Rivalry

Rivalry

"I'm full of the love," Seamus stated grandly, spreading his arms wide and flopping back onto his pillows. Firewhiskey was his new favorite drink.

Harry blinked at him owlishly, perched on the edge of his own bed. "What sort?" he asked. His lips were pursed and his hair was slicked back with sweat and Seamus had long ago learned not to stare at Harry's scar so he lolled his head to the side and grinned over at Dean, who was propped up on the floor, head tipped back against his mattress.

"All kinds, mate. All kinds." Dean was his buddy. Dean loved firewhiskey just as much as him. "Fucking love you, Dean."

The dark boy, eyes bleary slits, waved a loose-wristed hand. "Sure."

"Love," Seamus emphasized, squirming onto his side and frowning when he spotted the top of a piss-yellow head. "Fuck," he muttered. "I forgot." The Irish boy yanked on the hair spilling onto his bed and slurred, "What the bloody fuck're you still doin' here, Nott?"

The head swiveled round, revealing a crooked nose and a wide red mouth and green eyes that were just too fucking green. "Not really here, Finnigan," those red lips said. "Just a figment of your sotted mind."

Seamus frowned. "No." That couldn't be right.

"He's drunk, you wanker, not hallucinating," Dean said, struggling to his feet and yawning, then sliding across his bed and burrowing under his covers fully dressed. "Christ, I'm tired."

"Could be one and the same. You Gryffindors haven't been drunk before, have you?" Nott snickered, gently extracting Seamus' hand from his hair and patting it fondly. "Poor little lambs."

Neville, who'd been nearly passed out in a corner, lurched into a sitting position, hiccupped, and sang, "Mare...s ea' oats and does eat oats an' little laaaambs ea' iv--" He cut off abruptly, squawking, as Ron's shoe hit the side of his face. "'M sorry," he meeped, then slumped down again, curling up onto his side, pulling an empty bottle towards him to hug like a teddy.

Nott turned amused eyes to Seamus, pushed himself up to slip onto his bed next to him, and Seamus thought that was okay, because Nott was better off closer than further. Enemies and what not.

"I brought the alcohol, Finnigan, remember?"

Alcohol, yes. Alcohol was fun. Reaching up, Seamus poked Nott's nose and giggled. Funny how the entire world was blurry, but he recalled the exact moment he'd broken it, slamming a bludger satisfactorily at the Slytherin bastard's face during a game three weeks before. He wasn't particularly ugly, imperfections and all, but mean as fuck. Seamus hadn't come out of their ongoing feud unscathed, but the sweet crunch of Nott's cartilage made the cracked ribs he'd received in return well worth it in the end.

"Still hurt?" He'd meant the remark as a taunt, but his voice, slick with liquor, was disturbingly soft. He cleared his throat and hummed a few bars of Rum, Me One True Love, and gazed at Nott with increasingly heavy eyelids. With effort, he rounded them and watched the blond Slytherin rub his forefinger along the bump at the bridge of his nose.

"Bloody savage," Nott growled, and the sound brought a nice warm glow to Seamus' belly.

"It was fantastic." Seamus grinned dreamily. "Remember the blood, Dean? Dean?"

"He's sssleep," Harry said, watching them wide-eyed, pupils so big his irises looked like rusted sickles, his body swaying slightly to some odd rhythm that scarily echoed in Seamus' head.

"Think I drank too much," Seamus murmured. The last thing he remembered without any fuzzy edges was Ron's impression of Lockhart and hey. Hey. "Wha's... you've got chocolate?" Seamus accused, swiping his thumb across the dark smudge on Nott's lower lip. "Fuckin' hoarder." He sucked on the tip of his digit, pouting. "What the hell are y'still doin' here?"

The bet the Slytherin had lost meant he'd had to provide them with alcohol, not get drunk with them. The pillock didn't seem near as lit as the rest of them, though, but Seamus wasn't really in any condition to judge that himself.

Nott shrugged, and his shoulders seemed much broader than Seamus had previously thought they were. Hadn't he been a bit gangly and long-limbed? He squinted and tilted his head to the side, but was decidedly distracted by the suspicious remnants of sweets on the boy's lips. Fucking Slytherins didn't know how to properly share.

"For amusement?" Nott grinned and nipped at Seamus' fingers when he tried to rub more chocolate off his mouth.

Seamus scowled at him.

"Oh, all right," Nott confessed, eyes gleaming. "I've sent an owl to Granger. Inviting her up at a time I ascertained you'd all be sufficiently smashed by. And for amusement. You're like a shiny setter, Irish, all floppy sandy-red hair and wet eyes."

Seamus reeled back, blinking. Shiny setter? "Er... what're you gonna do then? Hide?" He snorted. And Nott was supposed to be smart.

"Of course."

"Oh." Fucker. Come to think of it, when had he ever won a bet against a Slytherin? This'd been clearly a trap from very start. Certainly not up to Slytherin standards for mayhem and evilness, though. Getting caught by Hermione wouldn't be the worst outcome of a night spent with his new bestest friend, Ogden. Seamus bit his lip and rubbed at his eyes. "Er..."

"Can't handle your drink, Irish?" Nott mocked, and suddenly Seamus found himself flat on his back, head spinning, with a maliciously grinning blond hovering over him.

