Rating: PG
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: You'll have to figure it out, but it's slash!
Plot: This is just a short Neville/Harry vignette that I wrote. It's angsty, I warn you. I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT HARRY/DRACO!! I ONLY PUT IT HERE BECAUSE THERE IS NO NEVILLE L. IN THE CHARACTER CATEGORIES AND I WANT PEOPLE TO READ THIS!!
Ritual Disclaimer: Honestly, this is FanFiction.Net, and we are in the Harry Potter fandom. Do you really think I own Harry Potter?
Warning: Beware the slash monster.
Return to Innocence
Harry had finally managed to get away from his party. His party. He had vanquished Voldemort; he was the hero. Again. And yet he was going off to America to study Shakespeare and forget about wizards. Become a writer. Or an actor. Whichever opportunity came first.
He sighed, barring the door from everyone who might come to get him again, letting his face twist into a pattern of sadness. He couldn't control himself; the tears just had to come. He slid to the floor, covering his face with his hands.
Why? Why must he have the strange desire that he get away from this? All the people here he loved, more than anything. Why did he feel the desire to just up and leave, maybe never to see them again? He knew why. For the first time in his life, he'd be doing what he wanted, and not feel like he was doing a public service. He had always been entranced with the complexity of the English playwright; it rather mirrored his life. The tragedy, the comedy. It was all a strange sort of twisted farce, a farce that everyone seemed to want a part of. He wanted to forget that he was a Seer, he wanted to forget that he was wanted in life solely for what he knew, what he knew would happen. He was discarded, now that he had served his purpose. Perhaps it would have been better if he had died in the fight. He would have ended the pain for himself.
He was brought sharply from his tears as he heard a thud and a muffled 'oomph.'
Neville.
Neville picked himself whimsically off the ground, furtively tried to brush off his already shabby robes, and looked up.
"Harry? What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the party?"
The boy had lost weight while he was away, Harry noticed. He was also taller, almost lean, but Harry had the feeling that he'd never get rid of his initial roundness. It was rather unfortunate for Neville that the only thin thing about him now was his face. He seemed to distribute his weight evenly enough; it just happened to chunk up in places that were not meant to chunk.
"I n-needed t-to tell you something, Neville." He stuttered.
"Well, you certainly found me." The boy said good-naturedly.
Harry got up nervously from his seat by the door and went over to the (rather battered) windowseat.
"Sit next to me, Neville, I need to know I'm not just talking to myself."
The boy was starting to look a tad on the worried side, but nonetheless sat next to the boy with shoulder-length raven hair.
"I-I know something."
Neville's heart froze in fear; it was written all over his face. This wasn't encouraging to Harry.
"I know about your parents." He whispered.
Neville choked, starting a formidable coughing fit that left Harry worried for his health.
"H-How?" The boy uttered this as if he thought Harry had spied on him or some other such trivial thing.
"I have my resources." Harry breathed. For it was no more than a breath; Neville almost didn't know he was saying something.
They sat, in a silence that would have suggested they were both stalled in the waiting room at the psychiatrist's for depression but didn't know each other. Soon enough, Neville found it too awkward, and stood to leave.
"You and I are very similar creatures, Neville."
"Excuse me?" Neville asked, turning.
"We both grieve our parents, each thinking the other has it worse. We are expected of only one thing in life, and when that is done, we are discarded like a glove without its mate. We pine for the forbidden, and long for the norm. People see us in totally different lights, one a spotlight, the other an everyday daylight that is so refreshing to our tortured souls. But, in truth, we are really of the same mold." Harry never even looked away from the window.
Neville came back to him. He looked desperate to ask something of him.
"Harry?" He nervously looked down. "Would you be willing to listen?"
"When would I not have?" Harry tried to say good-naturedly. They were treading on trecherous ground.
"Well, with my parents-they . . . don't really recognize me. And I can deal with that. B-but the last time I went . . ." he put his face in his hands to regain composure. "My father . . . he looked me right in the eye . . . it was creepy . . . and he told me n-not to be scared to do what I must. At first I didn't understand . . . "
Harry nodded encouragingly.
"Then I thought you were dead . . ." His face was contorting now. "And I thought it was too late." He sobbed, all the color draining from his face.
