A/N: Blaise could be OOC, but I'll let you be the judge of that. I'm kind of uneasy, because some things might not make sense (hopefully it doesn't). All mistakes are entirely mine.
Disclaimer: With the exception of my own plots/OC's, etc.; J. K. Rowling owns the rest (quotes, characters, etc.).
Warnings: au, BZ/NL pairing, EWE
.: we both fall down (can we ever get up?) :.
::
It must have been the trick of the light, a potion, a spell, or—something.
That would explain everything, yes, because when Neville walked into Hogwarts, he looked good. Attractive. With tanned skin and defined muscles, he looked every bit like the hero he was. The robes hung perfectly, instead of loose and unflattering against his now-lean frame.
Blaise actually stopped and gazed, gawking dumbly. What happened to Longbottom? Normally nothing would faze him—especially when the famous Harry Potter arrived to the school and defeated Voldemort. But this? It was astonishing.
Although Neville's looks improved, the Gryffindor was still clumsy and timid. That was probably admirable to have, though—especially when he was under the heroism attention. Most people under that pressure would think that they're invincible or act all snobby.
Neville gave a shy smile, and blinked when he saw the Slytherin staring.
Blaise looked away, embarrassed for being caught. Luckily he still had his sharp tongue, which never seemed to abandon him. "What's with the new look, Longbottom? You didn't like your old face?" he sneered. If only Draco were here to laugh along with his comeback. In fact, where did his fair-haired friend go? It's been months since Blaise had seen him. . .
"Uhmmm . . ." Neville's ears turned pink. "I-I didn't change anything."
An insult wasted. Somehow, Neville ruined all the fun.
Blaise strode up with his long legs, until both were face-to-face. He was genuinely curious to see the boy up close—his eyes taking in the prominent chin and hair tousled in an endearing way.
Neville's breath hitched, his face flaming. He stumbled back, afraid. Unfortunately, like his heart, he tipped forwards instead of backwards, catching the Slytherin off guard.
Together, the boys knocked to the ground, which was quick but seemed like time was slowing down. Neville instinctively pulled out his hands in front of him, and he was sort of crushing Blaise down to the floor. Their legs were twisted together, and both let out gasps from the initial shock. The tension was undoubtedly going to come, soon, which both dreaded.
How awkward . . . could they even speak to each other now? Neville couldn't move at all. Maybe he didn't want to. He searched through the dark brown eyes in front of him, unconsciously thinking, He smells like cologne and vanilla ice cream. The scent was intoxicating.
"Hmph," the Italian said quietly. "I see you are still an accident prone." Then he rolled out swiftly, pushing aside the idiot, and walked away like nothing happened. If only his face didn't feel warm. . .