Pack!

               Chapter Thirteen

                            Eleven year old Seamus Finnegan stood stoically amidst the collection of first year students in Hogwarts’ entryway. He wasn’t a particularly talkative or outgoing child, but neither was he shy. New spaces required careful evaluation, and he liked taking his time to look around, using the moments available to decide for himself if this is where he wanted to be for the next seven years. Looking at the milling children, seeing if he could afford to make friends here. Seamus was not a child who grew up with airs and graces. He was blunt spoken and forthright in manner, which didn’t lend itself to easy friendship. He knew he looked rough around the edges, with a “fuck off” look in his eyes, and a solid and muscular build. Even as young as he was, his general air was intimidating. He was from a working class Irish Catholic family who’s patriarch was constantly telling tales of “The Troubles” and how things would be better soon. He never said how they were supposed to get better, but Seamus wasn’t blind.

               Home was a place of constant tension overlaid with the wallpaper of conventionality. His ma loved him, he knew that, but she loved his father more. He saw small signs of it every day. She’d ask how Seamus’ day had gone, but only after his father had a chance to vent his normal spleen regarding how terrible the current society was. She’d spend the time to make his lunch, after ensuring she spent extra on the weekly shopping runs to ensure his father had his favorites. She often forgot what Seamus’ favorites were, but as time went on, he found he didn’t especially mind it. After all, his father was… well. He wasn’t abusive in the traditional sense; he didn’t yell at his family, he didn’t hit, at least not his family, but he did radiate the sense that he should be feared. And Seamus feared him quite a lot, especially once he realized the IRA wasn’t all that dead and that his da’s meet ups at the pub were full of like minded and like behaving associates.

               Seamus didn’t have much chance to meet children from other backgrounds, and he’d learned early that empathy would be scoffed at and harshly rejected by boys who were emulating their fathers, or those children who thought to bully others hard enough that they too would be feared. That was okay with Seamus, he didn’t much care what those kinds of kids did so long as they left him alone. If they wouldn’t do so out of kindness, they’d do it because he punched back. He was perfectly willing to be friendly acquaintances, live and let live, but he hadn’t yet found anyone he thought well enough of to call friend. He often thought there might be something wrong with him that he didn’t seem to connect well with others, but when he considered who the “others” were, he wondered why he spent time being concerned.

               When he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter, he could tell his ma had been a bit relieved, things hadn’t been restful at home, not for anyone. They all lived on the sharp edge of potential violence, never once expressed, but always there. The letter’s arrival had caused the first genuine smile his ma had given him in the last several months. He thought maybe she was happy to send him off not because she didn’t love him, but because he’d be safe from the storm clouds and chaos his father carried about with him. It’s what he chose to think, anyway.

               Having decided that spending the majority of the next several years at Hogwarts might not be so bad, he’d spent dinnertime engaging in the conversations around him. This wouldn’t be the best time to get a sense of the personalities among his new classmates, everyone was over-excited and still somewhat anxious about being away from home and in a new place. He’d bide his time and reserve judgement.

               Over the next few weeks and on into months, he got to know his dorm mates better. He had no use for Ron. Seamus saw him as spoiled and judgmental, a boy who’s mouth spoke bigger than his ability, he didn’t bother to think things through, and while Dean was an okay sort of chap, they didn’t have much in common besides a shared love of football. Seamus liked Neville just fine, but the boy could use a bit of confidence, so he made a point of sitting nearby when at meals or when gathered in the common room. He knew those who would have been inclined to pick on Neville would think twice with him there. Once he decided to make Hogwarts his home, Seamus wasn’t reticent about calling out such behavior amongst the Gryffindors, usually in a way that left the perpetrator red faced and mumbling an apology. Neville might not have been aware of the silent support, but Seamus had seen Harry’s sharp eyes take note. Seamus and Harry had eyed each other a bit cautiously for a while. Harry had been wary of Seamus’ intensity, and Seamus didn’t know what to make of the boy who watched everything, but had seemed rather fragile and had been all but drowned under the volume of Ron Weasley. With time, he learned that Harry while wasn’t outspoken, and wouldn’t rebuke a bully the same way that Seamus would, Harry had his own way of fighting back, he just did it with kindness. At first, Seamus didn’t realize it was a way of fighting back, he nearly made the mistake of thinking it was weakness.

