7 October 2010:

Hi dear readers!

I wanted to let you know that I have edited this chapter a bit and added an extra scene. Hopefully it flows better now and doesn't feel too rushed :)

Title: In War and Peace
Pairing: Neville/Theodore
Word count: ~2850 (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


Malfoy was in a mood – again.

"Out of my way," he snarled, shoving Neville roughly to the side and marching on. Parkinson laughed shrilly and Zabini snorted derisively. Both glided by in a wide arc as if being near Neville might infect them with a nasty illness.

Crabbe and Goyle guffawed when they stomped past, followed by a small perfume-smelling, white teeth-flashing herd of cackling boys and girls that effectively made Neville feel like a garden gnome.

Neville rubbed his shoulder, which throbbed in pain from where it had hit the brick wall. He stretched his neck and squinted against the dizzy stars in his sight. Malfoy's blond hair was a stark contrast to the darker tones of his faithful entourage.

Nott wasn't with them, he realised. His slightly slumped shoulders and sedate gait would have looked alien amongst his housemates' ramrod straight backs and exaggerated swagger.

Rounding the next corner, Neville was still gripping his shoulder. He hoped it would heal quickly. Transfiguration with McGonagall wouldn't be pleasant – to put it mildly – if Neville couldn't cast what spells she required. Swallowing the lump of dread that formed in his throat, Neville lumbered on.


Neville had casually asked Harry about Nott last night, while they stood freezing their ears off in the damp October weather and half-listening to Professor Sinistra's lecture.

"Theodore who?" Harry had asked, distracted by a lithe figure that practised loops on the Quidditch pitch. Neville wondered if it was Nott but he couldn't tell, since the person was obscured by shadows cast by the stands.

"Nott," Neville had repeated, drawing further back so that Ron and Hermione wouldn't overhear. "My Potions tutor," he elaborated, when Harry still looked blank.

"Oh. Him." Harry shrugged. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. He's not like I thought he would be, you know? Not like Malfoy."

Harry had huffed and wrapped his arms tightly around a waist that was thinner than Neville had thought. The grey worn jacket he wore couldn't possibly stave off the crisp autumnal air. "Malfoy. God, what an annoying git. I'm glad Nott treats you better."

Neville had nodded, thinking of brownies and shared smiles in the library. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

"Well, I don't think Nott's part of Malfoy's little gang." Harry furrowed his brows speculatively. "Although he is the only person our age Malfoy seems to have a shred of respect for, so what does that say about him?"

A chill that had nothing to do with being outdoors had crept up Neville's back. His imagination spun. Could Nott really be an evil wizard working undercover for You-Know-Who and plotting to slaughter them all, keeping Malfoy on his toes with blackmail and threats and ordering minions about to fulfil his biddings?

Harry must have noticed how Neville paled, because he reached for his shoulder and patted it calmingly. "I like to believe that there's one decent person down there, though," he had said almost apologetically, indicating the dungeons. "Who knows? Maybe Nott isn't even capable of hurting a fly."

Harry had grinned lopsidedly, and Neville felt hope.

An incident that happened last spring suddenly popped into his mind when he had snuggled beneath the fluffy red duvet, warm and relaxed after a hot shower. He remembered that Lavender had determinedly set to make an impression on a Slytherin in their year that apparently was tall, dark and mysterious, and that every girl in Gryffindor seemed to have a major crush on. Neville didn't know the details, but Lavender had obviously been brushed off because she could be found weeping in the common room weeks after, to everybody's dismay. Had that been Nott?

Nott distanced himself from people, just as Neville did. The difference, Neville supposed, was that Nott chose to do so while Neville kept alone to spare his own feelings. It was better to stay away than put himself out there, only to be ignored or turned down because of his shortcomings.

His musings on his tutor had eventually faded into broken pieces of a dream, hands touching and noses bumping, and when Neville awoke, it was to a sticky mess in his pyjamas bottoms.


The Great Hall was bustling with activity and the clatter of utensils. Neville struggled to cut his steak with his well hand – he had given up magic when the spell to chop the meat into pieces had gone awry and hit his goblet, slashing it in halves.

He sighed and put down the silver knife. It was meaningless. He would have to keep to the potatoes and bread rolls.

A screech from above snatched his focus from the butter. He canted his head and gasped when he saw the stately eagle owl that sailed through the air on wide, black-specked wings.

It drifted elegantly to the Slytherin table and swooped down to land on Nott's bony shoulder. Its talons, larger even than a leopard's claws, were also black and glinted against Nott's matted uniform.

The other Slytherins didn't overwhelm their housemate with questions like Gryffindors would have done had someone in their house received owl post after breakfast. Nott licked his fingers clean and wiped them on a napkin. Then he untied the envelope from his owl's leg. The owl hooted, didn't wait for a treat, and took off.

Neville covertly spied on his tutor as he glanced at the letter and winced. Nott hastened to school his features into the cool, familiar mask, and got up to leave.

Malfoy gripped him by the arm as he passed, but they didn't exchange words. Malfoy nodded, and let Nott go.

