Blood Language
(formally Ginny Was A Punk Rocker, the title is WIP)
A/N- First, PLEASE review and let me know what you think/if I should continue it. The whole thing is going to be the lost seventh year and how the DA generally kicked ass, sorry, arse (with some added romance). All characters are property of JKR, and half the plot is from the French 2004 film Lila Says.
Chapter 1: Options
In which the stage is set and I nearly win at Wizard Chess.
...
I kept every word she spoke to me that year on scraps of parchment. I kept them tucked into a folder under the mattress of my four-poster. Trying to make sense of them all is slowly driving me mad. And writing in the in-betweens only serves to bring her to the surface again. Who did I think I was? Who do I think I am, writing all of this down?
There was something catching in her voice the first time she spoke. The first time there was no one else around to hear. Because it wasn't as if I'd never heard her speak. Her, Ginny Weasley, chatting in the common room to Hermione or even the muttered Owws when I took her to the Yule Ball and stepped all over her toes.
She was just another witch and I was just another wizard. And then, in my Seventh year at Hogwarts we found ourselves alone.
Ginny was dancing on the balls of her feet while waiting outside the empty portrait of the Fat Lady. I thought I'd startled her, or embarrassed her. But then she to speak:
Do you see me Neville? I have an angel's face. Everybody says so. See my eyes? They're so deep and oaken you'd give your own for them. See my hair? Apple-red. And my skin, so pale and fresh. My mum says it comes from way back, from five generations ago. None of my brothers have it; they have hair the color of carrots and the feel of straw. You know Ron? He says I'm so red I look like I'm on fire. Even the experts don't know why. I'm like a Firebolt in the middle of the junkyard.
I don't know why Ginny is saying this to me, why she's up close to me in the corridor. Then she adds:
Neville, want to see my pussy?
Hogwarts is a second home, after Shady Grove where Gran's house is. She always says it should be called 'Stupified grove' because we never knew anything to grow there. All the houses are creaky and the grass is always more yellow than green, even in the spring. There is an old pine tree that stands tall in front of the house. When I was littler I thought it was what was keeping all the saplings away. Gran swears that when she goes out to town, she hears it cry. But she hears tears everywhere.
School is more cheerful. This year I have three friends. I'm not counting Harry, Hermione and Ron because no one's quite sure where they are or even if they're alive.
Luna is the friend I can tell anything. Talking to her is easy because as odd as I think I am, she's odder. But I haven't been able to see her because the Carrows give detentions if they notice students from different houses talking.
These days the common rooms are full. Colin, Seamus and I fill a corner of it, and even though it's hard to talk in the din, we plan.
Nothing works at Hogwarts, everything's fucked up. No prospect in the morning, none in the evening, none in between. As students, we learn nothing. All we do is make pretend and sit tight. I'm as useless as a chair on the ceiling. It's a life made up of tiny, useless bits.
Colin gets that. He's the one who everyone knew as the kid who used to be obsessed with Harry. By now he's lost his youth. Still has that baby blonde hair he always had, those lanky limbs he grew into. I'm not sure how to describe him. It's a matter of want, I guess.
We've all got that. Want, to the point of being able to give everything else up. When you think about it, it's that bit of personality that's given up when nothing else comes close to mattering. It's what happens when forfeit is on the table.
The three of us play wizard chess in the common room, waiting for bad news. There is no good news, not anymore. Seamus watches as I play with the black set and Colin the white.
Want me to take you again, arsehole? Colin resets the checkered board for another round. I stare at the white chessmen that lie knocked over one another. We win and lose an equal number before I call it quits.
Come on. Colin waves for his chessmen to reset themselves. One more game, you can't leave with a tie. I can take your sorry arse.
Play Seamus. I can't handle anymore strategy tonight. We're going in circles. Can't we talk about something else?
What, like imagine He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named can't burst into the tower any minute and kill everyone? No point, is there?
