Fiction: The Incident in the Alley - A Play in Six Acts

[seedee]

Characters: Seamus/Harry
Rating: R
Wordcount: approx. 2,500
Summary: The story starts with a Quibbler staff meeting, continues with an interview and ends with an owl. It sounds straightforward, but is a little bit more complex - thanks to Seamus Finnigan, and the absence of a letter.
Author's notes: Written for tailoredshirt who donated for help_haiti in return for a ficlet. Thank you so much for your trust. I sincerely hope that you like it. Also thanks to my wonderful betas ridicu_liz and thimble_kiss.

Contains large graphic that might take a moment to load. (but it's totally worth it)




The Incident in the Alley - A Play in Six Acts


I - The Meeting

The Quibbler's board of directors that met every month for the official discussion of the next issue was Seamus Finnigan's second family. Not family in a way that promised safety and love, or the comfortable feeling of coming home to the lovely smell of cooking. No, it was family because everyone else was just as fucked up as Seamus was, and at the same time, they were just normal people leading normal lives.

In this little group, Seamus didn't have to explain why he was limping - George had named his simple wooden cane the Lucius Malfoy memorial bum stick. Neither did he have to justify that he never drank a single drop of alcohol - no matter how long into the night they sat together surrounded by food and drink - or why he sometimes didn't remember things like his own birthday, or where his mother lived.

"Who's the minute-man today?" asked Neville after all four of them had taken their usual places. Luna was stretched out on the couch; Neville sat on a huge pink cushion with his forearms on the coffee table; Seamus lounged in an armchair with his legs dangling over one armrest, and George, who wasn't able to sit still for any amount of time, was pacing back and forth in the spacious room that was their office, Luna's living room, Neville's bedroom and many more things all at once.

"That would be me," answered George.

Luna beamed at them all. "Wonderful. Does anyone want a cup of Gurdyroot infusion before we start?"


*


II - The Result




*


III - The Proposal

The Daily Prophet's Sunday issue had left its traces on Harry Potter's face. There were dark shadows under his eyes and deep creases in his forehead. "I've wondered when you'd show up," he said as he held the door open for Seamus.

"Didn't you get my owl?" Seamus asked with a broad smile, running his hand over the colourful tapestry in the small flat in Muggle London.

Harry walked past him toward the kitchen. "Do you even know how an owl works?"

Seamus followed him and sat down at the big and heavy oak wood table unasked. "Pat on the bum and off they go."

"Did you attach a note?"

"A note!" Seamus slapped his forehead.

"Butterbeer?"

"Sure thing."

Harry warmed two bottles with a charm and handed one to Seamus. "What can I do for you?"

Seamus took the bottle, raised it and drank. Then he said. "The Quibbler wants an interview. Show your side of the story."

"How much do they know?"

Seamus drank again and cleared his throat. "As much as the Prophet."

There was a long pause where Harry just looked at Seamus, seemingly considering the request. Finally, he nodded. "All right. Shoot."


*


IV - The Interview

Seamus Finnigan - SF
Harry Potter - HP
Recorded by a dictation quill, Wizmark 51-se, mode: smooth 50%, alter 0%.

SF: Thank you for your time, Harry. It's been a while since our last interview. How have you been?

HP: I've been well, thank you.

SF: I hope you don't mind me coming directly to the reason why I'm here. We've all seen the headline in the Daily Prophet-

HP: Have we?

SF: I think so. And those who didn't, will have heard it by now. Is there any truth to it? Does Harry Potter really lead a double life? Does he have a secret gay lover in Muggle London?

HP: No.

SF: The Prophet claims to have found evidence, though. There was also a photo, showing a man that looks like you in an alley.

HP: How is being in an alley with one's pants around one's ankles evidence of leading a double life and having a secret gay lover? From where I'm standing, it's only evidence of getting one's cock sucked.

SF: So it was you in the alley? What happened on that Saturday evening?

HP: Are you sure that you want your readers to know that?

SF: I'm sure.

HP: I live in Muggle London, in an area with many bars and pubs, some night clubs. Whenever I'm bored, I just grab my wallet and go out for a drink. It's easy. The people in the area know me as Harry, the young man who lives around the corner. They know nothing about wars and chosen ones and other silly titles.

On Saturday, I went to the pub just down the street. Nice place, good ale, greasy chips. I sat down at the bar, ordered a pint and something to eat, and looked around to see if I knew anyone.

SF: Did you?

HP: Not at first. But then this wizard came in - I knew him. He lives in Hogsmeade, so I was surprised to meet him. Not a bad surprise. I hadn't seen him in a while. He sat down next to me and we talked about our jobs, our lives, about old friends, old times. You know, adventures of the past. The older you get, the more you talk about the time when you were young.

SF: I know what you mean.

HP: My circle of friends isn't all that big. There's Ron and Hermione, of course. But with their first kid, they're busy right now. I don't always want to hang around there, and disrupt their family time. And there's Ginny and George, but both of them have more than one job and very significant others. So I go to those pubs to have a good time because going out in the wizarding world is hardly possible. Until that night, I've never met a friend from the magical part of the world before. And it felt good. We moved from the bar to a table in the corner after a while.

SF: What's he like?

HP: He talks a lot, laughs a lot, teases a lot, says lots of things he shouldn't. Never boring around him. He's one of those people who are charming without trying or doing anything to deserve it. Loud and obnoxious. And charming.

SF: I assume he's the guy from the alley? How did you get there?

HP: Yes, he's the guy from the alley. We caught up on each other's lives. We were never that close, despite our common friends, and despite spending a lot of time in each other's company.

SF: Why was that?

