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Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

How I Met Your Mother

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Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

”Dad, how did you and Mom meet?”

 

“Same as most people, Hogwarts.” Seymour told the inquisitive blond boy in front of him, as he was pouring over some reports he’d brought home to finish.

 

”Okay, but when did you fall in love?” An equally curious blond girl who was either older or younger than the boy asked. 

 

“We dated a few years in school, and then I moved to France.” Seymour told the kids.

 

The boy huffed, “Dad, tell us the story?

 

Seymour’s eyes glinted mischeviously, honestly, he’d always hoped he would get to use this muggle pop culture reference; “Loki, Curie; this is the story of How I Met Your Mother!”

Edited by Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

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Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

FLASHBACK: Summer 2026

 

Seymour was, as was pretty common, covered with bruises. Since he’d graduated from Beauxbatons due to his joining an exchange program for his last two years his mentor and former professor, McAmis had managed to get him into. Now he was working as an Unspeakable for the French Ministry. It was more or less exactly what he’d wanted to do for a living since he was young.

 

He had never expected the job to be as physical as it was. Since graduating he had become far less scrawny and awkward, and really had something of a glow up. Today was one of his rare days off from his classified work experimenting with elemental spells for protection purposes. For his day off he decided to take in a Quidditch game, he didn’t even know who was playing, but he’d always loved the game, so it would be fun no matter what.

 

He settled into the stands, bought a new pair of omnoculars, and began watching. It wasn’t long before the players were announced. Seymour’s jaw dropped when one name was announced.

 

Idril Silverfoot.

 

He’d gone to Hogwarts with her. That was a little bit of an understatement, she’d been one of his best friends, and they’d dated a while. After he left Hogwarts they’d written briefly, but they’d lost touch.

 

He HAD to see her after the match.

 

It was a little awkward, but he managed to pay someone to tell him where the players would be exiting. He wondered if she’d recognize him, or remember him… Or want to talk to him. He waited until the woman exited the locker room, not wanting to seem like a creeper, he walked up with an autograph book with the small spattering of other fans.

 

“Idril!” He called, “It’s Seymour Virdin!” He called, hopefully, watching her face for some recognition.

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Idril Silverfoot-Virdin

~Present-day~

Idril suppressed a giggle at her husband who, true to his job title, was expertly avoiding their offspring's questions. Being married to an Unspeakable was infuriating sometimes (the answer to "how was your day, love?" was never straightforward), but it had its perks. One of which was his uncanny ability to avoid some of the stickier questions their curious children posed. Well, Idril mused, I suppose that's what you get when two of the world's most curious Ravenclaws fall in love

 

 

~Summer 2026~

Idril puffed as she sat down in the locker room and began the arduous task of peeling off layers of her garish pink uniform. Quidditch was a hot enough business as it was, but in the middle of a European heat wave, she felt like every last bit of energy had been sapped out of her. It had taken her nearly two years to finally make the lineup as her team's starting Seeker, and now, for the first time since she started, the Quiberon Quafflepunchers had lost a game. The Quafflepunchers' flamboyant tactics had not paid off as they usually did, and by the end her teammates had been begging for Iddy to catch the Snitch and put everyone out of their misery. 

 

The blonde's teammates barely spoke as they filtered one by one out of the locker room--French Quidditch players took a loss about as well as a first year Gryffindor (that is to say, not well at all). Well, she was not having a bar of it. There would be time for recriminations and strategy at their next team meeting, but for now, Idril planned to spend the rest of her day enjoying Paris. She grabbed her wand and cast a quick charm to refresh herself, before donning a casual black summer dress and straw hat, stowing her gear in the usual spot, and stepping out into the sun.

 

A strangely familiar voice called out Idril's name. She turned around, and suddenly wondered if she had contracted heatstroke, because, well, there was a man talking to her. A very tall and attractive man, who appeared to know who she was. Was he a mirage??? Wait, no. She knew that face. All thoughts of her team's loss suddenly flew out of Iddy's head as she jogged over.

 

"Seymour? Mon Dieu! Comment ça va?!*" Idril exclaimed, before she blushed as she remembered which language she was supposed to be using. "Oh, sorry--habit--Merlin! Seymour, how have you been?"

 

Iddy was suddenly very grateful that she had not worn her sweaty bright pink uniform out of the locker room, as she usually did. She wanted to throw her arms around her old friend in a warm greeting, but her arms were suddenly not very co-operative.

 

 

((translation: my god, how are you?!))

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Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

Maybe this had been a mistake.

 

Maybe reaching out like this had been inappropriate.

 

He probably should have consulted M. Mingelman’s Guide to Politeness and Decency before springing himself on an old friend like this. M. Mingelman would likely not approve of the way Seymour was doing this, but seeing Idril had been such a shock that writing her a letter after the fact would have seemed, at least to Seymour, dismissive. So Mingelman was out the window in this case.

