Irish Pride

A/N: In honor of St. Patrick's Day and our favorite Irish wizard, I wrote a missing moment fic that takes place at the Quidditch World Cup. Amos Diggory said the Lovegoods had been there for a week already, and to judge by the Finnigans' tent, they'd been there awhile, too. So I wondered what would happen if Seamus had happened upon Luna before the match...

Irish Pride

There was a knock on the door. Seamus moaned, rolled over, and placed a pillow on his head. "Oy, whoever it is, we're sleeping 'ere!"

"Don't you use that tone with me, young man!"

Sleepily, he opened his eyes a crack; it was still nearly dark. The deluxe magical tent his mother had rented for the Quidditch World Cup was in shadows, and Seamus could hear the snores of his best friend Dean in the next room. He grabbed for his watch; it wasn't even six a.m. "Mam? What's going on? The match isn't for two days!"

"I know that, you louser, watch your tongue! I swear, Seamus Kilroy Finnigan, you'll be the death of me. Get up right now, we need water for breakfast."

He moaned. "Mam, come on, the sun's not even out yet!"

"Don't make me tell you again! And keep quiet, we don't want to wake Dean."

"Why not?" Seamus muttered, who felt that with all the noise his mum had made Dean ought to be up to share the misery anyway. Fortunately she didn't hear him; he wasn't particularly keen on another lecture about being a proper host, or hearing more about how that 'darling' Dean was his 'precious' guest. Blech.

With a few more mutters for good measure, he pulled his Kenmare Kestrels shirt over his head, affixed the obligatory green rosette to the front, and buttoned up his trousers before poking his head out of the tent and surveying the darkness. His mother had considerately left a bucket for him before returning to sleep.

He comforted himself with the fact that he wouldn't get lost returning to the tent which was situated amidst a sea of green shamrocks. It was a reassuring sight, all that green. Made Seamus feel...proud, yes, that was it. Ireland was in the World Cup. Completely irrationally, it almost felt as if he were single-handedly responsible.

He had been disappointed that his father didn't want to attend, but try as he might, Liam Finnigan had never got the hang of Quidditch, and at least that freed up a ticket for Dean. Dean, who was still snoring in the nice warm tent, the lucky bastard, while Seamus was freezing his wand off wandering around looking for the blasted tap.

Later, if anyone asked, he would claim that it was a lack of sleep that kept him from remembering he was a wizard for so long. When it finally hit him (as he passed the same palatial tent with the rooster weathervane for the third time) he lit his wand with a soft, "Lumos."

When he finally found the tap, he put the bucket down under it. His hand was on the fixture when a very soft voice from somewhere over his head said, "Shh!"

Seamus jumped and knocked over the bucket; fortunately, there wasn't any water in it yet. Unfortunately, he landed on his arse, and it hurt.

Peering up into the canopy of the large oak tree than grew behind him, Seamus caught a flash of blonde hair.

"Who is that?" he demanded, getting to his feet. "What are you doing up there?"

Some leaves rustled and fell onto his sandy hair. "Could you be quiet?" the voice asked politely. "You'll scare it away."

"Scare what? What's going on?" He craned his neck to get a glimpse of the girl, but a moment later the branches shook, and she dropped from the sky into a crouching position, softly, just like a cat. She stood, brushing off her palms, and turned her very wide, protuberant blue eyes in his direction.

He waited for his eyes to adjust in the darkness, but she wasn't difficult to see. Her skirt looked as if it had been stitched together from rags, and she wore a blue striped kerchief on her head. Two large, glittering rainbows hung from her ears. Her wand was tucked behind the right, which somehow unbalanced her head.

"Shh," she said again, putting a finger to her lips and crossing slowly to his side, "it's mating season."

Seamus glanced around; had this crazy person escaped from St. Mungo's? How had she managed to find her way to the Quidditch World Cup?

She was still staring at him, and, awkwardly, Seamus picked at the dirt with the toe of his shoe.

"Er, I just wanted to get some water."

"Oh." She seemed to consider this as if he had asked her permission. "You really oughtn't to do that."

"What? Why not?" Seamus took a step back; was she dangerous? Was she threatening him?

"Because there's a tribanibian in the well," she said matter-of-factly.

Seamus couldn't help it; he started to laugh. The girl didn't appear offended, but she gave him an odd look, as if he were the strange one.

"First of all, there's no well," said Seamus, indicating the tap which ran directly into a pipe in the ground, "and second, there are no such things as 'tribanibians.'"

"The last wizard who said that," she answered, though without any sort of anger or annoyance, "never found his leg."

"Fine," said Seamus, deciding to play along, "what would a tribanibian be doing at a campsite?"

