I like Harry Potter, but it isn't mine. I like 3 Doors Down, but once again…not mine. This fic bit? Sadly, mine. I just felt like posting something. This takes place in the middle of year three. Dedicated to Kymaera just for kicks. ^-^ And this isn't related at all to the other HP fic I've got up, but I suppose there are some similarities. (*blinks innocently* What?! I like Neville and I like Sirius…^-^;;;)
He lies awake and he wonder
Why can't that be me
Cause in his life is filled with
All these good intentions
He's left a lot of things that he'd
Rather not mention right now
But just before he says good night
He looks up with a little smile at me and he says
If I could be like that
I would give anything
Just to live one day in those shoes
If I could be like that
What would I do?"
Be Like That—3 Doors Down
Neville Longbottom moved quietly through the boys' sleeping quarters and towards the Gryffindor common room. Considering the late hour, he doubted that anyone heard his quiet curse when he stubbed his toe against the corner of his bed or the muffled thud he'd made when he'd stumbled over the edge of his overly long pajama pants. His knee still smarted from where he'd landed on the hard floor with it.
But if anything, he'd learned long ago that Gryffindor tended to be deep sleepers. No one had ever woken up yet to his blind stumblings in the dark. Or if they had, they hadn't been concerned enough to come and see what it was that he was up to so late at night. He supposed they suspected it was normal behavior for him, considering the fact that this nightly habit of his had started the first night he'd spent here.
It wasn't that they were unfeeling. Neville had seen repeated examples of how the kids in this house could and would band together for someone. It wasn't that they were cold, you only had to look at the twins or Dean and Seamus, or Harry, Ron, and Hermione to know that there were close friendships in this house.
He reached the doorway leading out of the room and he paused. Some nights, he'd stay up, listening to everyone fall asleep, comforted by the fact that he was surrounded by other people. That he wasn't alone. And then on other nights like this one, he'd stay up listening to the light snores and deep breathing and realize that even though he was surrounded by people, he would always be very much alone.
Well, the last thing he wanted tonight was to stay in here listening to everyone sleep their own pleasant, peaceful dreams. Not that he wished them ill, he was around all of them too much to not have come to like them. They were good people, decent people. He imagined that when they grew up all the way, they'd be a lot like his parents had once been. Respectable.
And him? Well, he thought wryly, he'd always be something of a joke.
He went to sit down in front of the fire in the common room, but as he'd crouched down, his knee protested. And something inside him agreed with his knee. It didn't feel right to sit in the common room as if he belonged there. Fact of the matter was that this was one of those nights where Neville didn't even want to ~be~ in Gryffindor tower. It was stifling, and a kind of restlessness kicked at his heart, quickening the beat and reminding him of the moments where Great Uncle Algie had tried to smother him into working magic.
He needed out. And he needed out now.
Without stopping to give it more than a second's thought, Neville crept out of the Gryffindor tower.
Standing out in front of the portrait, he let out a mild sigh of relief as his heart calmed to a more regular beat. The hall was silent. Which might have had a tranquil quality, Neville decided, if it hadn't been so bloody dark and deserted. There was no sign of Peeves or of Nearly Headless Nick, and even Sir Cadogan was quiet. Usually the knight insisted on giving Neville small pep talks about courage and bravery.
As if he needed any more reminder of just how out of place he was.
Neville gave a sigh and turned to get a peak at the knight. It came as no great surprise to see the armored fellow asleep beside his fat pony. And really, Neville didn't look forward to hearing what Sir Cadogan had to say when he woke him up to be let back in.
To be let back in…
Abruptly Neville patted the pockets of his pajamas with a sinking heart. Oh god, it just figured, he couldn't help but think in disgust as the patting failed to produce the crinkling sound of paper.
He'd left the cheat sheet of passwords—passwords he hadn't been able to commit to memory, unlike everyone else in the house—on his bedside table. Short of waking up all of Hogwarts, he wasn't going to get back inside tonight.
Oh, he could see the humor in it. He could almost always see the humor in the situations in which he always found himself in. He never would have made it this long if he hadn't figured out how. But on some nights…
"Neville Longbottom," he said quietly to himself, "you have got to be the biggest screw up that Gryffindor has ever seen."
******
Sirius Black surveyed the scene before him with an ambivalent curiosity. The problem of getting into Gryffindor tower had been plaguing him for weeks, and it had seemed smart to him at least, to establish some sort of surveillance over the place. Something had to happen, ~someone~ was going to slip up somewhere. These were just kids, for god's sake. Someone was bound to get careless at some point, and he was going to be there to take advantage of that.
As it was though, his heart had almost leapt out of his throat when he'd seen the boy emerge from the tower. He looked to be about the right height, the right size, and in the darkness of the hallway, Sirius had thought—if just for a moment—that he was looking at wild unruly dark hair. But then the boy had turned slightly, placing his face in a better light for him to see, and the man realized that this was not the boy he had thought it might be.
Disappointed, he felt his heartbeat return to normal. Of course this wasn't Potter. What had he been thinking? Harry knew that he was loose, and of course, it was inevitable that someone would inform the famous boy of just what role Black had played in Lily and James' deaths. Just the thought that it would be Harry out in the hall was enough to make him scoff at himself.
It was odd to see anyone in the hallways at this hour, even odder still that it was a lone Gryffindor. If he'd learned anything from his years at Hogwarts as a Gryffindor, it was that as a house, they banded together. Sirius had never completely understood if it was a defining element of the house, or just a phenomenon, but Gryffindors seemed to live with the need inside them to be deeply connected to other people.
