[RP LOG: Ginny, Seamus. G.]
Date: December 10
Summary: Ginny and Seamus temporarily draw support from each other as they go to see Dean after the attack that put him into the hospital wing.
Rating: G
Ginny could hear voices inside. A voice, she corrected herself. With a significant Irish lilt to it. Smiling in spite of the solemnity the hospital wing called for, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.
"What do you mean I can't go in?" Seamus was nearly yelling now, all the anger pent up inside him was unleashing itself on Madame Pomfrey who remained tight-lipped. He didn't notice Ginny enter quietly behind him, but he did notice Madame Pomfrey's rather frazzled glance in her direction. Aware that he was not going to get another answer on the matter, Seamus turned around.
Ginny blanched visibly at the expression on Seamus' face and heard the door click softly shut behind her. "Hi, Seamus," she murmured, giving him a half smile. She studied him with a quick glance, taking in the angered red bruising on his cheeks and how dark his eyes suddenly seemed.
She stood unmoving, her eyes returning to Madame Pomfrey, a silent request between them. With a barely perceptible nod, the older woman stepped past them, the clicking of her shoes echoing through the almost empty ward once more.
"Ginny," Seamus nodded in greeting, not bothering to compose himself. Hell, she'd already seen him laying into Madame Pomfrey. In fact, she didn't look that great herself. Seamus tried to smile at her, tried to reassure her that Dean'd be okay, but somehow his face didn't quite work that way anymore. "You heard then?" He asked her.
She was fully aware of the internal struggle the young man in front of her was going through and she wondered distractedly if this was perhaps worse for him because of the length of the friendship between the two young men. She blinked. Once. Twice. Then shifted on the balls of her feet. "Someone came to get me," she replied suddenly, a sharp edge to her voice. "I came straight here."
But she hadn't. And she wondered if he knew that she was lying too. She'd gone to. Well. Her first instinct had been to find Harry, of all people. Maybe there was something he could do...
She was here now and that's what mattered. She raised her chin and took a step towards Seamus. "Come on. He needs us," she told him softly, taking hold of his hand.
It was admirable; the way Ginny was so strong. Stronger than he was. He followed numbly behind her, not wanting to go in anymore. He didn't want to see his best friend unconscious in a hospital bed, battered beyond most repair. If he didn't see it, then he wouldn't know how bad it was. Not really. Seamus squeezed Ginny's hand briefly. "At least I got out of Potions," he tried to joke, his voice weak.
She squeezed back, her eyes creasing with detached humour at his joke. "It'll be okay, Seamus," she murmured, trying to convince herself of the fact.
And then the curtain was in front of them. She tugged it slowly to the side, inch by inch, not wanting the rattle of metal rings on rod to wake Dean if he was sleeping. They were tense. Both of them.
She didn't know what she was expecting. No one had told her anything. It's Dean... he's in the hospital... there was an attack... And she'd run without waiting to hear the rest. She saw him then. He was pale beneath the heavy quilt of bruises that made bile rush suddenly in the back of her throat in her initial horror. Her hands were trembling, the fingers of her free hand tapping her thigh as her eyes filled without warning. "Oh."
Seamus swallowed heavily as he saw Dean. He was bruised and uncharacteristically pale - out cold, in a sleep deeper than any Seamus had seen him in. Seamus was strangely detatched. The sound of blood rushing to his ears was muffling his senses, and he felt suffocated and nauseous. For a moment, he forgot Ginny was in the room with him, his shock was overriding everything else, his round eyes fixed and unwavering on Dean’s prone form. The sound of her quiet sob penetrated the clinical coldness of the hospital ward and Seamus was brought back to himself. There was nothing he could do for Dean, that much was obvious. Thoughts came rushing back at him faster than he could manage - the ‘why, how, who, where?’ accosted his mind. What did Dean do to deserve this? Had he said something? Done something? It wasn’t like Dean to provoke an attack, of all things. No, this, this was malicious. Seamus clenched his jaw, aching to punch something and tear the ward apart until his body was broken or until there was nothing left around him to break. His rage at the sheer unfairness of everything overtook him, his nails dig into the curled palm of his fist.