"Mating, I believe," the girl replied easily. She got down on all fours and placed an ear against the ground. "Or, at least, sending out the signals, I'm fairly sure there's only one. The tap pumps from a well; Muggles are curious, aren't they? The ways they find of working without magic!"

Seamus stiffened slightly, as he always did when some stupid pureblood made an inane comment about Muggle life. Witches and wizards had an annoying habit of treating the Muggle population at large like an enormous group of school-children; his own mother was guilty of the offence occasionally, much to his father's frustration.

"I believe there's another tap on the other side of the camp-ground," the girl was saying, blithely unaware that she had caused offence.

"What, all the way over there? I'm not hauling a bucket of water all that way when there's a perfectly serviceable tap right here!"

She looked up at him, puzzlement on her odd, dreamy face. "Well...all right, if you're not all that fond of your entrails. Do you have a gnuuse?"

Seamus was beginning to lose his temper. "What's a gnuuse?"

The girl started making motions with her hands. "You know, a gnuuse, a metal-plated protective unit."

As her hands travelled further south, Seamus got the picture, and flushed bright red.

"Of course not!" he exclaimed. "What I would I be wandering around with one of them for?"

"In case of Jawless Habbocks," came the reply. This girl was clearly loony.

"I've never heard of a Jawless Habbock," said Seamus stubbornly. He just wanted to get the water and go back to sleep. Stupid, lucky Dean, getting to sleep in and avoid loonies.

"Well, that's a shame, they're very interesting. You could use the codprotego charm, I suppose, but it's not as effective as a piece of metal between your legs. Do you suppose you could give me a hand?"

Seamus eyed her warily; his mother had trained him to be polite and helpful, and she didn't seem dangerous, though whatever she was asking him to do would probably not be normal. "With what?"

"Getting the tribanibian out of the well, of course," she said. "I don't think it's a very good idea to leave it there, do you?"

He paused, listening intently. The only thing he could hear was the occasional chirp of crickets, and the warble of birds. From somewhere in the distance came the sounds of early risers preparing breakfast. There was absolutely no sound coming from the tap.

"What do you propose we do?" he asked, though he had no idea why; he blamed the temporary loss of sanity on sleep-deprivation. "Dig a hole?"

"No," she said, appearing to give the problem serious thought. Her head was tilted to the side, and she bit down on her lip. It gave her a sort of childish look, which Seamus found almost endearing. "I don't think that will be necessary. We'll just tempt it to climb out of the tap. I hate to disturb its mating ritual, but I really don't think it's sanitary to leave it where it is. We'll need a box."

"A box?" Seamus repeated. "For what?"

"To capture it, of course." She kept giving him that look, the one that indicated she found him rather stupid.

"Why, you're not going to keep it as a pet, are you?" Her face was impassive. "Take it home and name it 'Princess'?"

The girl started laughing, loudly and endlessly. "Don't be ridiculous; I don't know whether it's male or female."

Seamus couldn't stop staring; he wondered if that was a common reaction to her. "Who are you?"

"Luna Lovegood," she said. "I think I have a box in my tent, I'll be right back. Wait here, and if you see a wing, tickle it."

Seamus wasn't sure he heard her correctly, but before he could ask her to repeat herself, she'd taken off over the hill, so he just stood around feeling incredibly foolish. He kept asking himself why he didn't just fill the bucket and return to his tent, but his feet refused to move. His brain insisted he was batty for believing that Lovegood girl, and even battier for hanging about. For a reason he couldn't identify, he just didn't feel like leaving.

She was back in a matter of minutes with a medium-sized cardboard box that smelled of tuna fish. It became obvious a moment later that it smelled of tuna because it was filled with tuna.

"Bait," Luna said by way of explanation. She set an open tin down underneath the tap, and then sat down on the grass with her skirt spread around her, as if she had melted into a girl-puddle. She looked up at him expectantly. "Well? Are you going to just stand around? Your shadow will intimidate it."

So Seamus sat. For several minutes they sat in silence, just staring at the immobile tap. There was no sign of a wing, or any other body part for that matter.

"Do you fancy Bulgaria to win?" Luna asked, her gaze still focused on the tuna.

Now they were going to talk Quidditch? Had she somehow missed the Kestrels shirt and green rosette? Was the accent not obvious enough?

"Of course not!" replied Seamus, indignant. "The Irish side's got this sewn up!"

"Yes," said Luna absently, "but Troy's just got over a terrible case of Elevated Elbow, and what's-his-name-Ryan's divorcing his wife so he's not in top form. He missed four goals in the last match; if Lynch hadn't pulled a Gudgeon Grab they would've lost. Ivanova's scored fifteen of the last twenty Bulgarian goals and their Seeker has a nearly unblemished record, except for that one match against the Harriers in Frankfurt, but anybody could have mistaken that pocket watch for the Snitch."

