Pairing: Susan Bones/Neville Longbottom

Written for the "Art of War" challenge by MidnightEmberMisery

In war, let your great object be victory, not lengthy campaigns.

There are people in the world that seem to be made for misery; that is a fact just like "the sun rises in the morning." Neville had always thought he was one of those people. All the evidence pointed in that direction: soft build, protruding teeth, pigeon-toed feet, laughable social skills, and parents confined to St. Mungo's. When a child learns nothing but the insults thrown at him, he comes to accept those words as truth. It's the only truth he knows.

No one could have been more shocked than Neville himself when he joined Dumbledore's Army. Him? The near-friendless, introverted herbology buff? And yet, it was unquestionable, really. Hardly even a choice, because of course he was going to sign up for a chance to fight alongside those few friends he did have. A weird paradox. Neville confused himself like that a lot.

And yet when the time came, he helped start it up again without hesitation. He couldn't sit by the way he used to. There was no more confusion, because Neville was a fighter now, and a Gryffindor, and Harry's friend, and this was just what he had to do.

It wasn't bad, at first; it was fun, even. It made him feel brave, to be doing something instead of hunching his shoulders and taking it like he usually did.

Only later he began picking up on the whispers.

It was younger students, mostly, the ones he didn't know, so he couldn't exactly blame them for their curiosity, as morbid as it was. His parents were well-known, even before what—

Well, everyone knew what happened.

He just hadn't expected them to gossip about it so bloody much.

In the name of Merlin, it had happened seventeen years ago. It was nothing new. Neville had survived this long, thank you so very much. He wasn't some helpless, pitiable child anymore, and he didn't need their bloody whispers.

"Damn."

Neville didn't curse often, but he was in a bad mood already, and that diffindo spell had come out much more forceful than he had meant. He sighed at the practice dummy's dangling arm. The final pathetic thread gave up, and the limb dropped to the ground.

The door slammed shut with a resounding bang.

Heart careening, Neville whipped around, wand raised.

She stood there, clad in pajamas and her robe, her brown eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Susan," Neville said in recognition, lowering his wand.

"I-I'm sorry—I didn't…I didn't think anyone else would be here…" She seemed to become aware of her appearance and ran a nervous hand through her auburn hair. She turned to leave, her cheeks turning pink. "I'll just go—"

"No…i-it's okay," Neville protested, cursing his habitual stutter. "I was just…well nothing important, anyway. I-I don't mind."

Susan faced him again, pulling the robe tight around herself, hiding her striped pajamas. "Okay then."

There was a moment of awkward silence. Silences always tended to feel awkward when Neville was around.

"So…" Susan began, tentatively breaching the quiet. "What are you doing out here past curfew?"

Neville rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. "Well I…I actually never left," he admitted. "I stayed behind to practice more and…I guess I just lost track of time and…and I didn't want to have to sneak past the patrols anyway…" He flashed a quizzical glance at her. "How did you get past them?"

She shrugged, the smallest of smiles alighting on her face. "I have a good Confundus Charm."

Another stretch of silence passed.

"Um…so," Neville forced out. He cleared his throat, hating how awkward he was. "What'd you come to do?"

Susan flushed again. "I was…well…I just came here to think, really." She sighed. "It gets awful stuffy in the dorm sometimes."

"I know what you mean," Neville said with a chuckle. She looked up at him, her gaze narrowed slightly in thought.

"I suppose you would," she murmured. Realizing she had actually said that out loud, the girl's eyes widened, and she looked down quickly.

Neville frowned. "I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I didn't mean anything I—I just, I…" One hand darted through her hair. "I just meant…" She searched frantically for something to say, her eyes flicking from place to place, as if she could find the right words somewhere in the room. Coming up empty, she sighed heavily, sitting down on the steps. She buried her face in her small hands.

Neville hesitated a moment, and then he joined her. "I-I didn't mean to…upset you, Susan," he said, his brow furrowed.

Susan shook her head into her palms. "It's not your fault," she told him, her words muffled. She raised her head, arms resting on her knees. "I just meant…well, I mean…" She blushed for what seemed the tenth time that night. It brought out the red in her hair, he noticed. "You know what it's like," she blurted, and dropped her eyes to her hands.

"Know what…what's like?" Neville asked slowly.

"Losing people," she said quietly. Neville stiffened, afraid for the coming words. He didn't want to talk about this, he didn't need anyone's sympathy—

"Losing people," she repeated, "and then having to listen to the whispers. Having to pretend you can't hear them talking about you, that you can't see the way they…" She cleared her throat, her breath shaking. "Look at you."

Neville hadn't expected that. He scratched his head, sighing. "Well…I s'pose I do know what that's like."

Susan looked at him, relieved.

"This is about your aunt, isn't it."

Susan pressed her lips together and nodded. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and looked out at the room.

"Does it ever get any better?" she asked in a whisper.

"The absence, or the talking?"

"Both."

Neville ran a hand over his hair. "They don't stop, if that's what you're asking. But…it gets…easier, I s'pose. You learn how to ignore the whispers most of the time. The pain doesn't make itself known as often." He laughed bitterly, adding, "It does ambush you sometimes, though."

Susan smiled sadly. "I think I know how Harry must feel all the time."

Neville didn't answer. It wasn't the same, not really. Harry didn't have to see his parents in the beds of St. Mungo's, lost so badly they had no way back. He didn't have to push through the abuse and the bullying. He hadn't had to fight so hard to find his bravery.

Susan looked at him, her eyes gleaming strangely. They were the color of chocolate, he noticed.

"People like you and me," she said, "we're never going to be the Harry Potters or the Hermione Grangers of this world." Neville met her gaze. "We're not gonna have what they did when they did." She smiled faintly. "But just cause we didn't get the fanfare doesn't mean we can't win." She placed her soft hand over his.

Neville looked down at their hands, and his lips twitched into the beginnings of a smile. He brought his eyes back up to hers.

He didn't say it, but it felt like he had already won.