heather11483 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heathershaped) wrote2008-12-13 10:14 pm
heathershaped) wrote2008-12-13 10:14 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Difficult (Seamus/Pansy, any age)
Title: Difficult
Pairing: Seamus/Pansy
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Pansy finds herself confused by a sort-of conversation with Seamus.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 896
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sugarquill39, who requested Seamus/anyone, het if possible, eggnog.
Pansy hated Hogsmeade.
She always had; everything was so ... jumbled, here. Everyone mingled with everyone else, and lived right up next to each other, and ate in the same restaurants and called out to each other on the street. One could never tell who was a decent sort and who wasn't. Who she could associate with and who she couldn't. Where she belonged.
There wasn't anyone to tell her anymore.
Socially, she'd always felt more comfortable knowing her place. Knowing that she was better than everyone else. Not, of course, that she didn't still know that, but it was a bit hard to reinforce the knowledge in her mind when she was by herself. Come to that, it was also hard to be sure of anything when her parents were the ones who were in prison, and would be for a very long time. Very little made sense to her these days.
Even without all that, it was always bloody snowing here, and slushing up the pavement. She loathed the sound of it, squelching beneath her boots and making her walks uncomfortable. Occasionally, she did like to walk through the town, when the thin walls of her cheap flat began to close in on her, and the knowledge that she had no place else to go made the impulse to pout very, very strong. It was all right, as long as the street wasn't very crowded.
The pavement was almost empty of villagers when she stopped and took a seat on a bench. It was cold; the wind was licking at the back of her neck, having somehow found a way in between her scarf and the collar of her coat. Even as she shivered, she tried not to huddle in case anyone saw her. Going back to her flat didn't sound very appealing; it was rather a lovely night, and the Christmas lights were nice.
Pansy jolted gracelessly when a scuffed brown boot landed in the slush in front of her bench, splashing dirty, icy water onto her boot. "Ew."
"Good seein' you too, Parkinson." Seamus stopped just past where she sat, looking down at her. She straightened her spine.
"Finnigan, what on earth is your rush?"
"Got a party," he waggled his eyebrows. "One I happen to be late for, actually. Christmas, and all."
"Oh yes, of course, Christmas. I'd had no idea what all these lights were for," she deadpanned, before she took stock of him, looking a good bit nattier than she usually saw him in his dress coat and trousers, his hair combed and curling slightly about his ears. "Though I suppose that's why you seem to have found a clean shirt."
"Aye. I've a few in the back o' me wardrobe; I pull 'em out for special occasions." Instead of withering under the look she gave him, he smirked. "Like what you see, then?"
"Please." The faint flush in her cheeks probably had more to do with the cold than anything else. "Try not to flatter yourself too much."
Seamus tilted his head and plunked down beside her. "Who'll do it, then, if I don't?"
"I'm sure I have no idea," Pansy shook her head slightly, confused as to why he'd sat down next to her, but for some reason hesitant to remind him that he had a party to get to. He was ... warm, beside her. She cleared her throat.
"You ought to come."
"What?" Pansy blinked. "Oh; to your ... thing? I think not."
"Why not? It's Christmastime, after all. Damn sight warmer at the Three Broomsticks, too."
Was he serious? "It's hardly my scene," she sniffed, though she no longer knew if she had any sort of scene to speak of. Anyway, it wasn't as if she'd be welcome among his friends. As if she wanted to be. "You and I don't move in the same circles."
He looked at her for longer than she thought appropriate, his face closer than she thought appropriate, before he said, "It's difficult you are."
"What?"
"You're a difficult woman, Parkinson," he said again, dropping his gaze, and just in time -- she'd been this close to fidgeting under it, and that wouldn't do. "But I'd not drag you where you don't want to be. Still." He fished into the paper bag he held, and handed her a paper cup. "Ought to have some eggnog."
"Eggnog?" Perhaps she needed to get out of the cold, if all she could seem to do was parrot him.
"Mmm." He lifted a thermos. "Me own recipe. Special, like." He winked and uncapped the thermos, tipping some of the thick liquid into her cup before she could refuse him.
It warmed her hands, right through the cup, and she looked at him before lifted it and took a sip. Coughed. "Finnigan, what have you put in this?"
Seamus grinned. "Well now, it's just a splash o' Jameson. 's good for you; clears your sinuses right up. Have some more."
Pansy's eyes narrowed. "More than just a splash, I'd wager."
He only shrugged. "Could be. Wasn't really measurin'." He got to his feet again. "Be seein' you, I figure. Don't sit too long, Pansy."
She stared after him for a long moment, then glanced down at her eggnog as she felt the whiskey, warm in her belly.
