Wow, TEN PAGES LONG! amazing for a one-shot of mine! There is a smut scene in this, beware. Based on "Outside Looking In" by Jordan Pruitt.
I hope you like it! I'm proud of myself xD This is what i give to my readers, since im not going to be on the computer on a week(going to DC/Phili/ Boltimore)
Outside Looking In
You don't know my name
you don't know anything about me
I try to play nice
I want to be in your game
(Place: Quidditch Field)
Neville sighed, he knew he wasn't going to get picked.
Carrie looked between Neville and a boy right beside him; a boy scrawnier, small minded-er, better-er. Carrie turned to never. "Er...sorry whatever-your-face-is, but I'm going with the other guy" Neville shrugged, turning before he could look at Harry's pitiful expression. He didn't want it. He didn't need it. Neville didn't understand why people didn't like him; now, in their fifth year, Neville had gotten taller and he has a nice four-pack. He's not less-clumsier, but he is less-stupider.
Neville had waned to be in the game extremely bad actually, but he had little hope that he would. Neville had even removed his sweater-vest to show it. Neville was also a fast runner; he had to be to get away from the wrath of Slytherins.
But Neville didn't get chosen; like he knew.
The things that you say
You may think I never hear about them
But word travels fast
I'm telling you to your face
I'm standing here behind your back
(Place: Halls; Potions Room)
"Hey, look at Toad Face over there!," Neville heard someone whisper and point at him. He wasn't blind or death; they must be stupid. Neville didn't get what they meant though; he had lost all his baby fat in his body, and now he was lean and toned—Aerobics was his secret. And Trevor the Toad no longer lived with him; Trevor had died in an unfortunate incident at the train station in the fourth year. Neville had found a midnight black owl on the roadside shortly after, and it was acting like it was just waiting for him to arrive. As soon as it's piercing golden eyes connected with Neville's green ones, it flew over to Neville and claimed him. So Neville didn't understand.
But Neville didn't quite get most of the unearthly rude comments they threw at him; he decided to ignore them, believing they weren't true.
But somehow, a certain Slytherin had got to him; Draco Malfoy.
It was on the way to potions. No it was in potions. Neville quickly grabbed a seat in the back. His favorite seat on the left side, in the last chair in the last table. Many slash marks were under the table—formed from when the potions master snape had angered him.
Neville had already set down his pack, and he realized today was a simple note day. He sighed and pulled out his glasses; he could never really see the board. His glasses were said to make him look extremely mature and cute—cuter then the simple black Emo hairstyle he had achieved over the summer. Apparently, Neville looked extremely intelligent and un-silly like with those glasses on.
Draco Malfoy had suddenly walked in; him and Blaise talking. They stopped when they saw Neville, and smirked together.
Neville usually had contacts, so he rarely showed his glasses. But his contacts had been trampled on by the Malfoy earlier. Damn him.
"Look at this," Malfoy sneered.
Neville tried to ignore him; he wasn't in the mood. He had just visited his parents the day earlier; they had a whiplash of mind trauma and he was aloud to leave the school to attend to them. He stayed their for a week, just staring at their lost faces, wondering what life would be like if they weren't like this. If that damn death eater hadn't......
"Go away," he said when Draco got closer to him. His mind was ticking away, ready to blow....
"How's dear ol' mum and dad been in the nut house?"
Neville exploded.
He found himself standing up, and his fist trembling in white hot anger. His knuckles burned; he had his Malfoy. Malfoy stared at him and shock, laying on the floor. Rivers of blood swam from his nose.
"Im not a little child you can joke and taunt freely!," Neville screamed in anger. He looked away from the Malfoy; to everyone in the class. They were staring at him, eyes wide. Surprised.....shocked.
"Stop expecting me to stand there and listen to you without doing anything....."
Their eyes widened larger; more mouths dropped.
The fame quickly ended as Neville found himself being ordered to serve detention and twenty points of Gryffindor for physical assault of a student. Neville simply sighed a 'whatever' and sat down.