"Too late for what?" Harry murmured.
"To do what I must."
Harry didn't know what was wrong. The terrible thing about being a Raven Seer, was that he could only foresee bad things. Dark things. He didn't know what Neville had to do, he hadn't Seen anything for him, which made him think that Neville would live a happy life. Without him. His face darkened, but Neville had never really been very observant.
"I must tell you the truth." Neville was saying. Babbling, more like.
Harry was starting to think that he would never have known what to do if Neville hadn't been there. He had been like a boil in the dark. If you closed your eyes, it was no longer there. The darkness was all you could see. When he closed his eyes, the turmoil would go away, and Neville, the reason he was really trying to kill Voldemort, would be there.
"I must tell you that I love you."
Harry stared at him, drawing a blank. Then something lit his eyes. Neville could see it, so it must have been strong. But what was it? Hope?
"Then I must take your father's advice as well."
Neville stared at him.
"There's something I must do too."
Neville thought he knew what was happening. He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew when to hope.
"While I was away, I . . . saw things." Harry sucked in his breath. "Horrible things." His voice dropped several notches to a whisper. "I've seen so many lives being lost, that I could barely discern living souls from those of the dead." He raised his voice in confidence. "But through it all, there was one thing that kept me sane."
Neville felt dim asking, but for the sake of the moment, he had to. "What was it?"
"You, Nev, it was you." Harry whispered, eyes dropping as a shield.
With that they kissed. And it was a private moment for them, so I won't share the details, but I can say that whatever you would think of as chaste yet perfect, that's what it was. But there was one thing that didn't go perfectly. Halfway through, Neville felt Harry's tears brushing against his cheeks. Neville pulled away, and Harry kissed the side of his mouth in a bit of light protest.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll probably never see you again."
A/N - did you like? I know, its all very sad, but I need feedback for this story, because I really want to do a Neville/Harry (why hasn't anyone? It's really irritating) and I need to know if you guys like the pairing. Anyway, a purple aardvark to all those who DO review! ; )
Genre: Romance/Angst
Pairing: You'll have to figure it out, but it's slash!
Plot: This is just a short Neville/Harry vignette that I wrote. It's angsty, I warn you. I REPEAT: THIS IS NOT HARRY/DRACO!! I ONLY PUT IT HERE BECAUSE THERE IS NO NEVILLE L. IN THE CHARACTER CATEGORIES AND I WANT PEOPLE TO READ THIS!!
Ritual Disclaimer: Honestly, this is FanFiction.Net, and we are in the Harry Potter fandom. Do you really think I own Harry Potter?
Warning: Beware the slash monster.
Return to Innocence
Harry had finally managed to get away from his party. His party. He had vanquished Voldemort; he was the hero. Again. And yet he was going off to America to study Shakespeare and forget about wizards. Become a writer. Or an actor. Whichever opportunity came first.
He sighed, barring the door from everyone who might come to get him again, letting his face twist into a pattern of sadness. He couldn't control himself; the tears just had to come. He slid to the floor, covering his face with his hands.
Why? Why must he have the strange desire that he get away from this? All the people here he loved, more than anything. Why did he feel the desire to just up and leave, maybe never to see them again? He knew why. For the first time in his life, he'd be doing what he wanted, and not feel like he was doing a public service. He had always been entranced with the complexity of the English playwright; it rather mirrored his life. The tragedy, the comedy. It was all a strange sort of twisted farce, a farce that everyone seemed to want a part of. He wanted to forget that he was a Seer, he wanted to forget that he was wanted in life solely for what he knew, what he knew would happen. He was discarded, now that he had served his purpose. Perhaps it would have been better if he had died in the fight. He would have ended the pain for himself.
He was brought sharply from his tears as he heard a thud and a muffled 'oomph.'
Neville.
Neville picked himself whimsically off the ground, furtively tried to brush off his already shabby robes, and looked up.
"Harry? What are you doing here? Why aren't you at the party?"
The boy had lost weight while he was away, Harry noticed. He was also taller, almost lean, but Harry had the feeling that he'd never get rid of his initial roundness. It was rather unfortunate for Neville that the only thin thing about him now was his face. He seemed to distribute his weight evenly enough; it just happened to chunk up in places that were not meant to chunk.