HP: I don't know. We're both stubborn and hot-headed and very opinionated. We're both good at arguing, not very good at listening. We had our own little circle of friends in school, and afterwards... After the war, we both had our problems and things to deal with. He was hurt, and I was hurt, and basically everyone was hurt. I pulled back from the world in general, and he threw himself into a new project to the point where he nearly drowned in it.

SF: But on Saturday, you reconnected - or connected.

HP: We did. From talking about jobs and the past and our friends, we moved to more personal things. I knew that he wasn't interested only in women. Everyone knows it; he's not trying to hide it. And he's good at his job, so he knows that I sometimes go out with men. He never breathed a word about it. I was grateful. I'm not advertising it. I have enough unwanted attention as it is.

SF: So you talked about your shared attraction to men.

HP: You could say that. It's nice to talk with someone else about it, discuss merits of other men, places to go, charms and stuff.

SF: Were you drunk?

HP: No, we weren't drunk. I had two pints; he didn't drink at all. I can't - and won't - blame anything on booze. The mood changed, you see. We were talking and laughing. And he has those freckles around his eyes. Here. I couldn't stop watching them. He noticed me staring. The rest happened fast. I drank my ale because I didn't know what else to do. And he came closer. I felt him against my side. He put a hand on my thigh. It was so warm in there.

SF: And then?

HP: We kissed. It was awkward and over far too quickly because it wasn't that kind of pub. But the hand on my thigh was still there. He asked me if I wanted to go back to his flat. I said yes.

SF: But you didn't make it to the flat.

HP: No, we didn't. We paid and went outside. It wasn't cold. Only a minute after we started walking, he stopped and pushed me up against a wall. He's about as tall as I am. He tilted his head and kissed me slowly. I wrapped my arms around him. He tasted like pub food and tomato juice. And hot.

SF: Good kisser?

HP: Yeah, he is. Aggressive, but not too rough. Wouldn't have thought that... You know. It was me who pulled him into the alley. Out of sight. I hadn't planned on doing more than kissing, but he opened my jeans, and I tugged on his shirt, and there was groping and kissing, and I forgot where I was. Before I had time to think this through, he was on his knees before me and pushed my trousers down over my hips and-

SF: I don't think we need to know all the details.

HP: Fuck you, Finnigan. You're bloody well going to listen. You went to your fucking knees in this fucking alley, and sucked my cock as if you liked it. You had your hands on my hips, and you moaned as I came down your throat so hard that I thought I was going to black out. You got up and kissed me. I tasted my spunk on your tongue, and I jerked you off. I held you when you came. You cleaned my hand with your wand. You kissed my bloody palm afterwards.

SF: I did. And I liked it.

HP: Then explain to me why you didn't write an owl, didn't floo, didn't show your face. We parted with a kiss and a promise. You didn't even have the decency to tell me that this was just some cheap back alley thing. You're an arsehole.

SF: Maybe. Or maybe I just didn't know what to think. You didn't want to come back to my flat after that. You didn't write either. You didn't floo. And then I see that bloody picture in the Daily Prophet and thought you'd be mad or something. I knew how they work and that you didn't want to come out. I should have known it was too dangerous. Damn. I thought you didn't want to see me. That it was just some cheap back alley thing.

HP: Thinking was never one of your strengths. You said you'd owl me; you didn't.

SF: No, I didn't. But I'm here now.

HP: Get your hands off me.

SF: That's not what you said last time.

HP: Shut up and come here. Prat.


*


V - The Aftermath

Harry took another sip from his butterbeer. "You're not going to print that, right?"

Seamus balled up the parchment and threw it across the kitchen. It bounced off the wall and landed in the sink. "No. That won't be in the Quibbler."

There was a long pause. Then Seamus took a fresh piece of parchment, and started to write.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked. "Are you writing your own version of what happened?"

Seamus laughed and shook his head. "'Course not. I'm writing an owl. There's someone I'd like to ask out on a date."

Harry smirked and walked over, placed a warm hand on the back of Seamus's neck and one on his chest, fingers splayed wide. "Do you need help with that?"

Seamus grinned up at him. "Because of your vast experience with writing owls? Oh, wait..."

Harry lowered himself slowly, not breaking eye contact. The nervousness deep in Seamus's gut was new, but he welcomed it, just like he welcomed Harry's warm lips when they met his own.


*


VI - Gordon

The owl was young and eager. He wasn't as nervous and jittery as Ron's little Pig, but he didn't possess Hedwig's dignity and attitude. Hedwig was gone, though, and now Gordon was Harry's owl, eager to please, and eager to earn a pat on the head, a piece of bacon or just an approving word instead of a sad smile.

He saw the crumpled parchment in the sink when he swooped into the kitchen. He'd fled from the bedroom where he'd taken a nap as Harry and Seamus had entered, too busy to pay attention to him.

Gordon poked the parchment with his beak, noticing the crest at the top and recognising it. He'd delivered letters to the Quibbler and Luna's house before, and remembered the big, colourful crest on the floor of the hall, and the little one just above the front door.

Harry was busy, and Gordon was bored. He wouldn't need more than a few hours for the journey, and Harry wouldn't have to worry about it any more. Gordon took the parchment, soared through the flat and out of the back window where the risk that Muggles would see him was small.

He came back later in the afternoon with his tummy full of owl treats and a scroll attached to his leg.

Comments

[maevemist.livejournal.com]

I am here via FictionAlley Park - Masterlist of Pairings with a detour through Gryffindor boys, just in case you were wondering. ;)

This is wonderful. I loved the relationships of all the characters here. they are all so great I couldn't even begin to pick a favourite. I love the meeting notes and Seamus' interview with Harry but I have to say Gordon the Owl may just have won my heart.

[vanseedee.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you found it and very glad you liked it. This was so much fun to write - especially Gordon.