Raising one brow, she took another sip.
Pairing: Seamus/Pansy
Rating: Any Age
Summary: Pansy finds herself confused by a sort-of conversation with Seamus.
Warnings: None
Word Count: 896
For
sugarquill39, who requested Seamus/anyone, het if possible, eggnog.Pansy hated Hogsmeade.
She always had; everything was so ... jumbled, here. Everyone mingled with everyone else, and lived right up next to each other, and ate in the same restaurants and called out to each other on the street. One could never tell who was a decent sort and who wasn't. Who she could associate with and who she couldn't. Where she belonged.
There wasn't anyone to tell her anymore.
Socially, she'd always felt more comfortable knowing her place. Knowing that she was better than everyone else. Not, of course, that she didn't still know that, but it was a bit hard to reinforce the knowledge in her mind when she was by herself. Come to that, it was also hard to be sure of anything when her parents were the ones who were in prison, and would be for a very long time. Very little made sense to her these days.
Even without all that, it was always bloody snowing here, and slushing up the pavement. She loathed the sound of it, squelching beneath her boots and making her walks uncomfortable. Occasionally, she did like to walk through the town, when the thin walls of her cheap flat began to close in on her, and the knowledge that she had no place else to go made the impulse to pout very, very strong. It was all right, as long as the street wasn't very crowded.
The pavement was almost empty of villagers when she stopped and took a seat on a bench. It was cold; the wind was licking at the back of her neck, having somehow found a way in between her scarf and the collar of her coat. Even as she shivered, she tried not to huddle in case anyone saw her. Going back to her flat didn't sound very appealing; it was rather a lovely night, and the Christmas lights were nice.
Pansy jolted gracelessly when a scuffed brown boot landed in the slush in front of her bench, splashing dirty, icy water onto her boot. "Ew."
"Good seein' you too, Parkinson." Seamus stopped just past where she sat, looking down at her. She straightened her spine.
"Finnigan, what on earth is your rush?"
"Got a party," he waggled his eyebrows. "One I happen to be late for, actually. Christmas, and all."
"Oh yes, of course, Christmas. I'd had no idea what all these lights were for," she deadpanned, before she took stock of him, looking a good bit nattier than she usually saw him in his dress coat and trousers, his hair combed and curling slightly about his ears. "Though I suppose that's why you seem to have found a clean shirt."
"Aye. I've a few in the back o' me wardrobe; I pull 'em out for special occasions." Instead of withering under the look she gave him, he smirked. "Like what you see, then?"
"Please." The faint flush in her cheeks probably had more to do with the cold than anything else. "Try not to flatter yourself too much."
Seamus tilted his head and plunked down beside her. "Who'll do it, then, if I don't?"
"I'm sure I have no idea," Pansy shook her head slightly, confused as to why he'd sat down next to her, but for some reason hesitant to remind him that he had a party to get to. He was ... warm, beside her. She cleared her throat.
"You ought to come."
"What?" Pansy blinked. "Oh; to your ... thing? I think not."
"Why not? It's Christmastime, after all. Damn sight warmer at the Three Broomsticks, too."
Was he serious? "It's hardly my scene," she sniffed, though she no longer knew if she had any sort of scene to speak of. Anyway, it wasn't as if she'd be welcome among his friends. As if she wanted to be. "You and I don't move in the same circles."
He looked at her for longer than she thought appropriate, his face closer than she thought appropriate, before he said, "It's difficult you are."
"What?"
"You're a difficult woman, Parkinson," he said again, dropping his gaze, and just in time -- she'd been this close to fidgeting under it, and that wouldn't do. "But I'd not drag you where you don't want to be. Still." He fished into the paper bag he held, and handed her a paper cup. "Ought to have some eggnog."
"Eggnog?" Perhaps she needed to get out of the cold, if all she could seem to do was parrot him.
"Mmm." He lifted a thermos. "Me own recipe. Special, like." He winked and uncapped the thermos, tipping some of the thick liquid into her cup before she could refuse him.
It warmed her hands, right through the cup, and she looked at him before lifted it and took a sip. Coughed. "Finnigan, what have you put in this?"
Seamus grinned. "Well now, it's just a splash o' Jameson. 's good for you; clears your sinuses right up. Have some more."
Pansy's eyes narrowed. "More than just a splash, I'd wager."
He only shrugged. "Could be. Wasn't really measurin'." He got to his feet again. "Be seein' you, I figure. Don't sit too long, Pansy."
She stared after him for a long moment, then glanced down at her eggnog as she felt the whiskey, warm in her belly.
Raising one brow, she took another sip.
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