Then he noticed the quiet third year recovering in a bed towards the other end of the ward. She was obviously trying not to look in their direction - sick, bored, desperate for company. Further down the row there was a first year Gryffindor he didn’t know the name of, with a large bandage wrapped around his head. He was sleeping with his mouth open and dwarfed in white blankets. They were all suffering their own pains without his added to the load. Exhaling, Seamus put his hand on Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed, just a little bit, returning the courage she had shown him before. Dean had them at least. Seamus could afford to exact his vengeance later.
“You okay?” He mumbled quietly, trying not to disturb the tenuous hold he had on his sanity.
“Yes,” was the correct answer of course and she wanted to snort at how easily it rolled off the tongue even though she felt that by looking at Dean, somehow, some part of her would never be right again. “No.” Her next answer was barely a breath. She could’ve sworn that it only sounded that way because of the way she’d shaped her lips and she really hadn’t intended to make herself sound so desperate and full of despair. She wasn’t that way. Not her. She was a Weasley and God forbid if she’d turn out to inherit the frantic worry that seemed to hover around her mother whenever anything was concerned, dangerous or not. She would maintain appearances, at least until she was by herself.
But then there was the horrible sharp pains behind her eyes that were making them water even more now that Seamus had asked if she was alright and she sucked in a breath, mentally slapping herself as a torn sob accompanied it and her eyes betrayed her, letting the tears fall against her will. She swore at her conscience and its inability to control what she was telling it she didn’t want to happen.
She contemplated why she could possibly have to uphold some semblance of control. Because I’m not going to be a bloody girl about this! came the sudden, harsh reply from some part of her brain that obviously had this planned out and rationalized. It was exhausting.
“Yes, no. I mean, yes.” Another gaspsob to get enough breath to try and make him believe. “Bloody hell.” She was furious at herself now. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Seamus scrunched his eyes shut and raked his hands through his hair, dragging his fingernails down and scratching his forehead, digging into the skin. He didn't know what to say to Ginny to make it better. He couldn't make himself better, how could he help her? He had thought he was prepared to see Dean like this, but nothing could have prepared him for the incredible gravity of the situation and the knowledge that he was helpless to do anything for him. It was the least he could do to try and comfort Dean's girlfriend, his friend.
"Hey, it'll be okay, Ginny." Seamus took a deep breathe, fumbling for the right words to say. "Dean's tough. He- he's going to be fine."
She was grateful that she didn't have to be here alone, that there was someone here that she could, temporarily at least, use as a buffer if and when she lost it, before she could reign in her emotions.
But she hadn't counted on having to reciprocate.
Startled into life as Seamus' voice broke she glanced at him, concern making her brow furrow and she slipped an arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. There didn't seem to be anything that she could say to make it better, to reassure both of them that things could have been so much worse if the circumstances had been different.
"Do you want to sit?" she offered, gesturing to some nearby seats that were neatly stacked against the wall.
Seamus leant into the half-hug and glanced at the solitary hospital chair, padded and leather but not built for comfort. He couldn't stay, couldn't sit here with this not-Dean. He didn't want to abandon Ginny but he sensed she was only holding herself together for his sake. "No, no it's okay," he started, "you sit down. I think, I should probably leave you alone with him for a bit. If - if you like." Seamus bit his lip and moved away from Ginny, towards the door. He was starting to feel anxious to leave and be on his own. He would visit Dean again later. When things had calmed down and his vision wasn't quite so blurred.
He wasn't going to lose his best friend. He wasn't. He wasn't blinking back tears. He was a tough Irish lad, born and raised. He wasn't going to wallow in self-pity, trapped by the stark, cold walls of the hospital wing. He needed to burn off some energy. He needed to get revenge. Stumbling backwards through the door he turned and fled.
