Title: Tangled Up In You
Summary: "Don't you understand? Harry and Ron and Hermione… they aren't the only ones fighting." As Ginny and Neville wage war inside the castle walls, they realize that one cannot survive without the will of the other.
A/N: This story was written for Quintessential Dreams' competition, Grab A Song, Write A Story, over at Harry Potter Fanfiction Challenges. The song I was given was Collide, by Howie Day. I chose not to go with the more literal "let's stick the lyrics in the story" approach, in favor of trying to convey the song's meaning in Neville's feeling for Ginny. I hope it's still palpable. It might even help to listen while you read it?
I've rated this story T. If you feel it should be M, please let me know.
Disclaimer: I get nothing out of writing these stories but enjoyment.
Neville hit the floor like a ten pound bag of sand. He didn't even have the will to fight as the Cruciatus Curse seized his body in a blood red flash of light. His limbs danced of their own volition, jumping with jerky muscle spasms. His every nerve ending was alight with pain. Tears streamed down his marred cheeks and he tried to remind himself that pain was fleeting. Their cause was forever.
Ginny hit the floor differently than Neville. She crumpled, like a wilting flower. He watched her fall through pain-slited eyes. She screamed out in horror, shrill and long. It hurt Neville even more.
This was their punishment for writing 'LONG LIVE DUMBLEDORE'S ARMY' on the astronomy tower wall. This was their punishment for giving hope.
"Nothin' makes my day like watchin' a pair'a blood traitors thrashin'," snarled Amycus Carrow.
"It's a shame," agreed his sister, "that purebloods had'ta come to this."
"Fuggoff," came Ginny's feeble voice. "You bastards." It was hardly understandable through her gritted teeth.
A swift kick to her ribs made Ginny curl in on herself. She sputtered and coughed as the Carrows walked away.
"Gin," Neville called out softly, "Gin, it's okay. They're gone." He crawled to her side, pulling her into his lap and stroking her matted orange hair.
"We were strong," she said finally.
He nodded.
"We have to stay strong, Nev. Don't you understand? Harry and Ron and Hermione.. they aren't the only ones fighting. We're fighting too. The wizarding world is counting on us."
Ginny had become his muse. He kept fighting for her. For the first semester, he had fought for the greater good. But with the daily beatings and Luna's absence, he had begun to lose sight of what they were doing. Ginny always managed to remind him of their convictions. When he was ready to give up, to pass out, she was spitting in the face of their tormentors, calling them bastards. She was the fire in the bleak winter that was now his life, giving him strength and warmth.
"Can you walk okay?" Neville asked, helping the young witch to her feet. Her kind smile seemed to answer him.
The way Ginny leaned into him as they walked brought forth memories of the Yule Ball. He had held her tightly to his chest, leading her across the hall in big, sweeping movements. Neville remembered her laughter like a song against his neck. "It tickles my stomach," she had said.
Neville and Ginny had taken up residence in the room of requirement. It was only as big as it needed to be - a small bathroom, a common living area, and a bedroom. It used to be split into two bedrooms, but after Luna did not return from Christmas holiday, Ginny couldn't bear to look at the empty bed. She had fallen asleep in Neville's bed that night – they were up, talking – and every night since. Over time, they found the room was altering itself accordingly. Instead of three thin cots, there was now one full sized mattress.
Once they returned, Ginny retreated to the bathroom to wash up. Showers had to be taken during dinner, lest suspicion would be raised. Instead, Ginny cupped her hands together, like a bowl, and ran the pooling water over her face. "Nev, c'mere," she called, collecting water in her hands for him. He ran to meet her half way as he saw the little drops slide through the cracks of her fingers. Ginny transferred the water into his cupped hands and he laughed – after it all, there wasn't much left to clean his face with.
"Neville Longbottom, have I ever told you that you're my hero?" Her words were simple, honest. She handed him a towel.
"Don't be silly," he muttered into the terry-cloth. "It's not like I'm the chosen one, or something."
"I think you are. I think the prophecy talks of you and Harry, both."
Neville sighed and sat down on the end of the bed.
Ginny joined him. "Do you ever think of what life would be like if there was no prophecy?"
Of course he did. How could he not? If there was no prophecy, his parents wouldn't be in St. Mungos. He could've been more confident, more outspoken. He probably would've even deserved Gryffindor house. But Neville didn't say any of this. Instead, he told her, "If it weren't for the prophecy, I wouldn't have you."
"Do you really believe that?"
"I do. I mean, before we fought at the ministry, you were just Ron's little sister –"
"I hear that a lot," she interrupted.
"-but this war… it brought us together."
She seemed to give it some thought, her lip caught between her teeth and her eyebrows furrowed.
"You're cute," Neville said at last, reaching out to smooth her wrinkled brow with his thumb.
As his hand came to rest at her neck, Ginny found herself leaning into him. The space between them closed off ever so slowly until there was none at all. His lips were soft and gentle against hers, and just as he had in his fourth year, Neville held her tightly to his chest. They fell back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and kissed some more. Their tongues danced and their hands clung tightly to each other. When they finally couldn't breathe, Ginny cuddled closer and tucked her head under his chin. Neville stroked her hair while he spoke.
"Ginny? Have I ever told you that you're my hero?"
Even the best fall down sometimes.
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme.
Out of the doubt that fills my mind,
I somehow find you and I collide.