"You know about Quidditch?" Seamus asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice; some of her facts weren't quite correct, but it was still startling to hear her talk with such clarity on a subject he actually knew something about.

"My father played temporarily for the Falmouth Falcons, before they were all struck with amnesia due to the aborted goblin rebellion of 1968. He says he doesn't remember much about it. Afterward he went into journalism." Luna turned from her intent observation and offered Seamus a smile. "My parents used to play Quidditch games on the wireless to put me to sleep when I was a baby. I know every single foul, and even a few that aren't in the official rulebook. I just don't pay much attention to names."

"Falmouth is good," offered Seamus, forgetting about the tribanibian, "but they've got nothing on the Kestrels, or even the Ballycastle Bats."

She blinked once, slowly. "You're very proud of being Irish, aren't you?"

Well, that was a change. Seamus didn't know how to answer, so he went with honesty.

"Why shouldn't I be? We've got the best team in the league!"

But Luna shook her head. "It's not just Quidditch. You're absolutely bursting with pride at being born in Ireland. You glow with it."

Seamus was getting the feeling that she was insulting him, and he wouldn't stand for that.

"Have you got a problem with Ireland?" he demanded, probably more harshly than necessary.

"Of course not," Luna answered, completely unfazed. "My mother was Irish, and she was a brilliant witch. I'm only commenting because your pride doesn't stem from anything you've done, but from what other people have told you."

"That doesn't even make sense," said Seamus, stung.

"Who is it, your mother or your father? Patriotism is very admirable, but it ought to be for the right reasons."

"Both of my parents are Irish, born and bred!" Seamus was really bothered by this girl's opinion of him; how dare she diminish his pride in his heritage?

"Pureblood?"

Seamus flinched. "Half," he said shortly. "My mum's a witch."

"Oh," she said, a look of comprehension dawning, "so it's your dad then."

"My dad, what?"

"You feel guilty that your father doesn't have magical powers, as it creates a wall between you, so you compensate by rejoicing in the heritage you can claim from him." Luna sighed. "That's very unfortunate."

"That's a load of shite," Seamus said, speaking plainly since she had. "A bloke can't be proud of his country without there being some psychological explanation?"

"Is he a psychiatrist, too?"

"No!" cried Seamus.

"There's no need to get hysterical," Luna pointed out. "What does he do?"

"He's the president of a bank," muttered Seamus, ducking his head to hide the flush of his cheeks.

Luna picked up the can of tuna, gave it a sniff, then replaced it. "That's a very responsible position; it's not one of the banks that's a front for a House Elf money laundering ring, is it?"

"No," said Seamus, having never heard of a House Elf money laundering ring. "My dad's never even seen a house elf."

"Me either," Luna said, "I'm not sure they really exist."

Seamus was getting the idea that Luna's beliefs were not shared by the majority of the wizarding world. He couldn't help liking her for it, though, as hard as it was to explain.

"It's alright to resent your father," she said suddenly.

"I don't resent my father," Seamus countered, his stomach in knots. His appreciation for her individuality faded a little. "I love my father."

"I didn't say you didn't," Luna retorted, turning onto her stomach, kicking her feet back and forth. "I said you resent him. And you do. It must be difficult for wizards with Muggle fathers; you want to share your world with him, but no matter how much he learns, he can never really be a part of it, and a part of him doesn't want to be exposed to a world he has no control over. I'm sorry, that must hurt."

Seamus was stunned. He'd never heard anyone put it into words like that before, and it did hurt. It was like an icy knife in his gut, and he hated her for it.

"What could you possibly know about it? You don't know anything about me!" he spat.

Luna actually looked contrite. "I'm sorry, I've hurt your Irish pride again, haven't I?"

He sat up straighter and his rosette came unpinned, floating down onto his lap. "My Irish pride? What about you? You said your mother's Irish. Don't you feel any sort of connection to your mother's countrymen?"

"No," she said simply. "My mother died when I was nine, and I've lived in England my whole life. I've never even been to Ireland."

"Why are you telling me this?" Seamus asked; the hatred that had welled up a moment ago flooded away. "You just met me!"

"Sometimes," answered Luna serenely, "you just know people. You stayed to catch the tribanibian. That says a lot."

Seamus finally understood something that he should have known from the beginning: Luna didn't have a lot of friends. He wasn't sure he wanted to sign up, but it didn't cost him anything to be nice. Other than a piece of his sanity, that is.

"Do you go to Beauxbatons?" he asked, settling back down to their vigil; she didn't speak with a French accent, but that didn't really mean anything.