Summary: Ginny and Seamus temporarily draw support from each other as they go to see Dean after the attack that put him into the hospital wing.
Rating: G
Ginny could hear voices inside. A voice, she corrected herself. With a significant Irish lilt to it. Smiling in spite of the solemnity the hospital wing called for, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.
"What do you mean I can't go in?" Seamus was nearly yelling now, all the anger pent up inside him was unleashing itself on Madame Pomfrey who remained tight-lipped. He didn't notice Ginny enter quietly behind him, but he did notice Madame Pomfrey's rather frazzled glance in her direction. Aware that he was not going to get another answer on the matter, Seamus turned around.
Ginny blanched visibly at the expression on Seamus' face and heard the door click softly shut behind her. "Hi, Seamus," she murmured, giving him a half smile. She studied him with a quick glance, taking in the angered red bruising on his cheeks and how dark his eyes suddenly seemed.
She stood unmoving, her eyes returning to Madame Pomfrey, a silent request between them. With a barely perceptible nod, the older woman stepped past them, the clicking of her shoes echoing through the almost empty ward once more.
"Ginny," Seamus nodded in greeting, not bothering to compose himself. Hell, she'd already seen him laying into Madame Pomfrey. In fact, she didn't look that great herself. Seamus tried to smile at her, tried to reassure her that Dean'd be okay, but somehow his face didn't quite work that way anymore. "You heard then?" He asked her.
She was fully aware of the internal struggle the young man in front of her was going through and she wondered distractedly if this was perhaps worse for him because of the length of the friendship between the two young men. She blinked. Once. Twice. Then shifted on the balls of her feet. "Someone came to get me," she replied suddenly, a sharp edge to her voice. "I came straight here."
But she hadn't. And she wondered if he knew that she was lying too. She'd gone to. Well. Her first instinct had been to find Harry, of all people. Maybe there was something he could do...
She was here now and that's what mattered. She raised her chin and took a step towards Seamus. "Come on. He needs us," she told him softly, taking hold of his hand.
It was admirable; the way Ginny was so strong. Stronger than he was. He followed numbly behind her, not wanting to go in anymore. He didn't want to see his best friend unconscious in a hospital bed, battered beyond most repair. If he didn't see it, then he wouldn't know how bad it was. Not really. Seamus squeezed Ginny's hand briefly. "At least I got out of Potions," he tried to joke, his voice weak.
She squeezed back, her eyes creasing with detached humour at his joke. "It'll be okay, Seamus," she murmured, trying to convince herself of the fact.
And then the curtain was in front of them. She tugged it slowly to the side, inch by inch, not wanting the rattle of metal rings on rod to wake Dean if he was sleeping. They were tense. Both of them.
She didn't know what she was expecting. No one had told her anything. It's Dean... he's in the hospital... there was an attack... And she'd run without waiting to hear the rest. She saw him then. He was pale beneath the heavy quilt of bruises that made bile rush suddenly in the back of her throat in her initial horror. Her hands were trembling, the fingers of her free hand tapping her thigh as her eyes filled without warning. "Oh."
Seamus swallowed heavily as he saw Dean. He was bruised and uncharacteristically pale - out cold, in a sleep deeper than any Seamus had seen him in. Seamus was strangely detatched. The sound of blood rushing to his ears was muffling his senses, and he felt suffocated and nauseous. For a moment, he forgot Ginny was in the room with him, his shock was overriding everything else, his round eyes fixed and unwavering on Dean’s prone form. The sound of her quiet sob penetrated the clinical coldness of the hospital ward and Seamus was brought back to himself. There was nothing he could do for Dean, that much was obvious. Thoughts came rushing back at him faster than he could manage - the ‘why, how, who, where?’ accosted his mind. What did Dean do to deserve this? Had he said something? Done something? It wasn’t like Dean to provoke an attack, of all things. No, this, this was malicious. Seamus clenched his jaw, aching to punch something and tear the ward apart until his body was broken or until there was nothing left around him to break. His rage at the sheer unfairness of everything overtook him, his nails dig into the curled palm of his fist.