After a visit to the dormitories to grab a box of vanilla fudge (and change the trousers that he had spilled gravy on), Neville gingerly made his way to the fourth floor and the library.

Nott was sitting at the same table they had occupied yesterday and Monday, a thick, leather-bound book lying open in front of him. He had square, wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and seemed to be eagerly perusing the text.

Neville approached with more vigour than appealed to his sore right side. Finishing the assignment the previous day had been inspiring. Perhaps Potions wasn't that difficult to grasp after all? It certainly helped that Nott was a skilful teacher.

"Hi," Neville greeted a little breathily, and slid awkwardly into the chair opposite Nott's, trying not to jostle his throbbing shoulder.

Nott jumped, having apparently been absorbed in whatever he was reading. Neville tilted his head and squinted. The chapter was titled Historic Battles in Both Worlds – Military Tactics and the yellowing page was filled with tiny, loopy print.

Nott shut he book and pushed it into the bag at his feet. He righted his glasses and then his hands found the knot of his tie. Neville watched while Nott tightened it and smoothed out the silky material. Was Nott fidgeting?

"Research?" he offered, at the same time grasping clumsily with his left hand for his Potions textbook. It fell to the floor and Neville had to duck to retrieve it. "Gran – that's my grandmother – has a lot of stuff about wars, both Muggle and wizard. She's a tough old lady." He bumped his head on the way up, unsettling the table. "If you're looking for something specific, I could owl her."

"I am fine, thank you," Nott muttered dismissively, clearly not interested in discussing the topic. His eyes drifted distractedly around the room before landing on a red-faced Neville. "Are you ready to start?" Huffing and puffing, Neville eventually made it back to his seat. Nott observed the spectacle with arched brows.

Neville was conscious of the scrutiny and sheepishly tried to manage the book without moving his right arm. He fought single-handedly to balance it on his lap, and dropped it once more.

"What is the matter with you, Longbottom?" Nott asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Sorry." Neville was quick to apologise. Nott wasn't nearly as generous as yesterday, and the tension was back, thrumming off him in vibes.

Nott stood and stalked around to Neville's side, bent and fetched the book. He slammed it onto the table. "Merlin, you drive me out of my mind! Is it so hard to open a bloody book at the right page without the excessive fuss? Must you be so, so…" Nott growled and choked out, "…Helpless!"

"Quiet!" Madam Pince's thin shout interrupted Nott's rant and the boy closed his eyes and breathed sharply through his nose.

The silence was oppressive. Nott was still standing beside Neville, and it was evident that he was trembling. Neville blinked to stave off the tears that threatened to spill; Nott's explosive anger had scared him.

"Neville- I mean Longbottom. I am sorry. That was uncalled for." Neville didn't know what to say, speechless after Nott's uncharacteristic outburst. "I have a lot to think about," Nott confessed, finally turning to Neville and staring down at him. His eyes locked with Neville's for a long moment, troubled. And begging for understanding.

"It's, um, okay. I'm okay." Neville was perplexed but getting control over his tongue. "It was my fault, really. I'm a bit of a clumsy idiot, and on top of that I've hurt my arm." He smiled meekly, encouraged by the melting of the frosty green in Nott's eyes.

The Slytherin's pinched expression altered into one of remorse, and he astonished Neville by laying a hand on his good shoulder. "You're hurt?" he inquired hoarsely. He coughed to clear his throat. "What happened?"

The warmth from Nott's palm seeped through Neville's woollen vest. Tears sprang to Neville's eyes again at the touch. Somebody was willingly touching him, rubbing him comfortingly, and it felt so good and yet it didn't, because he was painfully reminded of how his life lacked regular physical contact. Gosh, I am such a wimp.

"Nothing. I stumbled into a wall. Clumsy idiot, remember?" Neville chuckled and visibly pulled himself together. Nott frowned, lingered. His fingers stopped their caress and he went to pick up his bag.

"I think you should see Madam Pomfrey. You look a bit peaky." Nott coughed again, almost as if embarrassed, and avoided Neville's protest. "We'll continue on Monday."

He departed the library as agile and soundless like a panther.

Neville's insides twisted. He may be naïve, but even he could see through Nott's façade. Slytherins always schemed and planned nefarious plots, but what was happening now was different. Harry was right. Perhaps Malfoy and Nott were up to something.

Shuddering, Neville put a chunk of fudge in his mouth and sucked on it. He couldn't evade the fact that the war was fast approaching. He saw how Harry picked at his food, how dark rings formed beneath Malfoy's pale eyes, how Hermione read every book in the library and still looked frantic.

And Nott… What if Nott was aiming to become a Death Eater? What if he already was one? Neville defied his instincts and decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. However, he promised himself to keep his eyes open and ears alert. And the moment he found proof, he would go to Dumbledore.


Friday afternoon meant double Potions class. Regrettably, Neville had nothing better to do after he finished lunch than to trudge down the dark and gusty passages that lead him into the snakes' territory.

He found the steel door locked – and warded. It was typical Snape, not wishing that his pupils accessed the classroom without his presence.

The ancient castle was slightly humid from the rainy days and cool nights. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets to warm them.