His heart was thrumming against his rib cage.
He was proud of himself.
You don't know how it feels
To be outside the crowd
You don't know what it's like
To be left out
And you don't know how it feels
To be your own best friend on the outside looking in
(Place: Library)
'They wouldn't know,' Neville thought bitterly as he organized the potions books in the library in A-B-C order. It wasn't much of a punishment; Neville enjoyed organizing objects. Though he was a natural and untidy person, he took pleasure in directing objects to their correct position. He also liked reading, even if he couldn't remember one teensy bit about it—if you exclude Herbology etymology and other topics related to plants and funguses and trees.
'They don't understand' Neville's mind examined again, and Neville found himself thinking the situation over and over again—even if he didn't want to.
He felt anger surge in him and he launched a book at the shelf, causing many books to trample over him.
He ignored them, rage boiling inside his core, overwhelming him like hot molten lava washing down the volcano's earth body.
'They will never know! How would they feel if they had no friends; no life; no sibling; no damn parents!'
Neville stopped himself immediately; he was wrong.
Neville shuddered, feeling limp—as if he had gotten hit in the face extremely hard. How dare he say that?
He had parents. He had strong, brace, proud parents......
Neville sighed once more and began reorganizing the books. He hoped to keep away from the topic again. He just wanted to finish this and get it over. Though it wasn't a 'priority' After all, Neville had no life.
No loved him(take away grammy and beautiful parents). No one liked him. No enjoyed his presence. No one saw him as anything. Not special, not annoying. Just there. Standing.
But they didn't know......
Neville mentally groaned as he felt the topic re-approach. He tried to shove it away, but his self-pity mind was just trying to make up an excuse to why Neville was like this.
They've always had friends; a functional family. They've always had money; attention. Ron couldn't complain how he didn't get enough attention; he did. He didn't know it, but he did. There was a secret fan group that always hovered over him; his parents took extra interest in him. And Ron had Harry Potter, the special one.
So they didn't know. They didn't know what it felt like to be sitting their watching them walk through the halls, filled with pride, their chins high. They didn't realize there was a bystander, separated from the crowd, just watching; wishing to be in it.
Once Neville was done sorting, he leans back against the wall, waiting for Snape to come back and check his work. Even Snape didn't find interest in the boy—to leave him alone during detention; to trust him to be a good boy.
Neville curled in a ball. He pulled his knees against his chest tightly and wrapped himself in his own arms, taking in the warmth.
He didn't need a friends warmth; he had his own.
If you could read my mind
You might see more of me that meets the eye
(Place: Herbology Room; Quidditch arena)
Neville set down his quill, taking in the full beauty of the flower in front of him. It was so delicate; it's full orange leaves stuck out promiscuously, they were bright, as if to shed light on any darkness that dare near approach it. It's long yellow stigma stood out from the center, gleaming with wetness. It's sun-like pollen stuck to it; clung. The stem of the flower was long and narrow, and it ranged high against the glass it was confined in.
Neville carefully reached out and stroke it. The flower shuddered in pleasure, causing pollen to spring delightfully in the air. It slowly floated down to the table or floated away. Neville smiled, amazed at its beauty. Or some of the pollen could have gotten into his system; damn that smiling pollen.
After finishing his extra-credit herbology assignment, Neville found his arse on the ground in the center of the quidditch arena, staring at the clouds that delightfully moved across the sky.
So free, he thought, a little resentment soaking each word.
He wished he could be like that; carefree, willing to go anyway the wind takes it. It simply doesn't care as long as its moving. It likes moving. It doesn't care what people think it is either, because it's so free there was no point to care.
Neville didn't want to cry, so he didn't. He did manage to feel wetness soak his ducts though.
He wasn't who people though he was; he was different.
He was not that first impression. He was not an open book to your free reading, and when you got bored, just simply dump it in a trash bin or throw it in a dark, damp closet and never look at it again.
Neville was something—someone. He had a purpose in life, he just had to find it.