"I n-needed t-to tell you something, Neville." He stuttered.
"Well, you certainly found me." The boy said good-naturedly.
Harry got up nervously from his seat by the door and went over to the (rather battered) windowseat.
"Sit next to me, Neville, I need to know I'm not just talking to myself."
The boy was starting to look a tad on the worried side, but nonetheless sat next to the boy with shoulder-length raven hair.
"I-I know something."
Neville's heart froze in fear; it was written all over his face. This wasn't encouraging to Harry.
"I know about your parents." He whispered.
Neville choked, starting a formidable coughing fit that left Harry worried for his health.
"H-How?" The boy uttered this as if he thought Harry had spied on him or some other such trivial thing.
"I have my resources." Harry breathed. For it was no more than a breath; Neville almost didn't know he was saying something.
They sat, in a silence that would have suggested they were both stalled in the waiting room at the psychiatrist's for depression but didn't know each other. Soon enough, Neville found it too awkward, and stood to leave.
"You and I are very similar creatures, Neville."
"Excuse me?" Neville asked, turning.
"We both grieve our parents, each thinking the other has it worse. We are expected of only one thing in life, and when that is done, we are discarded like a glove without its mate. We pine for the forbidden, and long for the norm. People see us in totally different lights, one a spotlight, the other an everyday daylight that is so refreshing to our tortured souls. But, in truth, we are really of the same mold." Harry never even looked away from the window.
Neville came back to him. He looked desperate to ask something of him.
"Harry?" He nervously looked down. "Would you be willing to listen?"
"When would I not have?" Harry tried to say good-naturedly. They were treading on trecherous ground.
"Well, with my parents-they . . . don't really recognize me. And I can deal with that. B-but the last time I went . . ." he put his face in his hands to regain composure. "My father . . . he looked me right in the eye . . . it was creepy . . . and he told me n-not to be scared to do what I must. At first I didn't understand . . . "
Harry nodded encouragingly.
"Then I thought you were dead . . ." His face was contorting now. "And I thought it was too late." He sobbed, all the color draining from his face.
"Too late for what?" Harry murmured.
"To do what I must."
Harry didn't know what was wrong. The terrible thing about being a Raven Seer, was that he could only foresee bad things. Dark things. He didn't know what Neville had to do, he hadn't Seen anything for him, which made him think that Neville would live a happy life. Without him. His face darkened, but Neville had never really been very observant.
"I must tell you the truth." Neville was saying. Babbling, more like.
Harry was starting to think that he would never have known what to do if Neville hadn't been there. He had been like a boil in the dark. If you closed your eyes, it was no longer there. The darkness was all you could see. When he closed his eyes, the turmoil would go away, and Neville, the reason he was really trying to kill Voldemort, would be there.
"I must tell you that I love you."
Harry stared at him, drawing a blank. Then something lit his eyes. Neville could see it, so it must have been strong. But what was it? Hope?
"Then I must take your father's advice as well."
Neville stared at him.
"There's something I must do too."
Neville thought he knew what was happening. He may not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he knew when to hope.
"While I was away, I . . . saw things." Harry sucked in his breath. "Horrible things." His voice dropped several notches to a whisper. "I've seen so many lives being lost, that I could barely discern living souls from those of the dead." He raised his voice in confidence. "But through it all, there was one thing that kept me sane."
Neville felt dim asking, but for the sake of the moment, he had to. "What was it?"
"You, Nev, it was you." Harry whispered, eyes dropping as a shield.
With that they kissed. And it was a private moment for them, so I won't share the details, but I can say that whatever you would think of as chaste yet perfect, that's what it was. But there was one thing that didn't go perfectly. Halfway through, Neville felt Harry's tears brushing against his cheeks. Neville pulled away, and Harry kissed the side of his mouth in a bit of light protest.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm leaving tomorrow. I'll probably never see you again."
A/N - did you like? I know, its all very sad, but I need feedback for this story, because I really want to do a Neville/Harry (why hasn't anyone? It's really irritating) and I need to know if you guys like the pairing. Anyway, a purple aardvark to all those who DO review! ; )