For the first time, he caught her by surprise. "No, Hogwarts."

"Oh, I don't remember seeing you there." Seamus didn't know what else to say, but he somehow felt he owed her more of a conversation.

"I'm in Ravenclaw, this will be my third year." She was completely imperturbable. "What's Ireland like? My mother never really spoke of it, except for a few fairy stories."

Seamus looked over at her in surprise, but she seemed completely genuine. No one had ever really asked him that question before, and he wasn't sure how to put it into words.

"Er, well, it's very green, and people are cheerful, and they like to drink, and..." He ran out of things he thought she might like to hear.

Luna tilted her head to the side. "--And there are potatoes. You're telling me what other people tell you about Ireland. Tell me what you feel."

"What I feel?" Seamus repeated. "I don't know what I feel, I can't describe Ireland. It's just...home."

"Home," echoed Luna. A smile spread over her face, transforming her harsh features into something softer. "That sounds nice."

The peaceful moment was ruined when she added, "Although I hear the leprechaun problem has got out of hand. How do you manage with them ransacking your houses?"

He laughed. "Leprechauns do not ransack houses."

She shrugged. "That's what the article in The Quibbler said."

"What, you read that tosh?" Seamus started poking a stick in the ground; the smell of tuna was beginning to make him sick.

"My father happens to be editor of that 'tosh,'" said Luna with a faint sniff. She turned her attention back to the tap. There was still no sign of the tribanibian.

She didn't stay quiet for very long. "You spout other people's opinions like they're your own, but I don't think you even know what they mean."

It was an odd and hurtful thing to say, but that didn't make it untrue. Seamus hated feeling attacked; he wanted to turn the tables, but he didn't feel as if there were anything he could say to Luna that she didn't already know.

"I have my own beliefs, you know," said Seamus, wanting to fix her poor opinion of him, though he wasn't sure why. "But you might be right about the Irish pride. My father and I don't have much in common besides blood."

"You ought to find a Muggle hobby you can share with your dad," said Luna after a silence that was uncomfortable, on Seamus' end at least.

He opened his mouth for a nasty retort, but stopped himself. She meant it for the best.

"You're probably right," he agreed.

She was looking at her shoes. She lifted her blonde head just enough to see the tin of tuna, then got to her feet. "Well, I suppose it's not coming out. I'd better get back to the tent. I'll check back later."

Luna offered a hand and pulled him to his feet; there was a moment's awkwardness before he pulled back.

"Well, see you around," said Seamus, for a lack of anything better to say.

"Goodbye, don't let the Jawless Habbocks feast on your flesh," said Luna, turning away towards her own campsite.

"Wait," Seamus said quickly, picking up his fallen rosette and pressing it into her hand; she looked up into his eyes. "Show your Irish pride, Luna, you've every right."

Luna's misty eyes opened wider than usual. "Thank you, Seamus. Now I won't be plagued by larkmoaches."

She was gone over the hill by the time Seamus realised he had never told her his name. What an odd girl.

By the time he'd made it back to the shamrock-covered tent, the others were stirring. His mother was furious that he'd spent all that time away from camp and hadn't even brought back the water he'd been sent for. Once he'd managed to extricate himself from her, using Dean as an excuse, Seamus escaped to his room where his best friend was waiting.

"What took you?" Dean asked. "You've been gone for ages."

Seamus hesitated, unsure of whether or not to tell Dean about Luna. He settled for the truth--to a point.

"Sorry, there was a tribanibian in the well."

Dean laughed and shot him a bemused look. "Fine, don't tell me. Off with some bird, were you? Lucky bastard, hooking up while I'm sleeping the day away. I don't blame you for not telling your mum, but keeping secrets from your best mate?"

Seamus shrugged; if Dean wasn't going to believe him, what could he do? And he changed the subject.

Later that day, when he found a moment to himself, he walked back to the tap and saw that the tuna had disappeared, though whether the tribanibian had finally emerged or there was a satisfied stray cat about, Seamus never knew.

The next time he saw Luna Lovegood was in the Great Hall at Hogwarts after the Sorting Ceremony. Despite the regulation Ravenclaw attire, she stood out prominently, a string of bells around her neck that jingled every time she turned her head. She was staring off into space, and didn't seem to notice his attempts to catch her eye, so after awhile he stopped trying.

As they had no classes together and were not of the same house, Seamus started to forget about her, concentrating instead on gaining the attentions of Lavender Brown.

But when he went home to Ireland for the winter holidays, and he and his father cut down their Christmas tree, dragging it home to decorate, he thought of tribanibians and tuna, and started to understand his Irish pride.