
“Nah, forget it.” Ron waved his hand distractedly. “S’all right.”
Seamus nodded and the moment passed. The night went by in a blur of liquor and tobacco smoke. Ron was vaguely conscious of climbing on the table and singing Gryffindor House songs as Seamus banged an accompaniment but that was the last thing he could recall. He never was completely sure just how it was he got back home.
The next thing he knew he was waking up in a heap on the sofa in his front room, his mouth dry and his head pounding. There was something sticky on his face and he was fairly certain one of Hermione’s books was wedged in between his ribs.
He opened his eyes, the sun pouring in through a crack in the curtains making him groan. There was a steaming mug on the floor which on closer inspection contained an analgesic potion. Ron silently thanked Hermione’s thoughtfulness and drank it down in on long pull, the pounding in his head immediately dulling to a faint ache. Thus fortified Ron picked up the note and squinted at Hermione’s scribble. He groaned again and balled up the parchment, throwing it across the room while falling back down onto the sofa. He’d forgotten about lunch with his mum.
Part Three
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no subject
Date: 2006-04-21 03:59 pm (UTC)well, go on writing, then!
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Date: 2006-04-22 11:48 pm (UTC)Am trying but OMG! in transposing the latest bit I realized that it ALL SUCKS! Stupid story never saying what it's supposed to say. *grumble grumble*
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Date: 2006-04-28 03:26 pm (UTC)This is another example of what I was talking about yesterday, re: your Narnia drabbles. You say so much about every single character in these three sentences. Bloody brilliant.
after reporting to His Nibs
This made me really anxious when I first read it, because my brain had scrambled your prequel with that other story we were discussing by phone a few days back--the one where Harry wins and becomes all big in the Ministry and is really really really not a good leader. But once I got my stories straight, I just wondered who "His Nibs" is, and whether we know him. Percy?
And again I just have to say "Poor Hermione!"
no subject
Date: 2006-04-28 05:57 pm (UTC)Actually, I'm not entirely sure how 'His Nibs' is. I think somewhere in my head it's Mad-Eye Moody because if anyone Auror were going to survive the war it would be him. In this universe there's a lot of trouble cleaning up after Voldemort's defeat so even people who weren't necessarily interested in being an Auror (like Seamus) yet had experience dealing with nasties were recruited to fill that need.
Poor Hermione indeed. Hopefully someday she'll have her side of the story told. All these poor, broken children. After this I really need to write something happy and fluffy for them. =D
no subject
Date: 2006-04-28 06:10 pm (UTC)Yeah, likely story :-)
no subject
Date: 2006-04-28 07:36 pm (UTC)*looks at fic*
ummm, ok, you might have a point ... ;-)