I stared at the boy before me; unconscious, bruised, bleeding, shattered - but not broken.
No.
Not broken.
He couldn't see me, hidden in the shadows.
He'd changed.
No longer was he the timid young boy I remembered. The boy that I had fallen in love with.
---
"Hurry! The train's about to leave!"
My father laughed at my enthusiasm. But who wouldn't be excited? It was my first year at Hogwarts.
I can still remember the Hogwarts Express in all its scarlet glory.
He practically tossed me into an empty compartment, throwing my trunk right after me. No sooner was I on did the train begin to leave the station.
I stuck my head out the window to wave goodbye, laughing as I saw my father run after the train, trying in vain to keep up.
"Have fun! Take care! And don't get into too much trouble!"
I whirled around as I heard the door to the compartment slide open.
"Sorry, but you haven't seen a toad around here, have you?"
It was a young round-faced boy with light brown hair that laid flat on his head.
I shook my head.
"Sorry, no. Why? Did you lose one?"
"Yes, my toad, Trevor."
"I'm sorry. Keep looking though. I'm sure he'll be around somewhere."
He nodded silently - dejectedly - as he left.
It wasn't long before he returned. This time accompanied by a bushy haired, bossy looking girl.
"You haven't seen a toad here, have you? Neville's lost his."
"So you still haven't found him?"
Neville shook his head, looking close to tears.
"Do you want me to help?"
The bossy girl shook her head.
"I'm sure we'll find him eventually. Sorry to bother you."
I sunk back into my seat, unable to stop myself from smiling, as I settled in for the long journey to Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry.
---
I smiled, wondering if he still had Trevor.
The memory was one of the few pleasant ones I had. Not that Hogwarts had been utterly unpleasant. It had been anything but.
Until my fourth year.
The year the Dark Lord returned.
The year my mother crawled back to him, begging his forgiveness, taking me with her.
Not that anyone noticed.
I was simply the frumpy Ravenclaw that people bullied into doing their homework for them. The few times I tried to stand up for myself taught me not to even bother.
---
"Aw, does the little Ravenclaw want her book back?"
Malfoy held Magical Drafts and Potions above my head, taunting me. He knew I was too short to reach for it.
He laughed as I tried to anyway; failing abysmally.
His laughter was accompanied by a rough push to the back, compliments of Goyle, increasing as I fell rather ungracefully at his feet.
"Beg me for it," he hissed.
My eyes narrowed dangerously.
I may have been a pushover but I wasn't one to beg. For anything
From my position on the floor, I drew back my leg and kicked hard, aiming for his knee but hitting his shin instead.
Malfoy cursed loudly as he dropped Magical Drafts and Potions which landed painfully on my head.
I made to scramble up but he was faster, dragging me off the floor by my hair.
"Bitch."
His tone warned me that I was in for a lot of pain.
A soft whimper escaped my lips. But that only caused his feral grin to widen.
Just then a boy walked out of the library.
It was Neville.
Malfoy dropped me having found something that gave him more pleasure in tormenting than a lowly Ravenclaw.
"Longbottom," he drawled.
Neville whirled around. The fear in his eyes told me he knew exactly who it was that had called out to him. For a brief moment, his eyes flickered to me, but just as quickly, I was dismissed.
I was used to it.
But coming from him; it had hurt.
We hadn't spoken to each other since the incident on the Hogwarts Express but we had deemed each other familiar enough to spare a smile when we chanced upon each other in the corridors in between classes.
"M-Malfoy. What do you want?"
Malfoy and his goons left me then, closing in on Neville. But I was too mesmerized to move.
With predatory grace, he withdrew his wand from his robes.
Neville, sensing what was about to happen, turned to run.
"Locomotor Mortis!"
The Leg-Locker Curse.
I watched as Neville fell.
"I've been looking for someone to practice that on," Malfoy laughed as Neville struggled to get up. "Really, running away? How in Merlin's name did you get into Gryffindor, Longbottom? You're not brave enough for it."
"That's not true!"
My voice caught in my throat as I realized I probably shouldn't have done that.
Malfoy turned around slowly, as if just remembering that I was still there.
My brain processed the scene in slow-motion as he aimed his wand at my chest.
Run!
I'd only gotten a few feet away when the spell hit me painfully in the back and I faded to a comforting white.
