A/N First trio of drabbles. Bon Apetit. Or whatever the French say.
Disclaimer: Blonds have more fun. Especially if you're the multimillionaire that owns Harry Potter. Today was a suck-ass day, and I'm brunette.
Ballroom
The room is empty. Neville and Luna gesture for the others to come in, and we all paint the walls. Antagonism by graffiti seems to be all that we can do now – we have no power in all the world. Finally, Neville and I are the only ones left. We clean up any trace of who might have committed this. When we're done, I sit at one of the desks.
He sits in the one in front of me, and smiles when I whisper my complaints. "I wish everything was like it was back at the Yule Ball."
"Ginny, any room can be a ballroom."
And so we dance.
Einstein
On the train hoe for spring break, Neville looks at me frequently and I wonder what goes through his mind. "Luna didn't come home from the last train ride." He states, matter of fact, eyes intent on my tapping hand. I nod, unsure of what to reply with or whether he wants me to or not.
"Will one of us not come back this time?"
"Neville it'll turn out okay." I jump to reassure him.
"But if it's not, Ginny, just now we'll see each other again." And with that, we're silent for the rest of the ride. However, in the last two seconds he mutters something into my ear as we hug goodbye.
"Gin, love isn't an equation. You don't add, multiply, or do anything to it as if it were Einstein's equation or some other muggle rubbish." His hands traces the beaded design on my bag, coursing over my shoulders. "It's the only magic we have left."
I let go and say goodbye. Wasting love on farewells would feel petty. On my walk out, I worry because it's true that one of us may not come back next time. So true and so frightening.
Band
Words fling erratically as rubber bands on the battlefield. But I see Neville, and I'm not just going to use something flimsy and breakable with him. "Hey, Nev, I guess we saw each other again, didn't we?" I flippantly remark between spells.
"Killing is an equation, Gin." He collapses in the midst of the bodies. "You add to someone's grief, you take away someone's life. Love can be a part of that equation." His sigh seems to echo around me. It makes me wish I could cry. "I really hope Harry doesn't kill Voldemort."
I join him in the corpses and I respond, "I don't want him to, either. Harry isn't a murderer."
Neville looks up with his brown eyes and breaks me, "I'd do it for him if I could."
"So would I – let's save the innocent that way."
And when Neville stares defiantly at the Dark Lord, I wish could be a martyr. But my cries to the cause of Harry are suicidal, not heroic. It's a shame I couldn't be brave.