Neville's not an idiot, not a clumsy daft stupid waste of flesh and magic. He was intelligent and heart-ful. He cared of other people, even if they did not care for him.
Neville had to be strong; had to fight.
This was his battle, and his alone.
And you've been all wrong
Not who you think I am
You've never given me a chance
(Place: The Great Hall)
Neville wasn't important. He wasn't special. He wasn't worth the time. He was just there, being there, knowing there, standing there.
He had no enemies, which meant he also had no friend either. No friends except his grandma, his two bed-ridden parents, and Senna, his midnight colored owl friend.
He was just there to be there; nothing else. No one picked on him really, just the rude comments from time to time. But it was extremely rare to see Neville get beat up. Neville wasn't worth the time. It was only when Theodore Nott was not in disposable use when they turned to Neville.
Neville Longbottom had a fine, average, normal life in front of him.
So why, oh god why, was he trying to get noticed?
It was a regular day; lunch was being served. Neville had only had a roll—he was not specifically in the mood for sweet treats and nutrience.
Neville sat up from the table, and like usual, no one noticed him. He shook his head, realizing how pathetic and choosing to ignore that fact, and began his descent to the large doors of the great hall.
He wanted freedom. It was to humid and close in the room, even though it was so large. He felt claustrophobic.
On his way out, Neville accidently smashed into someone, causing him to gasp in surprise.
He shoulder ached with pain, and he hoped it wasn't the same for the other end. How could he be so clumsy?!
Back Neville was taken a-back when he realized it wasn't who he thought it was. He thought it would be an innocent second year; but he was sadly mistaken.
It was beautiful and holly Draco Malfoy, blocking his way out.
Neville gritted his teeth in anger. Not again...... "What do you want Draco?," He asked curtly.
The younger malfoy sneered at him. "Are you trying to be the next potter?," he said in mock.
Embarrassment flooded through Neville, heating his cheeks to a cherry-red flush. Then, the embarrassment was replaced with anger. He felt like slamming Draco into a wall and beating the crap out of him.
Neville's body trembled in anger as he tried to hold back. It shook. Neville ground his teeth, and he could have sworn he heard a crack.
"Don't you ever say that to me again!," Neville bellowed. And he couldn't help the next part. "You filthy, cruel, disgusting, revolting Death Eater!"
'Death Eater' echoed in the dead silent room; it bounced of the walls and repeated fainter and fainter.
Neville pushed past Draco—his hand slamming into Draco's shoulder with such hard force it caused Draco to stumble before regaining himself—and left the Great Hall.
You don't know how it feels
To be outside the crowd
You don't know what it's like
To be left out
And you don't know how it feels
To be your own best friend on the outside looking in
(Place: Gryffindor Common Room Bathroom)
'I wouldn't want to be like them in the first place,' Neville thought as he began to strip in the Gryffindor Bathroom. He didn't know why Malfoy always got to him. After all, Malfoy was.....a Malfoy. He was going to sneer, he was going to joke. Everyone knew that, and most just ignored it. By why couldn't he?
It was annoying.
Neville turned on the shower as high as it could go. When he walked in, it was steaming. It hit against his skin, and it felt like lava. Neville immediately jerked away from it, but he didn't There was something about it that made him feel strong; better.
He stared at his faint reflection, just letting the exploding hot water pelt his skin, burning it. His featured were red and bright, his blood was tingling and it felt like it would burst out his skin. He half wished he had brought some ice up there to chew on, but he never did that, and his wand was gone.
As Neville thought back to the previous days and years, he noticed how much he looked at the younger Malfoy. His eyes always seemed to plaster on the silver haired boy, take him in. Draco always had friends; a group. And with out him he would be nothing. But he had them, so that was it. He had perfect white teeth and long blonde-ish silver hair that glowed. His skin shimmered, and he had outstanding grey eyes that could either be soft and welcoming, cold and hateful, or mischievous and trouble-like. Neville usually saw the last or second. The first choice was rare.