Then he noticed the quiet third year recovering in a bed towards the other end of the ward. She was obviously trying not to look in their direction - sick, bored, desperate for company. Further down the row there was a first year Gryffindor he didn’t know the name of, with a large bandage wrapped around his head. He was sleeping with his mouth open and dwarfed in white blankets. They were all suffering their own pains without his added to the load. Exhaling, Seamus put his hand on Ginny’s shoulder and squeezed, just a little bit, returning the courage she had shown him before. Dean had them at least. Seamus could afford to exact his vengeance later.
“You okay?” He mumbled quietly, trying not to disturb the tenuous hold he had on his sanity.
“Yes,” was the correct answer of course and she wanted to snort at how easily it rolled off the tongue even though she felt that by looking at Dean, somehow, some part of her would never be right again. “No.” Her next answer was barely a breath. She could’ve sworn that it only sounded that way because of the way she’d shaped her lips and she really hadn’t intended to make herself sound so desperate and full of despair. She wasn’t that way. Not her. She was a Weasley and God forbid if she’d turn out to inherit the frantic worry that seemed to hover around her mother whenever anything was concerned, dangerous or not. She would maintain appearances, at least until she was by herself.
But then there was the horrible sharp pains behind her eyes that were making them water even more now that Seamus had asked if she was alright and she sucked in a breath, mentally slapping herself as a torn sob accompanied it and her eyes betrayed her, letting the tears fall against her will. She swore at her conscience and its inability to control what she was telling it she didn’t want to happen.
She contemplated why she could possibly have to uphold some semblance of control. Because I’m not going to be a bloody girl about this! came the sudden, harsh reply from some part of her brain that obviously had this planned out and rationalized. It was exhausting.
“Yes, no. I mean, yes.” Another gaspsob to get enough breath to try and make him believe. “Bloody hell.” She was furious at herself now. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Seamus scrunched his eyes shut and raked his hands through his hair, dragging his fingernails down and scratching his forehead, digging into the skin. He didn't know what to say to Ginny to make it better. He couldn't make himself better, how could he help her? He had thought he was prepared to see Dean like this, but nothing could have prepared him for the incredible gravity of the situation and the knowledge that he was helpless to do anything for him. It was the least he could do to try and comfort Dean's girlfriend, his friend.
"Hey, it'll be okay, Ginny." Seamus took a deep breathe, fumbling for the right words to say. "Dean's tough. He- he's going to be fine."
She was grateful that she didn't have to be here alone, that there was someone here that she could, temporarily at least, use as a buffer if and when she lost it, before she could reign in her emotions.
But she hadn't counted on having to reciprocate.
Startled into life as Seamus' voice broke she glanced at him, concern making her brow furrow and she slipped an arm around his waist, leaning her head on his shoulder. There didn't seem to be anything that she could say to make it better, to reassure both of them that things could have been so much worse if the circumstances had been different.
"Do you want to sit?" she offered, gesturing to some nearby seats that were neatly stacked against the wall.
Seamus leant into the half-hug and glanced at the solitary hospital chair, padded and leather but not built for comfort. He couldn't stay, couldn't sit here with this not-Dean. He didn't want to abandon Ginny but he sensed she was only holding herself together for his sake. "No, no it's okay," he started, "you sit down. I think, I should probably leave you alone with him for a bit. If - if you like." Seamus bit his lip and moved away from Ginny, towards the door. He was starting to feel anxious to leave and be on his own. He would visit Dean again later. When things had calmed down and his vision wasn't quite so blurred.
He wasn't going to lose his best friend. He wasn't. He wasn't blinking back tears. He was a tough Irish lad, born and raised. He wasn't going to wallow in self-pity, trapped by the stark, cold walls of the hospital wing. He needed to burn off some energy. He needed to get revenge. Stumbling backwards through the door he turned and fled.