Chapter 4:

In Which Neville gets his butt kicked.

December, 1997.

The halls had been dark and quiet. Everything had been exactly as it should have been. They must have been expected, it must have been a trap.

Neville groaned at the searing pain. He had been hit by something hard from behind and his face had hit the cold stone floor. The room felt like it was spinning around him and that was before he even opened his eyes. Once he did he regretted it.

"Petrificus totalus!"

All Neville could see from the ground was a pair of chunky black heels. Neville was unaware that fishnet stockings had been added to the list of approved attire. But he wasn't exactly surprised. From somewhere behind him he heard an eerily shrill scream. It was Luna. Someone behind him was making Luna, who never raised her voice… ever, scream as though she were dying. Neville was filled with pure unadulterated hatred for whoever would harm such a pure young woman. He tried to scream. To use forbidden words against whoever would dare hurt his friend, but all he succeeded in was drooling onto the floor.

"Not so brave now, are you Longbottom?" Parkinson bent down in a way that Neville was sure she thought was appealing, but only served to fuel his anger. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look into her eyes. "Look at you. Completely helpless. Completely… at my mercy. Happy Christmas to me." She let out a humorless chuckle and dropped his head hard on the ground.

The screaming from behind him suddenly stopped and the room became eerily quiet once again. The slam to the side of his head must have been harder than he realized. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, noises sounded far away and muffled. He could hear the muted clicks of Parkinson's ugly shoes as she circled him. There were muffled words. Someone was angry. Then Neville tasted blood. That was when he realized he was being repeatedly kicked in the stomach by that cow. He involuntarily wretched bile and blood repeatedly onto the floor.

"You git! You freaking bloody bastard git! These are designer heels and you ruined them with your sick!"

Just like Pansy Parkinson to be thinking about her shoes as she's kicking someone to death. At that last thought Neville blacked out and didn't wake up until a few days later in the infirmary.

February, 1998

"Happy Valentine's, Longbottom." The position was all too familiar. Neville was in a full body bind face done on the stone floor. Parkinson dug her chunky heel into his cheek drawing blood, her "Inquisitorial Squad" badge gleaming as she waited for backup.

"You would think with the amount of times I've kicked your arse you would stay down. That you would at the least be discouraged. But I'll give it to you," She repositioned to sit on his back with her legs neatly crossed in front of her. "You haven't lost steam. Somehow you've only ever ramped up your little escapades."

She was right. Neville Longbottom and the DA had been caught and punished countless times over the school year. Yet somehow the punishments only encouraged and egged them on. Even as her boney bum dug into his back his mind reeled with delight at exactly how under their skin the DA had gotten. It was glorious. Neville reveled in the compliment that her heel in his cheek really was.

Honestly, though. It was incredibly validating. I mean, having a 5'4 girl in heels take you out was a hit to the pride. But Snape had a target on him. The entirety of the Death Eater Army was taking notice of him in particular. He, Neville Longbottom, was making a difference. He wasn't a tag-a-long. He wasn't just the butt of jokes or someone to make fun of anymore.

"You know, you'd also think all of the trouble you've put us through this year you'd thin out some." Pansy took a pinch of his skin on either side of where she sat… being a pinch of his shoulder and a pinch of his bum. "Yeah. Definitely still the Hogwarts plush bunny."

Neville took back everything he had thought. This was humiliating.

March, 1998

This was new. He hadn't been caught in this position before. No body bind. Not even a silencing charm. But he was chained upside down in the dungeons to be used as "home work" for the older students in Dark Arts. Fortunately a stasis charm kept his blood from running to his head, but he was dizzy as hell. He had a throbbing headache. His wounds still hadn't healed from last week's escapade. He had just gotten news that his Gran was on the run, and now this. Needless to say Neville was not in a good mood.

"That's enough, Goyle" Blaise put a stop to Gregory Goyle's attempts at the crucio. They hurt like hell, but it wasn't all there. Neville was pretty sure Goyle wasn't all there. "It's my turn." Blaise put a hand out to stop Neville from spinning and pulled out a rolled up black cloth.

"What are these, Blaise?" Parkinson's eyes gleamed with a hazy joy that seemed a bit off. If Neville hadn't been hanging upside down and withstanding hours of torture as his "detention" he might have taken notice. "New toys?"

"Something like that. My mum's been showing me a thing or two." He unrolled the cloth to reveal a set of gleaming tools.

"Do you know healing spells, Pans? I'll let you help me."

"I know a couple of basic skin binding spells, nothing for too deep though."

"That's perfect. The method is simple. Just repeated small slices and maybe searing brands. Never ending. You'll continually heal them as I cut so he won't bleed out or even be in any real danger. But the constant pain, the memory of the pain, the feeling of constant slicing through your skin. It really gets to you… Or that's what my mother has lead me to believe. I'd like to try my hand on it while we still have a frog to dissect."

It was horrid. Not a single drop of Neville's blood hit the ground. Yet they had sat there slicing and healing and searing and healing patterns into Neville's back and sides for what felt like hours before McGonagall had found out what was happening and stormed in threatening violently as she could in her position. They had been working on his left arm when she had forced them to stop. Neville had been passed out for at least a half hour. When he woke up he was in his bed in his dormitory, his abdomen laced in scars that would take years to fade, if they even would.

April, 1998

This was it. The target on Neville's back had grown so big that they had decided that he was entirely expendable. He knew because of the green flash that hit the wall beside where he was standing. Not much by way of warning, but better than being hit square. He was lucky they had sent Goyle. He was a terrible shot. Neville didn't waste a second before he took off down the hall running. He just needed to make it to the seventh floor corridor. He had decided amongst the DA ages ago that it was the safest location to hide out. He was again fortunate that Goyle was as slow moving as he was a thinker. He managed to get to the seventh floor corridor when the silence, save for his panting, was broken.

"Did you really think I didn't know about this room?"

Again with the fishnets. What is it with this hag and the fishnets? If his gran would have seen her in the streets she would have told Neville to cross on the other side as not to give the "lady of the night" the wrong hopes.

"My boyfriend spent the whole of last year obsessing in the room. Of course I knew. Of course I know it's where ya'll have been hiding out. I just can't figure out why it won't let me in." Pansy Parkinson lazily leaned against the wall with her legs sticking out in what she probably thought was a provocative way playing with her wand ready to strike at any second.

"The room," Neville spoke between breaths. Seriously, why does all of these work-outs never actually give him more stamina? "Won't let you in, Parkinson, because you are not on my side. The room answers to me this year. I know it's secrets."

"Curious. You'll have to show me sometime."

"Stupify!" Idiot girl. Not as fast and on guard as she thought she was. That's what you get for trying too hard.

Neville ran into the room just as Goyle was finally catching up to him. Safe. He was safe. For now.

A/N:

I've been asked what ship this story has. Let's call it a mystery.

This chapter is set in flashbacks showing glimpses of the memories Neville has of Pansy. Next chapter will pick back up where chapter 3 let off.