---
I guess he wasn't the only one who'd changed.
I smiled maliciously at the memory of my reacquaintance with Malfoy. Knowing that he recognized me. Knowing that he knew he'd never be as close to the Dark Lord as I was. As highly regarded as I was.
Two years was more than enough time to change a person.
No, I thought to myself, mentally shaking my head. He hadn't changed me. He'd simply unlocked the 'me' that I'd refused to acknowledge for the first fourteen years of my life.
I stepped into the light as I heard him moan, signaling his return to consciousness.
This was what I lived for.
This was where I thrived.
"Hello, Longbottom."
His dark eyes narrowed as he caught sight of me.
This was why I loved - no, love - him. Despite everything he had gone through, he still refused to give in. Refused to cave in to my ministrations.
I knew he wouldn't break.
But that wasn't going to stop me from trying to break him.
I sent him flying into the cold dungeon wall, the familiar chains snapping around his ankles and wrists once more.
I had mastered wandless magic long ago.
"Are you sure you don't want to tell me where Potter is?"
He remained silent, choosing to send me death glares instead.
He hadn't recognized me. He wouldn't recognize me.
Part of me wanted him to.
Look at me! Look at what I've become!
I wanted him to love me for what I was.
I was strong.
I was powerful.
And I love him. I always will.
His eyes never left mine. I knew part of him acknowledged the presence of the familiar switchblade I withdrew from my robes. But other than that, he was emotionless.
Would he ever do this for me if I was the one the Dark Lord was after?
Probably not.
I would've if it'd been him.
But then again, as Malfoy never failed to remind me, I was a masochistic bitch.
He kept his eyes on mine as I pressed the dull blade to his arm, carving yet another wound from elbow to wrist into his already shredded arm.
He didn't even flinch.
I moved the blade to his other arm, carving that into a similar bloody mess.
The defiant glint in his eyes looked duller now.
He'd pass out soon.
I pressed the blade into his side, dragging it down, stopping at his hips, and moved to do the same on his other side.
I could tell when he lost consciousness again. His muscles where no longer as tense as before and his head dropped to his chest.
I sighed as I released him from the wall, gently lowering him onto the filthy dungeon floor. The freezing stones might just help stop the inflammation of his wounds.
I gently ran a finger along his arms, admiring my work, knowing that they would leave scars when healed.
If they healed.
He may die before that.
He looked so vulnerable.
I wanted to hold him. To take care of him.
To make him scream.
I sighed, leaning down to place a burning kiss on his searing forehead.
We'd both lost our innocence - so long ago. We'd both been forced into adulthood. Forced to grow up too fast.
We'd never be that boy and girl again. Gone were the days where we'd share a smile.
He'd wake up soon.
I'll be here waiting.
And then we'll start the whole thing over again.
---
A/N: This is the Neville Longbottom story that I have linked in my profile. I decided to post it here because I rather like it. It is almost exactly the same as the version posted on quizilla except for the fact that I added the word 'utterly' at one point and changed the word 'sadistic' to 'masochistic'. It simply fit better.
So this was how I used to write back in December 2005, after I'd just turned 17. Since then, I've learned to incorporate different writing styles for different genres of fiction instead of keeping it all so monotone. I know you guys can't really tell since I've only been posting on this site since the beginning of the year but I feel like my writing style has matured. And that knowledge makes me happy.
So anyway, this was an entry for a one-shot contest that was held by one of the users of quizilla, the KTM One-Shot Contest. I came in third. The two stories that beat me out were about Mrs. Weasley on her deathbed and her worries and thoughts as she lay dying, and I think the other one may have had something to do with one of the Weasleys as well; a twin maybe. It had something to do with an OC character learning of a death of a loved one and trying to cope with that. And it had angels and rain. Wow, I just realised how angst-y all our stories seem to be.
I chose Neville as the HP character I was going to build the story round because I think he's just a wonderful character (better than Potter even, in my own humble opinion) and there sadly seems to be a serious lack in good Neville Longbottom fan fiction. Not that I'm saying that my story is better than anyone elses. Just that the ones that I've found about him so far just seem to have next to no plot to me and r writin lik dis.
Well, hope you guys enjoy this. And now I'll be getting back to my King Arthur fanfic and the oh-so-loveable Tristan…
- Scribbles