Sure there is, Seamus says. I remember my Career Advice with McGonagall back in 5th. That was before—before he came out of hiding and I thought, you know. That I'd graduate with a few NEWTs and get a Ministry Job. A local one back in Ireland.
We didn't know how to answer, so we didn't.
What about you Neville? McGonagall tell you you'd be brilliant at anything far, far away from potions?
Oh yeah. Something like that. It was very strange. She'd invited my Gran.
...
Augusta, Professor McGonagall had said with a tight nod.
Minerva, Gran said stiffly back to her.
Inviting guardians for Career Advice is not standard practice, but as nothing has come of our correspondence by owl- But McGonagall was cut off by a humph from Gran.
I think your grandson is very talented.
Yes. I keep telling him if he applies himself his marks will improve. It's in his blood. How far has his average fallen now?
Augusta, this is not a disciplinary meeting. I'm afraid Neville's average is largely the result of Professor Snape and other performance based subjects.
Performance based? That's your way of saying he's not good with a wand, that he's not a proper wizard. Neville's not a squib, and I won't stand for him being accused of being one!
Surely, I meant no offence. Listen to me. Neville, it takes an hour's time to correct your Transfiguration essays, but I've made copies of them all. Did you write them yourself? I'd always assumed you'd had some help here and there from Miss Granger, but I've had words with her myself… You have quite a few misspellings, but a thing like that doesn't matter. Neville, what do you want to do in the future? I mean after the war, naturally.
I don't know. I've always been the best at Herbology, but I don't want to be stuck watching plants for the rest of my life.
Well then it's high time you considered other options.
And what sort of other options are there? Gran nearly shouted.
Options outside the magical world, And hereMcGonagall addressed me directly. There is a school in London where I think you would excel.
To do what?
Famous writers teach there, they can help you in ways that Professors here cannot. I would be able to write a letter of recommendation if—
Gran stood up then, her face turning red. A writer? You're serious? After all his parents did, my Neville going to be a writer? I happen to think he's better than that.
Gran stormed out of the office without another word. I was having trouble understanding that the last few minutes hadn't been hallucinated. I'd never thought about it before. A writer. But it would never happen. I would never be allowed to go and without Gran's support I could never afford a muggle school.
The program is free, Longbottom. But each applicant must write a thirty page story. If they like it, you're in. It's as simple as that.
...
After I tell him what McGonagall had said, Colin turns a face.
Teacher's pet. She wanted you to go to London?
You're calling Neville a teacher's pet?
I could still go to London. After all this, obviously.
At the start of term McGonagall had slipped me a brochure with a note reminding me I'd never get to go if I didn't concentrate on my defensive spellwork.
London? Bullshit! They haven't got anything that Hogwarts doesn't have. That cow wants something from you. I'm telling you. She thinks because we're the last few here tied to Harry that we're going to tie her down when the Death Eaters breech the last wall. That because we knew Fred and Georg we're gonna blow something up. Or maybe she's a closet Death Eater and we don't know it!
Seamus finds this as mad as I do. Professor McGonagall, who yesterday told Parkinson if she didn't magic her skirt back to a proper length this instant she'd have a little surprise in nine month's time? McGonagall's the one reason Hogwarts isn't a crater in the ground.
Who knows—?
Shut up Colin!
What else!
She said I'm a good writer.
Longbottom wants to write! What grand dreams, while we all try to prove our blood status! Who cares if you've never in your life remembered the trick step on the East Staircase. You only got out of the Department of Mysteries alive because Potter dragged you!
Colin looked to the floor. Look Neville, I'm just trying to keep you on your guard. Whatever, I'm going to bed.
I told myself, I'm already a fuck-up. Why try? People are starting to look to me for what to do, but I'm not Harry. I'd get them tortured. It would be best for everyone if I just stayed in the background.
We're not about conquering the world. We're not the only ones trying to fight. We're looking for something to do and there isn't anything.
...
A/N: I'm starting some drawings of character images, check them out at my deviant art page, the url is pinkdiscodress [dot] deviantart [dot] com