               Two days after the Charms class where his mangled pronunciation of the Wingardium Leviosa spell had resulted in an explosion that singed his hair, Harry had pulled him aside during their free period and led them to a small room near the library that was empty, containing nothing but bare stone. Both Harry and Seamus looked around, Harry with satisfaction, and Seamus with a wary curiosity. “I asked Sir Nicholas if there was an empty room we could use. You don’t have to worry about explosions here.” With that one sentence, Harry had shown Seamus that a – he’d seen the incident in charms, b – despite the incident later that day with the troll and his resultant stay in the hospital wing, (And seriously, who let a mountain troll get into a school? You’d have to have forced the thing inside, it wouldn’t have gone in a building willingly!) Harry hadn’t forgotten about it, and c – Harry must have seen how tentative he’d been in his practice of the spell afterwards, fearing a repeat. Harry had to have spent time thinking about it, and he’d gone out of his way to ask for something to help. He didn’t have to, it didn’t benefit Harry in any way, he’d done it for no other reason than to be nice. He wasn’t sucking up, nor had he asked for anything in return. It was just Harry… being kind. They’d both spent the next forty five minutes practicing. Harry was the one who noticed Seamus’s wand angle being a bit off, and Seamus helped Harry with his Lumos charm that was still being stubbornly dim, reminding Harry to keep circulating his magic even while casting. When Harry had looked questioningly at him, Seamus realized Harry was totally clueless about magic in general. He did fine with the things that were in his textbooks, but if it relied on things that everyone “just knew”, then he ran into trouble. That initial understanding of Harry had led to many ongoing conversations throughout their years together. Bit by bit they shared their histories, until the day came when Seamus understood that he’d known what friendship was all along, he just hadn’t had one until Harry.

               The time at Hogwarts passed, some years dragged and some seemed to blink by, until one day during the summer after sixth year, a letter from Gringotts came through their floo, followed by an emergency issue of the prophet carried by a clearly drained owl. Seamus had picked up the owl, ignoring the letter and newspaper that his ma was unfolding, he’d find out soon enough what was going on. He carried the owl to his room, stopping by the kitchen for a bowl of water and a bit of the chicken his ma intended for dinner. Offering the owl the water first, he then slowly hand fed the worn out owl tiny bits of chicken, alternating with more water, until the owl turned away, leaned into the crook of his arm, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

               He looked at the owl cuddled in his arms, feeling a resigned longing. He’d spent years wishing for his own pet, despite his knowing his father wouldn’t allow it. His practical nature had tried to assert itself and make do with the occasional times like now, where he could spend all the affection held in reserve. Animals asked for so little and gave so much, he loved being able to take care of them and enjoy their uncomplicated company. He was giving a lot of hard thought to pursuing a Care of Magical Creatures career, despite knowing his father would disapprove, which meant his ma would, at least publicly, also disapprove. He was grown enough to realize that he didn’t need his father’s approval. Or to be truthful about it, he didn’t really care about his father’s approval. But he loved his ma, and he did want her to be proud of him. Secretly proud wasn’t enough. Secret pride wouldn’t be spoken of, so it might wind up having been nothing but wishful thinking on his part. Secret pride was lying, and hiding. Neither was something Seamus saw any benefit to.

               It was approaching the time he needed to make hard decisions regarding his family. This could easily be his last summer at home, he’d need to apply for any internships he wanted once school started back up. He’d spent a lot of time talking to Hagrid this past year, who’d also put him in touch with Charlie Weasley. Charlie had become a regular correspondent, who was happy to answer Seamus’ questions regarding his own internship. Seamus’s father was pushing him into politics, an area that Seamus couldn’t have fancied himself any more unsuited to. He had no tact whatsoever, and diplomacy was too close to putting a candy coating on reality. He recognized sometimes it was necessary, but he mostly couldn’t bring himself to do it. Seamus feared the career decision he wanted would result in a termination of any relationship at all with his father, who would ensure that his ma complied as well. He wasn’t ready for that, but neither could he bring himself to acquiesce to his fathers wishes.

               He heard voices travel down the hallway as his da walked in the door, returning from an afternoon meeting with his mates at the pub. “Oh, this is going to be grand”, he thought. His da had clearly been drinking and there was both a letter from Gringotts and the Prophet on the parlor table. His da had made it clear he didn’t have much use for magic, thinking wizards were just a bunch of nancy boys with a way to get out of hard work. Magic wasn’t used in their home unless in secret, although his ma had made sure he knew the basics before sending him off to Hogwarts.

               The volume of his da’s voice was escalating, whatever was going on, he couldn’t leave his mother to face it by herself. He bunched the blanket on his bed into a rough nest, carefully transferring the owl to it and defiantly, at least in his head, pulling his wand out of his sleeve to cast a localized silencing charm on the bed. The poor owl needed rest, and not to hear the rant his father was engaged in.

               He walked into the parlor just in time to see his father backhand his mother, and Seamus reacted with an instinctive punch that leveled his father to the floor. He drew his wand for a second time that day and stunned the man, keeping him down. He turned to his ma for an explanation, only to be met with her shoving him out of the way to get to his da, kneeling beside him, clutching his shoulders, then patting his cheeks, trying to rouse him. Seamus was baffled, had she not seen him cast a stunner? “Ma, are you okay? Ma, talk to me, what’s goin’ on and why the fuck did da just leave a handprint on your face?” He went to the freezer for some ice, wrapping it in a kitchen towel. He gently pressed it to the side of her face, lifting her hand to hold it in place. He encouraged her to stand with a hand under her elbow, guiding her to a chair and situated himself to keep his father out of her line of sight.