Sometimes, Neville wished he could be Draco. It was like he admired him. Draco just had a group, a unit that surrounded him. It cared for him; nurtured him. He has always been popular due to his name.
Neville had a name; a good name. He loved his last name. He is proud of it. People may joke it, and sometimes(most times) Neville listens to them, but he wouldn't change his name for the world.
He admires the name actually; he takes plume in the fact that his parents did what they did, survived how they did.
But no one listened to his name. Not even the teachers.
Draco is smart and un-clumsy and sneaky. He knows how to get around things, start things, and win things.
Neville is clumsy and forgetful. And that just ruins it all. Maybe that's why he has no group.
And he wants to be in a group. He wishes that people will see him for who he truly is, not the geek that was stuck in the first year to the third.
Neville had changed just like the rest of them.
Neville sighed a groaning tone. He always dreaded on Malfoy to much.
Malfoy.......
Neville, light headed from the steaming water, began to blush. His hands traveled down his body. His lean, toned body. He had a good body. A body that would be great in a group. He went down to his thighs and came back up, his eyes gently closing as sensation went through him.
Neville's fingers played against his chest, lightly padding it. Neville was a very sensitive person; extremely sensitive.
He bit his bottom lip when he came to his already-hard nipples. Letting out a hitched breath, Neville leaned against the tiled bathroom walls. He started playing with hit nipples, tweaking them, massaging them.
He felt hardness take over his erection, and a wave of pleasure wash through him.
With his right hand, Neville left his pink nub and went down to his flushed erection.
He started pumping it steadily in synchronization with every pull of his nipple.
Neville let out soft moans that gradually became louder and lustier.
As Neville felt himself tighten, he pumped his length with a fastness you wouldn't believe, now rejoined by two hands.
As he ejaculated, he thought of Malfoy. Malfoy and his rare bright smile.
Well, I'm tired of staying at home
I'm bored and all alone
I'm sick of wasting all my time
(Place: Gryffindor Boys Dorm; Great Hall; Dumbledore's office; Halls; Herbology class; Potions class; Defense Against The Dark Arts Class; Hall; Hall)
Neville had come to a decision that night. He laid there, thinking of Malfoy, thinking of groups that he would never be in, thinking of his name, thinking of his life.
Neville had to do something to be out there; he couldn't stand being last person. No person, actually.
Neville was someone, he just had show it.
Today he would be different. He would get in trouble, he would do jokes. He would do perfect in Potions, he would fail the Herbology test. He would make a commotion.
Neville, set down his food. He only had wanted some watermelon anyway. Under his desk was his wand, which he fumbled with.
Neville had gotten a lot better in casting spells; he taught himself over the summer.
"Incendio!," he whispered. Suddenly, their was a bright flairs across the room as the torches lit on fire. They literally exploded with strength, like a bomb. A loud 'crack!' sang through the hall, and everyone screamed, taking cover.
Neville smiled, and pointed his want at the teachers table, who were inspecting the crowds, frantic.
Neville said a spell and all items and food that were on the teachers table was wiped clean off the table to where it felt on the teachers laps.
Neville smiled wider, on a roll.
Still under the table, he pointed his wand at a Ravenclaw.
"Densaugeo"
The ravenclaw female let out a high pitched scream as her teeth began to grow, making her face resemble a beaver.
Tears leaked out of her eyes as she ran out the hall, sobbing.
"Are you done, Mr. Longbottom?"
Neville's head snapped up to the teachers table at his name. His smirk quickly faded. 'Oh no' was the only thing he could think of.
Dumbledore stared right at him, his eyes boring into Neville's.
Neville was white with fear.
Now, everyone was staring at Neville, shocked. They weren't even angry, just shocked.
Out of the corner of his eyes, Neville saw Snape suddenly appear. Snape grabbed Neville by the arm, mumbling words.
Neville knew where he was headed, Dumbledore's study.
But then Neville smiled. This was who he was.
Neville ended up with one day detention, which slightly disappointed the teen. He actually argued about it.
