All rights belong to JK Rowling. Sadly, because I love these characters so much. But I just play with her creations.
Blaise Zabini wasn't certain what he was seeing. He'd thought about it quite a lot, and still couldn't quite fit the pieces together in his mind. The Slytherin table was silent, as it usually was those days, not even Theodore Nott dared whisper a word. It wasn't fear that had them all silent, they knew they were safe. They were Slytherins. Their parents had sided with Voldement. But it had become increasingly difficult to speak as their classmates' voices were stifled. At the Head Table, Headmaster Snape glared down his long nose at them all, a Carrow on either side of him with their wands clenched in their girps even as they ate, just in case any of the Professors tried anything. McGonagall looked like she was about to, but she always looked that way. Always on the verge of staging a coup. Blaise wasn't holding his breath. But none of this was what Blaise Zabini found so difficult to comprehend. It was the Gryffindor table.
Aside from Slytherin, Gryffindor had the most students return. A lot of families had fled Britain in the face of Voldemort's rising forces, and the Ravenclaw table was only half full, Hufflepuff nearly empty. Gryffindor, however, was short no more than ten students, and three of those were only absent because they were busy on the front lines, or so the rest of the school had supposed. They hadn't actually heard anything. But Gryffindor, being only ten students short, had simply spread out a couple inches each and managed to make their table look as full as ever. They wouldn't dare laugh and shout and screw around like they'd used to. It was begging to be emCrucioed/em. But Zabini had spent most of his life watching the Gryffindor table, since most of his conversation with Pansy and Draco had revolved around it, and he'd gotten used to watching them, so he'd noticed the routine that, so far, had gone unnoticed by any opposing parties. Every mealtime, the Gryffindors would smile at each other.
All day long, they would all be held under the wand of one or both of the Carrows, who would practice an array of Dark spells that even had Blaise's head spinning with whimsical discretion. The goal, for most students, had become to simply not be seen by either Carrow, because simply being in their line of sight would often earn the offender a emCrucio/em. And yet there they were, at every meal, smiling real, genuine smiles.
Neville Longbottom always started it. Blaise could tell that the boy had somehow become the new de facto leader of Gryffindor House. Lord new how. The boy received more attention from the Carrows than perhaps anyone in the school. It didn't surprise Blaise, since everyone knew Longbottom was hopeless. Hopelessly clumsy, hopelessly idiotic, and a blood traitor to boot. But somehow, to Blaise's increasing bewilderment, he would sit down at each meal, shut his eyes for two minutes, no more no less, and when he opened them there would be this gentle, caring, genuine smile lighting up his face. He would turn it on one of the people sitting nearest him, and just smile at them until they couldn't help but smile back, and then both Longbottom and the new smiler would turn to someone else and smile at them, until the whole process had made its way around the table and some of the Gryffindors even looked like laughing.
It was February now. There hadn't been a Christmas break, this year. Lord Voldemort had likely thought it would be prudent to keep the children of Wizarding Britain where he had them. The children of families loyal to the cause, of course, had been allowed to take the break as usual, but Blaise had stayed. His mother had a new husband, and he wasn't eager to get attached to the man. So he'd been there when Longbottom had started this strange routine for the first time, on Christmas Day. Blaise hadn't even felt like smiling that day, he didn't know how Longbottom had gotten an entire table to do it.
Today, they were at it again, all quietly smiling at one another. Blaise saw a few people grip each other's hands, but he wasn't really paying attention. He was watching Longbottom, wondering when the boy's smile had become so… well shaped. It showed just the right amount of teeth, went lopsided in the most intriguing way…
Just as Blaise was about to think something about Longbottom's smile that couldn't be explained away as simple observation, Longbottom himself looked across the room and met his gaze. The smile didn't falter, he didn't so much as flinch, though Blaise did. The Gryffindor's eyes hardened, however, in a clear message: "Don't tell the Carrows."
Blaise hadn't had any intention of telling anyone, let alone the Carrows. Still, he was surprised when his own face split into a tentative, answering smile. Longbottom, once again, didn't flinch, didn't let his smile fall. But the hardness in his eyes softened a bit before he looked away and there was something about that gentle, dewy look that made Blaise want to have it turned on him again.
Let me know what you guys thought! I'm thinking about expanding this story, so if you think I should, tell me.
Also, I write original stuff, too. Check out carsoncosta dot com if you want to see some of it. Thanks for reading!