Hi!

I have had this in my mind for an endlessly long time and it has just been a matter of writing it down. The dark and mysterious Theodore Nott has always intrigued me. Who is he? How does he look? What are his political views? And most importantly: is he gay or straight?

Not only Harry and his friends and Draco fought their battles during the war. There are other stories. This is the one about Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott.

Title: In War and Peace
Pairing: Neville/Theodore
Word count: ~1770 (this chapter)
Rating: Eventual Mature Content
Warnings: Mpreg, slash, violence, sexual situations, language, angst, hurt/comfort, character death (not Theodore or Neville)
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Summary: Theodore Nott is assigned as Neville Longbottom's Potions tutor and an unlikely relationship blossoms. However, there are dark times ahead. Voldemort is gathering his forces to fight the side of Light. People they thought were allies turn their backs on them. In the end they have two options: become warriors and risk their lives and love for each other. Or run away.
Author's notes: WiP.


Neville realised it was the wrong ingredient the moment his fingers let go and dropped it into the cauldron.

It was too late then, of course.

He closed his eyes, resigned himself to his fate, and waited for the inevitable.

The explosion shook the entire classroom. Stone cracked beneath his soles from the blast. It was one of Neville's biggest (not that he was any proud of that feat) and the acid smell would linger for months after.

It was eerily quiet, now, and he peeled his lids back to take in the horrifying result of his mishap. It would take more than magical spells to clean the blackened walls. Neville knew exactly who'd get that job.

He swallowed audibly and glanced around. The other students stood frozen in shock, their school robes covered in ash. Harry's glasses were hanging off one ear and Seamus' wild hair hissed and smoked. Malfoy was glaring so hard Neville's very heart shrunk.

Heat pressed uncomfortably against Neville's cheeks and it wasn't only embarrassment; his desk was afire.

"NEVILLE LONGBOTTOM!" Professor Snape's voice cut through the vacuum in his ears like a shard of glass. The thick cloud of dust at the front parted and Snape advanced like raging thunder towards Neville.

Neville cowered behind what remained of his chair. Snape's high-heeled, pointy boots were grey and lined with scrapes. He noticed this because he was staring fixedly at the floor, too frightened and shameful to face his furious teacher.

Snape knew how to make him, though. A cold hand grasped Neville's jaw and clenched, forcing him to look.

Numbness spread down his legs and he winced; Snape had a burn-mark on the tip of his hooked nose. He had really done it this time, he thought, and had it not been for Snape's strong grip he would have keeled over.

"You STUPID boy." Professor Snape spat the words, and he dug too-long nails deep into Neville's skin. Tears welled up, spilled unwillingly along his temples, and a broken sob escaped from his throat. He was sure he hated himself just as much as Snape – and Malfoy – did, perhaps even more.

Snape became a blur. Neville was aware that he was speaking again, and he tried to stop his pathetic sniffling.

"I have had enough," Snape was saying, contempt dripping from his voice. "I would like nothing more than to send you home. However, the Headmaster would require that I give you one last chance at redemption. So here it is, Longbottom: if you do not improve yourself within Christmas, I will fail you."

Someone, probably Hermione, gasped.

"As you very well know, this year you are to take your OWLs, which mark the completion of your core classes. The consequence of not passing is that your education at Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft will be of no value." Snape jerked Neville's head to the side and added in a low, threatening tone, "My patience is coming to an end and you are stretching it. You have three months." Then he was released so suddenly Neville collapsed like a ragdoll on his arse. He could hear the Slytherins behind him snicker.

As he lay still and gazed hazily at the strangely caved ceiling (had he done that?), the reality of his situation finally hit him and painful panic blossomed in his chest.

Oh Merlin, he couldn't do this. He didn't understand Potions and he had tried. This was a battle he could not win.

Had he been Harry James Potter, he would have set his shoulders and met the challenge head-on. But he was Neville Longbottom, and the fight in him – if he had ever really had any – was long gone. Being a born loser and school's prime target of mockery did that to a person, he supposed.

In short, he was doomed. He might as well pack his belongings and take the next train from Hogsmeade station. They would send him off by January anyway.

"You!" The bark pulled Neville out of his reverie and his eyes darted sideways to Snape, who was pointing a demanding finger at a gaping Theodore Nott. Neville saw the other boy straighten up like a soldier reporting for duty. He paid the burnt-out quill in his hand no heed.

"You are responsible for tutoring Longbottom this autumn," Snape said, to everybody's astonishment. "You will be suitably rewarded, of course, Mr Nott."

Neville was paralyzed. Had Snape just offered him help through Nott, or was he reading too much into it? No, Snape must be doing what Headmaster Dumbledore expected from his employees, and he likely believed Neville had no chance of succeeding in any case.

He received a deadly, accusing look from Nott and was consumed with guilt. It didn't feel good to have put Nott, although a Slytherin, in such a spot. The task Snape had given him was impossible, and Nott had better things to do with his life than to shepherd Neville through his.