Seamus gulped audibly. "H-Harry?

A soft hum and a thump and Nott didn't move an inch from his position above him, and Seamus was much more sober than he'd been a minute ago. Nott looked a lot bigger up close and the crooked nose made him look a lot more menacing.

"Ron?"

A lazy, muffled "Wha?" came from the direction of Ron's bed.

"D'you think you could... shove Nott offa me, eh?" And even as the words left his mouth he was giggling and he could hear Ron snort, and Seamus really wasn't half as sober as he'd thought. Nott's grin looked a bit like his Da's wolfhound's when he'd caught sight of the neighbors' she-poodle. Somehow, that was funny too.

"Like a little Irish puppy," Nott said, and a large, warm hand materialized on Seamus' head and smoothed down his cheek.

Nott was petting him. Fucking Nott was petting him.

Thinking it might be best to get the hell away from the Slytherin, Seamus shifted sideways and batted Nott's hand away, only to have him grab his hips and growl "You shimmy like a girl, Finnigan," and Seamus thought he really needed his limbs to stop trembling because he was fairly certain Nott could feel it. His skin spangled where the boy's fingers slipped under the hem of his t-shirt at his waist.

"Y'got me drunk on purpose," Seamus rasped.

Nott smirked. "I don't bet to lose, Irish."

No, apparently he'd bet to get his hands down Seamus' trousers. Fingers slipped under his waistband, thumbs pressed into his hipbones, short nails bit into his skin. Lose, win, it was all relative. Seamus wasn't exactly sure which way his wind was currently blowing.

The Slytherin's smoky-green eyes were fixed on his face while his hands were busy elsewhere, fiddling a button open, gliding a zipper down, and just as Nott's hand closed around his cock he thought luck. Gods, he was lucky. He choked back a whimper too late and Nott chuckled.

"Shhhh, puppy," he cautioned harshly, and Seamus thought of his four dorm mates passed out in various places around the room and how the bed curtains were open and how he really didn't care at the moment. His hips arched and then the hand was gone and Seamus was whimpering in earnest 'cause damn.

Seamus thought he must have been really, really drunk because he didn't remember when he'd lost his trousers, but the air was cold on his legs and his shirt was rucked up past his nipples and Nott was burning and heavy on top of him and his red, red mouth was wet on his jaw. Something blunt was up his arse before he could say boo, pain radiating outward in thick waves, and Nott hissed quietly in his ear "Easy, baby," then leant back, rubbing a hand on his stomach and scissoring his fingers inside him as far as they'd go.

Tears pooled in the corners of his tightly squinched eyes and a half-sob froze the body above him.

"Finnigan, Irish. Seamus." Nott's voice was surprisingly soft and when Seamus blinked, the Slytherin grinned wickedly down at him and twisted and curled his fingers; burning pain, and then sharp, intense pleasure pulsed right up his spine.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," Nott breathed. "Yeah, like that."

And Seamus didn't know exactly what he meant but fuck yeah. Like that.

***

Seamus' eyelids were sticky and his mouth was dry and he blinked awake to find a cream bit of parchment stuck to his forehead. He groaned low and slipped his eyes shut again, rubbing the back of his hand over his lips and swallowing back a bit of nausea.

He was never drinking again. Firewhiskey was an evil, spiteful bitch and he felt like a cat had settled on his tongue and died. Eeeevil.

His mind was roused, though, and presently taking stock of his hot, sore body and cramped position and he opened his eyes again, resignedly snaking up a hand to pluck the note off his skin. Without lifting his head, he thumbed the missive and read the neat, slanted scrawl with a surprising lack of panic.

It was from Hermione, of course, and a quick glance over at Dean showed one on his head as well. Just like Hermione, really, to sit down and write them each separate notes of disappointment and reprimand.

Disappointment doesn't even begin to cover what I feel, Seamus. You should all be ashamed of yourselves and your careless disregard for school dictates. Alcohol isn't allowed for a reason, you idiot, but I believe your condition in the morning will be punishment enough. Three bottles? Don't think for a moment that you can wheedle any sort of hangover remedy out of me.

Oh, and tell your bedmate he's got detention with me tonight. Seven-thirty in the Entrance Hall. And I'm docking Slytherin ten points.

Seamus was suddenly conscious of the weight leaning over half his back and the heavy arm thrown over his middle. There was a chuff of warm air and a soft hmmm, and Seamus said, befuddled, "You didn't hide."

Nott yawned nosily and stretched, moving his hand up Seamus' bare chest, and his voice was deep and gravely with sleep. "Figured Granger's shock and your embarrassment would be worth it."

"I'm not embarrassed," Seamus countered automatically.

"You will be, Irish. Give it time."

Seamus waited a beat, holding his breath as Nott pulled him back more firmly against him, hooking a leg over his calves and effectively immobilizing him. If he'd been in any condition at all to move, that is.

And then Dean groaned and rolled onto his side and Seamus felt his guts start to squirm and he knew exactly what the dirty git had meant. "Shouldn't you be getting back to Slytherin, Nott?"

His chuckle vibrated through Seamus' back. "And leave before the show even starts? Where's the fun in that?"

Seamus was never ever going to live this down.