Something small and square brushed against the pads of his fingers. Tongue between his lips in wonder, he fished it out eagerly. The pink wrapping paper made him whoop – he thought he had eaten all of the expensive caramels the day he had bought them.

The crisp tearing sound was harsh in the gloom. Neville chewed and hummed, relaxing at the delightful burst of sugar in his mouth. Mmmm, just what he needed to dampen the horrible dread he felt at having Potions with the Slytherins.

The click of boot-heels against granite told him he was about to be joined. The footsteps reached him and faltered, as if to whom they belonged grew wary, before continuing the steadfastly slow rhythm of left-right-left-right.

Nott came into sight a second later, robes too large on his lanky frame and hands fisted inside the extravagant trumpet sleeves.

Neville noisily pushed the empty wrapping paper into his pocket and stood straighter. The other boy pointedly avoided looking at him, though, checking over his homework and sorting through his book bag instead.

"'Ow are you?" Neville asked, working his tongue around the sticky caramel. If Nott was embarrassed about yesterday, Neville would show him he didn't hold any grudge.

Nott paused, foregoing his pretend-engrossment with his school things to lift a perfect, sardonic eyebrow. Neville swallowed. "How are you?" he repeated, more articulately.

"I am fine." Nott closed his eyes briefly, as if counting to ten. "Since you asked, I am obliged to inquire about your well-being in return. So, Mr Longbottom, how are you?"

Neville grimaced at the mocking, formal tone. Of course Nott wasn't embarrassed or shy about yesterday, he chastised himself. The Slytherin probably just wasn't interested in chit-chatting with Neville Longbottom, the premiere idiot. "Um, I'm good, thanks." He looked down at the scruffy tips of his shoes. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt anything. I'll be quiet now, and you can continue whatever you were doing."

Raised voices announced the impending hoard that was the rest of the class, and Nott went back to stare fixedly into his book bag.

He could hear Malfoy and Harry bicker, Lavender giggle uncontrollably at one of Seamus' lewd jokes, and Parkinson comment derisively on Hermione's skirt-length while Ron told her to, "Shut up, wench".

Severus Snape arrived in the midst of the chaos, a whirlwind of greasy hair, strange potion fumes, billowing robes and bad temper.


"Thank Merlin it's Friday," Ron mumbled through a wide, indelicate yawn. He flopped heavily onto his bed. "I'm never getting up again, ever."

Dean and Seamus were changing into less formal clothes and nudged each other's boyish, naked chests humorously. Neville sighed, strangely emotional after his failed encounter with Nott, and welcomed the stab of jealousy at their easygoing friendship. He burrowed his face into his pillow so that he couldn't see what he couldn't have. The constant lump in his throat grew bigger and tears escaped his desperate blinking and slid along his lashes and temple.

"Not even for dinner?" he heard Harry tease Ron.

"You could bring it to me?" Ron piped up hopefully. Harry, Dean and Seamus all chuckled, which served to make Neville feel even more excluded. It was irrational, and he hated it when he was in this sort of mood. It wasn't their fault that he was a plump, over-sensitive little freak that was a social disaster.

Ron's grumble eventually turned into snoring. Seamus proclaimed loudly that he was going in search for girls to charm with his Irish brogue and blue eyes. Neville peeked through his fringe and saw Dean getting his sketchbook and Muggle pencil. The door shut behind them and the silence in the dorm was oppressive, like having cotton in ones ears.

Harry was humming under his breath, off-key, and that eased Neville's agony somewhat. It meant he was happy, which he deserved to be. Neville's pet toad Trevor croaked along, and Harry burst into a laughing fit.

Ron, mouth gaping and legs and arms stretched in every direction, slept on.


Neville must have fallen asleep, for when he blinked his eyes open the dormitory was empty. He cast a Tempus and realised it was past dinnertime. Well.

It hurt a bit that no one had thought of letting him know, but he couldn't be too bitter about it. He had a bag of crisps in his trunk, so he wouldn't starve.

After dragging his numb limbs out of bed, he made sure that his clothes weren't too rumpled. The mirror snorted at his short trouser-legs. "Better too short than too long, Gran says. I could trip otherwise." Neville tugged at his sweater. It was green and had a hideous clover pattern, but it smelled of home and it was roomy around his stomach.

The common room was relatively deserted. On Fridays most students lingered in the Great Hall after the meal to chat and gossip with their friends, or send long, curious looks over to the other tables. The houses didn't interact much, which made it even more exciting to spy and whisper and giggle from a distance.

Dean's sketchbook lay on the low table in front of the fireplace. Tilting his head, Neville grinned fondly at the drawing expertly done in graphite; Seamus, with his coy, dimpled smile and wrinkled hastily-put-on shirt, was staring into the flickering flames, for once having a quiet moment of retrospection.


TBC

Since this pairing isn't widely explored in HP fandom, I was wondering if you could help me establish the boys' nature and personal traits and how the relationship between them is working. Am I on the right track with this or am I far off in the woods somewhere, getting more and more lost? I would appreciate any input :)

Love,

Jessamyn