Snape returned to cast a swift and angry Aguamenti on Neville's cheerfully burning desk. A good, ice cold splash landed on Neville, simultaneously unlocking his limbs so that he could stiffly scramble to his feet.

The professor dismissed the class brusquely, and Neville rushed for the exit on trembling legs that felt like timber, planning to flee for the nearest toilet and hide forever. At least until dinner.

"Longbottom, where do you think you are going?" Snape's even baritone interrupted his mad leap for freedom. "You are to stay behind. We are going to have a nice little chat about your punishment."

Disappointment stung like needles in him, but just as quickly it faded. It was typical his life, wasn't it? Besides, he deserved whatever he got.

Upon his return, he passed Nott. The Slytherin elbowed him in the side, obviously annoyed. Neville kept going, mustering great powers of will for every step he took as if he was on his way to be hanged.


Neville wetted his lips and raised a carefully loaded forkful of rice and chicken to his mouth. Then he paused, for a moment feeling disgusting.

Here he sat, ensconced between Harry and Seamus at the Gryffindor table, eating a hearty meal. After having blasted the dungeon apart and almost destroying Snape's precious potions storage, he would have thought the bottomless pit that was his stomach wouldn't be quite so eager for food.

He should be devastated, not hungry. It was irritating, really, because he lacked the discipline for a self-imposed diet. An image formed in his mind, of a depressed and sickly pale Neville that lay motionless in bed, covered to his chin with the red duvet and thin wrists crossed on top of his torso. Seamus and Dean and Ron stood around him with grim expressions, while Harry pushed limp hair off Neville's sweaty forehead and pleaded, "Eat something, Nev. You have lost far too much weight."

Neville sniffed softly, oddly touched by that mental scene, and his appetite waned a bit – until he inhaled and again caught the heavenly smell of chicken and warm rice. His resistance was weak, and with a quivering hand he quickly brought the fork fully to his mouth. The shame that flooded him was familiar, but the glorious taste of hot, spicy food overrode it.

As usual Neville ate in silence. Around him there were chatter and laughter he wasn't part of, though it had been like this since first year and Neville was seldom bothered by it. It wasn't a conscious act to shut him out of the crowd, he told himself. The boys and girls in his house weren't evil. They simply had their own lives and friends to care for and so couldn't be expected to pay dull, lonesome Neville attention.

Dean said something doubtlessly naughty that caused Seamus to shake with mirth. He bumped against Neville just as he was about to take a sip of pumpkin juice.Sighing, Neville reached for a napkin and refused to let the fact that Seamus hadn't apologised affect him. On his other side, Harry was grinning and daring Ron to eat a clam while Hermione watched the two with a disapproving scowl.

Neville wiped his shirt dry and decided that he just as well should go to bed. He was satisfied, and the sooner this day ended the better.

Harry glanced up when he rose, arching dark brows inquiringly. Neville normally savoured dessert, clinging to anything sugary he could find.

"Tired," he answered the unvoiced question, and Harry nodded and gave him an unconcerned smile. Neville was relieved.

Unnoticed by the rest of his house, Neville slipped out of the Great Hall. He fished in his pocket for the freshly baked chocolate biscuit he had nicked off the table and headed for the main staircase.

"Hey, Longbottom. Wait." At the sound of his name he halted and spun around to check who had called. Theodore Nott had followed him and was approaching purposefully with a note in his hand that he held out. "This," the Slytherin said and shoved the piece of paper at Neville.

Neville crammed the last bit of the biscuit into his mouth and accepted it with a muffled, "Thanks". Nott looked less than impressed.

Monday evening, six o'clock sharp, the library.

"Okay?" Nott was keeping his distance, as if he was afraid of catching germs. Light from the torches along the walls flickered across his face. Neville had expected to see a grimace but instead Nott's expression was unreadable.

Nott's uniform was neat to the point of ridiculous; not a wrinkle anywhere and despite the late hour his shirt was still buttoned up to his Adam's apple, his tie perfectly knotted and with a silver family crest pinned on it like some sort of Merlin's Order.

Slytherins and their pure-blood pride.

"Okay," Neville agreed. Nott watched him with narrowed, speculating eyes. "Um." Neville self-consciously shuffled his feet and didn't quite know what to do now. Did Nott want an apology from him? The other boy was probably pissed off. Hanging out with Neville Longbottom wasn't a favourite past-time activity amongst Slytherins, unless it was spent to pull pranks on him.

Nott's lips thinned into a tense line before he spoke, taking Neville by surprise. "Chocolate," Nott said shortly, lifting his chin imperiously and looking down his nose. Neville stared at him blankly, not comprehending what chocolate had to do with everything. Nott sighed explosively and bit out, "On your cheek." Then he turned his back on Neville and stalked towards the Great Hall again, shutting the door behind him with a loud, arrogant bang.


TBC