skoosiepants | To hell with it... Nighthawkish ramblings

I've been sitting on this for over a year, people. And, though I seriously hate to admit it, I have no idea what these characters' voices are anymore. Nighthawk, folks, is pretty close to dead. It's giving a loud, wailing death rattle-cry. It's been shot in the gut and is slowing being poisoned. I tried. I honestly didn't want to give up, but my head is completely filled with AUs. I think it's a product of my lurching out of the fandom. It's a sad fact that I no longer read much HP fic, and what I do read is mostly genfic, short character pieces or AUs. And I haven't written anything canon of any substance since... um... Does EHWK count?

So... these are those five sad pages I wrote right after posting chapter nine. Pages I can't get past. I'm so pathetic.

Don't hurt me.

“Wait, wait. Let m’get this straight.” Seamus knocked back his shot and upended the glass onto the now-slick table, adding to their growing collection. “You’re in love with Zabini.”

“The wanker,” Hermione mumbled, licking up the side of her own – fourth? fifth? – shot glass. “Lying, smarmy, pretty bastard.”

Seamus’ eyes were only slightly glazed, and he let out a soft belch before reaching for his beer. “Well, you’re gonna hafta tell ‘im, then,” he slurred, tipping his bottle at her. “Look. Look, look.” He patted the table with a palm and Hermione’s gaze slipped down to it, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Wha?”

“Ah’m sure this Zabini bloke’s a… good sort—”

“Have y’been listening, Seamus? And what do you mean ‘Zabini bloke?’ Y’know ‘im too, you ninny—”

“Ninny?” Seamus chortled. “Ninny?”

Hermione glared at him, huffing slightly. “I hate you.”

“No, no,” he shook his head emphatically. “Y’love me. Though not,” he waggled his brows, “the way you love Zabini. Blaise, whatsit? Dark, quiet, incrud… cre…” he paused, screwing up his face in painful thought, “really, really sexy Slytherin?”

Hermione nodded morosely, pushed her index finger through a puddle of firewhiskey, and licked the digit matter-of-factly.

Seamus eyed her mouth curiously. “Has tha’ lickable scar along his hip.” He nodded decisively. “Good sort.”

“Wait a tic.” She straightened as much as she could, which wasn’t very much, considering the whiskey had melted most of her bones. “You’ve seen his scar?”

“Bit of an exhibitionist, really,” he said, words slow and meticulous and a tad muddled, so ‘exhibitionist’ mostly sounded like ‘eshabishanest.’ “Wen’ through a really, really long naked, lookit period ‘n sixth year.”

Hermione groaned and slumped forward, shoving aside several shot glasses. “’M pathetic. And he’snot good. He’s hurtful an’ mean.”

Seamus blinked at her owlishly. “Lick,” he said.

“Wha?”

“’M sorry,” he shook his head, then pushed a hand against his chin, as if trying to stop the whirling. “Well.”

Hermione stared at him, and when he didn’t seem likely to continue, she kicked her foot languidly against his shin. “Seamus.”

“Well,” he started again, squinting down the neck of his beer bottle. “I hate Neville.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“I do,” he insisted. “He’s all,” he waved his hand, “’make an honest man of me,’ and I’m jus’ thinkin’ about him, y’know, when—”

“Wait, what?” Hermione interrupted. “Honest…?” She trailed off, then burst into giggles. “Nev. Nev asked you t’marry him.”

Seamus scowled at her. “You are not funny,” he bit out precisely.

“Nope. But you are.” She slid down low in her seat, gripping the edge of the table, deep, belly laughter making her eyes tear up.

Finally, after watching her chuckles peter out to a few random spasms, he grumbled, “Not marry. Just. Come out in th’open with it. Y’know?”

Hermione nodded sagely. Or what she thought was sagely, really. Her head just sort of bobbled a bit. Then her bleary eyes caught sight of a dark, familiar head by the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, and she spluttered a low “Shhhhhhh,” putting a finger to her lips.

“What?” Seamus asked loudly.

She crooked her finger and pointed towards the door. “Quiet,” she hissed, scooting even further down into the chair, in definite danger of dropping off into a heap under their table.

Seamus swiveled his head to follow her finger, face lighting up. “Oh, looky, Harry’s here. Harry!” he shouted, and Hermione slapped a hand across her face.

“Harry!” he yelled again, gesturing wildly with both hands, waving him over.

Hermione shot Seamus an evil glare before shifting it up to Harry. “Hello,” she greeted, trying her very best to sound sober. The few soft hiccups she couldn’t quite suppress might have betrayed her, though.

Seamus yanked on Harry’s robe sleeve. “Come on, mate, sit down, sit. Have a drink. Have sev’ral.” He frowned down at the empty toppled shot glasses, eyes slitted. “Where’s th’whiskey gone, then?”

With a chuckle, Harry dropped onto the seat next to Seamus, giving Hermione a crooked, somewhat concerned smile. “Technically, I’m still on the clock, so I’ll have to pass on the drinks.”

“Still.” Seamus swung a friendly fist at his arm, missing by a good five inches. “Barely see you these days. What’ve y’been up to?”

Harry eyed him with amusement. “Nothing you’ll remember in the morning,” he said wryly.

Hermione continued to glare, hoping her gaze would bore a hole into his unrepentant green eyes. Bastard was consorting with Zabini. ‘Course, it was for her own safety, really, but still. Best mates didn’t side with the enemy! Or sexy rescuer, potential lifemate, whatever. Her eyes lowered to the table, scowl loosening into a thoughtful frown. Blaise sucked.