 

All of these thoughts were racing through his head in the literal seconds between him calling out to Idril and her response in French. He’d picked up a little through work and school, and caught the gist of what he said. Still, he was grateful she’d switched to their native tongue.

 

“Good! Really good, actually.” He said, “Like I said while we were first writing, after Professor McAmis left Hogwarts she was able to get me into that exchange program at Beauxbatons for my last two years.” He explained, “Annnnd then I became flobberworm mucus at writing after graduation, I’m sorry about that.” He said earnestly.

 

“I thought about writing a few times, and though too much time had past and I didn’t want to seem weird.” He said matter-of-factly.

 

“Work is crazy, and… Well you know how it is! Geeze! Professional Quidditch! That’s amazing!” He told his old friend.

 

“Do you have time for a bite, there’s a café I saw around the corner.”

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Idril Silverfoot-Virdin

Idril shook her head, waving her hand to dismiss Seymour's apology. "No, I totally understand, I dropped the quaffle on writing as well," she offered a sheepish smile, "A combination of being picked up by the Quafflepunchers and well...life! It is just really lovely to see you again." 

 

Iddy meant that literally. Seymour had always been cute, but his looks had matured and merlinthose dimples. Realising she might be staring, she looked down at the cobblestone footpath. Really, she was being ridiculous. She spent dozens of hours every week training with some of Europe's top athletes, some of whom were incredibly fit and knew how to lay on the charm. How was it that she was completely impervious to those men (and women), but seeing Seymour again turned her into a blushing second-year all over again? 

 

Iddy smiled and look back up at Seymour's exclamation about her new career, "Really, it's not all it's cracked up to be. Just lots of training, and drills, and one very cranky frenchwoman for a coach. I've only even been starting Seeker for a couple of months, and...well, we're usually not this bad." She was referring to her team's awful performance in today's match, "And I am NOT looking forward to the verbal thrashing we'll get on Monday morning from Margot. But let's talk about nicer things, and--yes, a bite to eat sounds lovely!"

 

While Idril babbled on about mad frenchwomen, her internal monologue was begging her to just stop talking so much, but she couldn't help it. When she was this nervous, Iddy tended to either fall completely silent, or she became far too chatty. This was obviously one of the latter times.

 

"Anyway, enough about Quidditch for now--did you finally become a...you-know-what?" Idril's eyes widened, suddenly unsure about whether she was even allowed to ask that question, but she did hope that Seymour had achieved the goal he'd had for so long.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Seymour Silverfoot-Virdin

Seymour was relieved that Idril had accepted his apology, and offered that she could’ve written too! “It’s great to see you too! Playing for the Quafflepunchers! What are the chances that we both end up in France!” He mused, “It’s so great to see you too!” He said, leaning in to hug his old friend.

 

Idril had always been a cute person, but she’d really become gorgeous since they’d been apart. They’d been friends during school, and dated briefly, spent lots of time together on the Quidditch pitch. He had always carried a little bit of a flame for his friend, but when they’d lost touch he’d assumed he’d just need to move on. He’d been with several French citizens, and had a serious relationship or two, at the moment though, there wasn’t anyone in his life.

 

If Seymour was the type to believe in fate, he’d wonder if maybe fate had brought her back into his life. He nodded as she pulled the curtain back on the life as a Quidditch player, “Margot doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” He said nonchalantly, “Can’t be any worse than the tongue lashing we took after we lost THAT GAME he still couldn’t bring himself to talk about the details after all these years. It had truly been a spectacular loss, and the lecture after…. Yikes.

 

He chuckled as she asked if he’d become a ‘you-know-what.’ He did know what, and he wasn’t supposed to talk about it, or what he did.

 

“I definitely followed my dreams.” He said cryptically, “Although I never expected those dreams would lead me to a boring desk job at the French Ministry.” He said, carefully adjusting his sleeves so that a bruise from his research was briefly visible.

 

“As it turns out, Professor McAmis was… Well, you know. So she was able to vouch for me.” He told her, “Who would’ve thought?”

 

“It’s not everything I imagined it would be either, but I really do like what I do… Most days.” He laughed. He’d been recently doing some particularly hands on research in partnership with the experimental charms committee. He was practically a regular at the French hospital now.

 

He laughed, “But enough about work. Let’s get that food.” He told her. At that point they’d started drifting in the direction of the café anyway.

 

“So…” he said awkwardly, blushing a little, “Are you… I mean...” It seemed weird, and a little forward to ask as soon as they reconnected, but it would help him figure out whether they were flirting, or just two friends catching up. He’d never been particularly perceptive of romance, it had taken LITERAL SINGING for them to date the first time.

 

“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked her as they sat down in the café and ordered.

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