"Why is it just one day?," He asked bitterly. "If Malfoy had done it he would have been a month!"
The headmaster leaned back in his chair, inspecting the teen carefully. Then, he said, "You are a very good student, Mr. Longbottom. You rarely get in trouble. is one who often gets in to misfits. That is why, Neville."
Neville glared at him, and then 'whatever'ed' turning on his heel and walking out the office—slamming the door shut.
Neville took a graffiti can out his back pack; it was bright orange color. If this was what it took to get noticed, he would do it.
He started coloring the stone walls—zigzag—as he walked down the halls. He didn't even stop walking; neither did he look. He just stared strait forward, spraying the color on the wall as he walked.
When the can was all finished, he burned it with Incendio—his finger still burned from when the fire touched—and threw it away in a trash can after it was mostly burned off.
Neville, not looking back, made his way to herbology.
All throughout the test, Neville made sure that he circled the wrong answers. He knew all of them, he would've gotten an A. But no, he did not want to be the geek-herbo. Today was noticing day.
Pomora gave him her most disappointed look she had ever given him that day as she set the paper down; a big fat F was on it.
That caused gasps.
Snape stared at him. Just stared. Neville was afraid, but he didn't show it—most of it. He stared back, looking strait into the professor's eyes.
A violet potion lay in a glass with a wood stopped on top. It had been a lust potion to make.
And a lust potion is violet.
Snape thought he cheated; of course. Neville never got anything right in his class—it was failure after failure.
Suddenly, Snape snatched up the potion and walked back to his desk, setting it on the corner.
Neville sat back down, knowing he'd won. He felt looks and fingers.
"Is that even Neville?!," he heard someone whisper.
'Yes,' Neville thought, 'this is me.'
It was during Defense Against The Dark Arts when a teacher came bolting in. Professor Len looked up, surprised.
Professor. McG ran in, a deep glare on her face.
She immediately walked over to Neville and grabbed his arm. "Please come with me, Mr. Longbottom," she growled.
'Yes!,' Neville thought triumphantly as he walked out of the class and down the halls forcefully.
"You do understand, Mr. Longbottom, that this could call expulsion?," Miss. McG asked, her tone worried.
Neville nodded. He actually did not know that it did, but he really didn't care at this point. "I do, Professor."
"Then why are you doing it?," she said, pointing at the graffiti on the wall.
Neville shrugged.
The professor's eyes narrowed—like a cat. "A weeks detention, Mr. Longbottom."
Neville's mouth dropped in anger. "W-why?! Why not a month?!"
Miss. McG just sighed, shaking her head. "Please return to class, Mr. Longbottom."
Neville seemed to be the chatter of the day; everyone was talking about him. About what he did to the walls, what he did at breakfast, how he failed a Herbology test, how he aced a potion.
Though some rumors got pretty wild, like him punching Minerva in the face.
But as Neville made his way to lunch, it felt like this weight had been lifted of his shoulders, and he was proud.
You don't know how it feels
To be outside the crowd
You don't know what it's like
To be left out
And you don't know how it feels
To be your own best friend on the outside looking in
(Place: Quidditch Field)
Neville was on the field, reading a book. He watched as the Gryffindor 's played muggle base-ball. So really, he wasn't reading.
Neville had detention again that night: cleaning all the pots and pans and dishes and silver wear in the kitchen. Neville didn't mind, he was used to cleaning up things from his parents. He offered to do it at Saint Mungo's.
Neville's glory days were not over. Many people talked and talked about him and rumors were on the rage.
Neville didn't mind.
Neville watched them play, and he silently wished he could too. Neville, despite how clumsy he was, was an excellent runner—he did have long legs— and aerobics had made his arms strong.
As long as the ball came in contact with the bat, he was sure to get a home run.
Unless he tripped.
Neville looked down to his book again, feeling hateful once more.
He didn't like feeling hateful; Neville was a naturally cheery guy.