Feeling eyes on her, she glanced up and saw Harry looking at her expectantly. “What?” she asked.

“I just said I’d take you home, if you’re ready.” He turned to Seamus, not waiting for her to reply. “Need help getting back to the castle?”

Seamus blinked, then said thickly, “Can y’Floo Nev for me?”

Harry patted his shoulder. “Sure thing, Seamus. Be right back.”

“You,” Hermione said accusingly after Harry had moved away from them.

“Me wha?”

“You. You traitor,” she snarled. “’Harry, Harry,’” she imitated, pitching her voice comically high.

Seamus’ brow furrowed. “Doesna sound like me.”

“It was you. Now I have to go home,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

The sandy-haired Irishman’s yawn threatened to split his face. “Bit tired meself. Not so bad, goin’ home.” He shrugged.

“For you, maybe. For people who aren’t—” She clammed up abruptly, aware that even in her sotted state she shouldn’t say anything about the Smith situation. No one was really supposed to know.

Luckily, Seamus completely forgot that thread of conversation, and grinned sleepily at Harry when he strolled back over.

“Neville’ll be right down,” he said amiably. “Come on, let’s meet him outside, eh?”

Hermione unsteadily got to her feet, palms flat on the table, and swallowed down a groan. Seamus lurched up as well, and Harry moved to grab each of their arms, weaving them through the clusters of tables until they were out in the crisp, cold January air. It was snowing, just the slightest bit, and Hermione turned her face up to the sky.

Seamus stuck out his tongue, catching a few flakes as they melted. “Mmmm.”

Hermione sighed heavily and leaned into Harry, and the man wrapped an arm around her waist.

“All right?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Sure.” And then a carriage rolled up, and Hermione thought that it wasn’t quite right that all three of them could see the Thestral pulling it.

Seamus stumbled over to the skittish animal, and before they could yank him back, the Irishman had an arm looped around the bony neck, his other hand patting the barrel chest firmly. “You an’ me, Jack. We’re a pair.” The Thestral snorted and bobbed its head, dancing slightly in place.

“Do they know each other?” Harry murmured in her ear.

Hermione shrugged, watching silently as the carriage door swung open and Neville jumped out onto the snow-packed road.

“Baby,” Seamus cried, slipping his arm off “Jack” to wrap it around Neville’s back, shoving his face into the other man’s neck.

Neville caught Seamus against him with both hands under his armpits, giving Harry and Hermione an apologetic grin over his shoulder. “Sorry about this one. He’s usually better at holding his drink.”

“Don’t worry about it, Nev,” Harry said, hefting Hermione closer when her knees started to buckle. “Hermione isn’t much better off at the moment. Seems they went on a binge.”

Hermione snorted softly, but was entirely too exhausted to protest his words.

Harry shifted Hermione so she could lean against a lamppost, and she watched with a languid eye as he helped Neville lift Seamus inside. When the vehicle started away, Harry turned and gave her an I’m-disappointed-with-you frown. Or what she thought was an I’m-disappointed-with-you frown, since Harry was so rarely disappointed by anything, and seemed to take larger than warranted amounts of joy out of the miniscule things in life.

“Look,” Hermione slurred, pointing off towards the right, trying to distract him from a not-needed-at-all lecture.

He cocked his head and squinted into the night. “What?”

“Pretty, er… snow on…” her voice grew gradually softer, “stuff.”

Harry widened his eyes and nodded his head slowly. “Uh huh. You’re completely pissed out of your mind, aren’t you Hermione?”

“No,” she frowned, then lurched forward and grabbed the front of his robes. “Would y’just… stop movin’ for a bloody minute?”

“I’m not moving,” Harry pointed out, clasping her wrists and hauling her upright, “you are. Ready to go?”

Hermione slumped bonelessly against him, resting her cheek on his chest. “Yeah,” she breathed.

“This wasn’t smart,” he said softly, hefting her almost entirely off her feet.

“I know.” She nuzzled her nose into his robe. Harry always had the nicest scent about him.

“We’re Apparating, so close your eyes. If you throw up on me I’ll never forgive you.”

“’M okay,” she murmured, but her eyelids slid shut obediently. They felt rather heavy anyway.

***

Her bed was moving. Bouncing, really. And a voice that sounded suspiciously like her flatmate was chanting cheerfully, “get up, get up, get up.” Hermione was seriously considering killing the girl.

“Alice,” she groaned, rolling onto her stomach.

The girl poked her sharply in the side. “Harry said to get you up. He had to go and Blaise is meeting us outside the café so you, my dear, have to leave for work with me.”

“Too many words,” Hermione said, wincing painfully and pulling her pillow over her head. Her skull was pounding, her mouth felt as if she’d been eating Crookshanks’ tail, and her eyes burned, even with them firmly squinched shut.

“Hermione,” Alice drew out, tugging on her covers.

“You’re going to a special hell,” she mumbled.

Alice maneuvered Hermione into a sitting position and shoved a glass of water into her hand. “Come on, grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy. I’m hung over.” But she gratefully gulped down the water and then blinked at Alice, feeling minutely more human. “Work?”

“Yep. And coffee.”

...

Sorry. *hangs head*

Current Mood: disappointed

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

shmanet-janet.livejournal.com

*pouts*
i do believe in Nighthawk, I do, I do!
*plugs ears*
LALALALALALALALALALALALA

i will resolve to stay in denial that Nighthawk is still alive and is lurking somewhere in the back of your head waiting for the right inspiration to kick it in the ass and get it moving.

From:

Skoosie has fancy plans... and pants to match

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