               His mother didn’t respond, pressing her lips tightly together, averting her eyes from his. Vaguely, she gestured to the table with the letter and newspaper. Keeping his da blocked from her view, he reached over and picked them up, rapidly scanning the letter, then the prophet. His heart sinking to his toes, he carefully read them again, then gave the prophet a third reading, already making mental notes of what would need to be done, and bracing himself for the worst.

               “Alright ma, I’ll start taking care of getting us packed up and ready to go, you’ll need to go to Gringotts to clear your vault. But you need to tell me how this caused da to hit you.” He was so afraid he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear her say it. She had to say it for it to be true. In response, her free hand lifted to her neck, and unclipped the necklace she wore, the one with the small pouch under an invisibility charm, keyed only to herself and Seamus, to keep it from his da’s notice.

               “Get me a quill,” she quietly instructed, taking the Gringotts letter from his hand. In what he suspected would be his last act of filial obedience, he went to the secretary and withdrew a never out quill from the drawer. Handing it to his mother, he watched as she wrote on the back of the letter, and signed it. She pulled her wand from the pouch, touching it to her signature to magically verify it. Her shoulders slightly hunched and her jaw tightened when she put the wand back in the pouch. She folded the letter and added it to the small bag, her hand briefly tightening around it as she grabbed Seamus’ hand, lifting it to press the bag into his, folding his fingers over it. “You take this to Gringotts. You pack your belongings, and take this to Gringotts. Clear the vault. Clear it all out, do you hear me? Every last knut, every speck of dust. You take that, and you go.” Her voice, which had started strong, was shaky by the end, and her eyes, still avoiding his, were wet. Her hands were cupped around his fist holding the bag, the ice spilling from the forgotten towel onto the rug. She lifted his hand, pressing it to her uninjured cheek, her tears bleeding onto both their hands.

               “No, ma, don’t do this.” He couldn’t make her say it, he couldn’t. He knew, he didn’t have to make her say the words. “He’s not worth it, ma. I’ll take care of you, we’ll be fine. You have to come.” She shook her head. “Ma, you have to come. You can’t stay, magic is going to leave. You’re magical, you can not stay here, don’t you understand?” Again she shook her head, hiding her eyes behind their joined hands. “No. Ma, no, this is a death sentence, you get that? You’ll stay just so you can die two days later? Why? Who does that help, I don’t understand. He’ll be fine, he’s a muggle, he’s got all sorts of friends in low places, but you won’t be fine. You want me to leave you behind to die? You didn’t raise me to be that person, ma. I won’t be that person. You either come with me or I’ll carry you out the door kicking and screaming, if I have to.”

               At that, she dropped her hands from his, one flashing out to crack across his cheek. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his da’s prone form, landing next to him on his ass. Standing up and looking down at him with a hard look he’d never imagined would be directed at him, she shouted, “Seamus Breslin Finnigan, you will leave my house because I wish you to. You will not speak ill of your father, and I married him for better or for worse. I will not now, nor will I ever stray from my vow. Get out,” she finished in a calm and low tone. “Leave,” she said, turning her back on him and once again kneeling by his da. “You have no home here.”

               Seamus wandered the streets for a couple of hours with a packed trunk, and a still sleeping owl held in the crook of his arm. The owl was covered by a charm that was usually reserved for infants, used to keep them from being jostled or disturbed while carried. He didn’t bother to check for observers when he finally collected himself, apparating to the ferry dock, hoping to catch the next sailing. It was due to leave within the hour, and he found himself in Liverpool’s Magical Terminus at sometime in the early afternoon on the following day, carrying a now awake and happily chirruping owl that he’d… appropriated. He stepped off the boat, pulling his trunk with him, into the arrival area, hoping to grab a very strong tea. The floo point was absolutely heaving with people, heading to Gringotts, he presumed. He wasn’t ready for this, he could barely think past the fact his mother chose his father and near certain death rather than him. “How do you get past this?” he wondered.

               And then, as if Harry somehow knew how much he could use a friend, a small silver stag appeared, dancing with enthusiasm. “Seamus, mate, I could really use your help right now, if you’re of a mind to take an unexpected offer? Dumbledore and the usual company are heading up the evacuation. I’ve decided to go … elsewhere. We’re collecting friends and family to strategize and make plans, and you’re definitely on my friend list, and family if you’d like to be. My brain’s still hopscotching around like a flea avoiding raindrops, this is the first moment I’ve really had to collect up those I want to come with us. If you’re available and interested, let me know. It’ll be a small group, and like I said, we’re planning. That’s kind of as far as we’ve gotten, so we need help. You in?”

               Oh Harry. As if you even had to ask. “Patronus message to Harry Potter…”