Neville dealt with things that people couldn't deal with; Neville put up with things people would explode with.
Neville was a loner—he kept everything inside. He had no friends to share it with anyway.
He only had him and himself.
Neville wasn't sure he even wanted to put his trust in a group—last time he trusted a group it ended up horribly.
Many tears were shed.
But Neville's heart—his subconscious—, without Neville even realizing it, was yearning. It needed a group. A friend.
Neville, unable to concentrate any longer, shut the book and set it to the side. He looked up at those clouds; those free, non-caring clouds.
Beautiful and light.
They were among their kind; other clouds. If there was one cloud, there was sure to be another.
Even those free, beautiful clouds had a group.
And Neville, Neville just had no o—
Pain suddenly racked Neville's chest and he gasped at the sting. He looked down to see a baseball in his lap, still wobbling.
Neville stared at it, and then looked up.
The team was waiting for him to give it back.
As the pain slowly subsided, Neville grabbed the ball and flung it to Harry.
Harry caught the ball perfectly.
He stared at Neville, surprised.
Then, he smiled, holding out his hand and motioning for Neville to come join them.
Neville stared, eyes wide. No way could they be letting him play with them.....with the group.
But when Harry motioned again, Neville knew they wanted him to play.
They wanted him to be in the group.
You don't know how it feels
To be outside the crowd
You don't know what it's like
To be left out
And you don't know how it feels
To be your own best friend on the outside looking in
(Place: Great Hall; Gryffindor Common Room- Boys dorm; Roof)
Neville was eating dinner, pondering about the day before. They had excepted him; let him in.
It was a big blow to Neville, and he didn't know if it was a bad blow, or good blow.
Neville was....Neville. He was shy, clumsy, and forgetful. They were....normal. You could see their good points better then their bad points—if they even had bad points.
All you saw in Neville was bad points. Nothing came good from Neville.
Neville, like said before, was a loner. He lived outside the crowd. His only friend was him.
Neville shook his head, standing up.
He was brewing a very strong ache in his head, and he would rather rest in a quite place then in a rowdy one.
Neville never really like loud places any way. Loud places had groups.
And Neville, not knowing now if he was in a group or not, could not stand it.
He walked out the Great Hall—receiving an almost silence— and then through the halls to the Gryffindor Common Room.
He remembered the password perfectly. It was the only one he could remember in all his before years.
"Clumsy," he whispered.
The door swung open, revealing him to the red and gold room. He walked in and then went to his dorm room.
Immediately upon entrance, his owl flew over to him, landing on his arm.
Neville pet it gladly. He loved his owl. He ordered the bird to let go him, which it did.
Neville opened the window closest to his bed, and the owl flew out.
It stopped and looked back at him with its golden eyes, but after Neville nodded for it to leave, it did.
Neville began to climb out the window. There was no slant roof under the window, so he had to be careful. If he let go, he would fall to his death.
But Neville wasn't that scared like he used to be. During the first year, he had almost let go and he only climbed out of it when the day was truly bad.
But as Neville grew sturdier, he could hold onto it tighter and his aerobics lessons made his body able to stretch more.
Neville held tight to the window sill as he slid across the schools wall. He told himself not to look down, but of course he did.
It was a long way. Very long.
A bead of sweat ran down his forehead as he slung his legs over to the sill when he had a sturdy hold.
His feat caught, and Neville pushed himself upward. When he was sure he wouldn't fall, he let go cautiously and then grabbed a brick and started to switch his body potion so that his feet were first and not his head.
Then, he was perfectly on the roof.
Neville sighed.
It was a hot, humid day.
He didn't look up to the clouds—he had no wish to feel disappointed again.
But he did anyway.
Was he part of a group now? Or were they just mocking him?
They never knew how it felt to be alone, then get picked up, and then get dumped.
They were too cool for that.
Neville wasn't cool. He was no one.
If the group did accept him, then that would be quite a miracle.
Because, no matter what, Neville was his own friend, wondering on the outside, just looking in.
End