"The Devil's Snare is a carnivorous cave-dwelling plant. This plant feeds on small mammals and reptiles using its tactile tendrils to snare and suffocate the prey that wanders into its foliage. Devil's Snare is not picky as to its diet though, it has been linked to several unfortunate wizard deaths as well."
Neville closed the book, mentally quoting the next paragraph of his well-used Herbology text. With a heavy sigh, he rolled out of bed and tiptoed to the window, careful not to wake his neighbors. He often did this when he couldn't sleep; staring at the stars and listening to the other boys talk nonsense in their dreams.
"Hermione... I love you.... mgflrlb.. SPIDERS! Run!!!!!!..... love you.....gfmmldb...."
Neville chuckled to himself at Ron's recurring dreams. They were either about Hermione or spiders, not a lot of imagination in that one. Dean's were usually much more exciting even if it was just as repetitive.
"Beckham steals the ball and runs it down the field, Royal tries to steal but Beckham feints left, goes right and, oh wait! It has been intercepted! Royal turns the table and passes to Cummings who looks for an opening but its too late, Beckham reclaims the ball and sprints toward the goal, he shoots.. He SCORES!!!!!!"
Football was always the topic. Dean played, he commentated, he cheered from the stands. When England won he rooted and smiled, when England lost, he shook his head and cried in frustration. It was always amusing to watch the melodrama of Dean's subconscious, but Neville liked listening to Harry the most.
Harry's dreams always differed and were always interesting. One night he might be chasing the snitch, the next battling Voldemort, or saving Ginny or even crying silently for everyone he loved. Those were the ones Neville waited for. He knew the pain of talking to parents who never heard, of living with someone who doesn't love you or even care for you, of seeing someone die before your eyes.
It was comforting to know that Harry felt the same way he did, even if he hid it well. Neville had never had anyone he could relate too, but here, in the crisp, cold night, Neville knew that someone understood. And he and Harry, one asleep and one awake, both cried for the ones they'd lost and the pain they feel.