He'd had Moony, and Prongs, and yes, at one point, he'd even included Wormtail in the group of friends that held him up and kept him sane. One only had to look at what he'd become after he'd been separated from them to see how central they'd been in his life. Gryffindor just never seemed to come in anything less than pairs.
But here was this small blonde—or at least that was Sirius' best guess in the shadows of the hallway—boy standing outside the door by himself. Siruis watched as the boy gave a small sigh, and then edged forward as the kid's face quickly turned from relief to panic. Confused now, Siruis watched as the boy patted his pockets and then turned to look forlornly at the portrait.
"Neville Logbottom, you have got to be the biggest screw up that Gryffindor has ever seen." The boy whispered quietly before giving a self depreciating laugh and sliding down onto the cold hard floor of the hallway.
Neville Longbottom. Sirius gave his floppy ear a deft scratch as he thought on the bit of information. That was the name Harry had given the Knight Bus driver. Slightly intrigued, Sirius took a few hesitant, silent steps closer. This boy knew his godson.
He took a closer look to see that the boy had curled himself up into as tight a ball as he possibly could with his back against the wall and his face hidden in his knees. It was a position that Sirius knew well. How many hours had he sat like that in the corner of his cell, his muscles cramping at the inactivity, in a vain attempt to stay hidden from the dementors that lazed past his cell in an endless steam of terrifying monotony?
He was content to watch from a distance until Neville had started with those small snuffling sounds. Curious, he slunk down on all fours and moved closer, keeping his belly low to the ground. It wasn't until he heard the light click of his toenails on the stone floors of the area just in front of the portrait that he'd realized what a monumental mistake he'd just committed in the name of curiosity.
"Who's there?" The blonde head popped up, and the tear stained eyes fell on Sirius' form across the room. Cursing his own stupidity, Sirius leapt up and gave a low menacing growl as he advanced on the boy. It may not be ethical, or even right, but he wasn't going to let anyone get in the way of his mission. Harry's safety was just too important. He'd ~promised~ James and Lily.
And he'd be damned if he was going to go back to that hell. Or if he'd let one of those life suckers steal the soul right out of him.
It was too early in the game for him to be caught. No one would listen, he knew. They wouldn't listen unless they had the proof right before their eyes. And unless Pettigrew up and sprouted a conscious—as well as a backbone—that wasn't going to happen. And if he'd learned anything from his incarceration and his time at Azkaban, it was that the end always seemed to justify the means.
He advanced on the pale boy, teeth grimly bared.
*****
Neville stared disbelievingly at the sleeping portrait of Sir Cadogan, and then gave a self-depreciating laugh. Oh god, didn't it just figure? With a soundless sigh, he slid down onto the floor in front of the portrait and pulled his knees up tight. It was particularly dark in the hallway, and had he been a better wizard, he would have simply said 'Lumnos' and the problem would have been solved.
Silly thing about his magic though…the only predictable thing about it was the fact that it was completely unpredictable.
Knowing his luck, he'd do something monumentally stupid which would make this little trip outside the tower pale in comparison. And while most days he could handle the laughter and the ribbing, this was not going to be one of those times. Wrapping his arms around his legs, he buried his face in his knees and willed himself not to rock back and forth.
It wasn't so bad curling up in a ball, the floor was icy cold, and he felt justified in pulling his body in as close as it could go. But rocking? He hadn't resorted to that in years. He'd curtailed the need shortly after his grandmother had blistered his ears for it. He'd been ten at the time, and he'd just returned from visiting his parents, and well…Gram had quite forcefully declared him too old for such childish behavior.
He couldn't stop himself from shivering though. The night air was chilly, and he'd left Trevor inside. Granted, a toad couldn't give off a lot of warmth, but it wasn't so much the body heat that Neville needed. It was the companionship. The knowledge that he wasn't truly alone.
And yes, it had occurred to him—many, many times in fact—how pathetic that was. That his closest friend, the one that he confided in, turned to for comfort, looked to for love…was a common toad.
But even Trevor couldn't help him with this particular dilemma. No, no there were simply too many memories jumbling up his head for him to be able to coherently explain them to ~anybody~, let alone his faithful toad.
Snape had been snapping at him all week. More so than usual, which of course, was no surprise considering what had happened during what Neville had termed 'The Boggart Incident'. Seeing Snape in Gram's hideous vulture hat had almost been worth it. Almost.
It would have been a lot sweeter, Neville reflected, if he hadn't accidentally gotten a good look at Snape's arm earlier that week.
He'd been afraid of Snape since his first day in Potions. The man just ~looked~ scary. And yes, Neville's poor head had shakily confused the Professor numerous times with his Great Uncle Algie. There seemed to be something in the two men that absolutely delighted in tormenting small little boys whose magic wasn't worth a hoot.
But until that day, Neville hadn't realized just how much alike the two men really were. And the knowledge terrified him.
Why shouldn't it?! He asked himself with as he tried to bite back a small whimper. With all the things that had happened to Harry, Ron, and Hermione; Neville was no longer under the naïve impression that Hogwarts was a safe haven. Maybe a bit safer than home, but completely safe? No, nonononononono…
"C'mon Neville-boy, let's play a game…"
He didn't want to play anymore games. They all hurt. Sometimes, when he was on the very verge of sleep, he'd recall the way it felt to have Great Uncle Algie's hands clasped tightly around his throat, choking off the air. Or he'd remember holding his breath painfully in his chest as the arm pushed him under the surface of the pond. Or he'd picture all the times the man had hung him outside a window, feinting as if he were going to drop the tiny boy.
He hated those games. And sometimes, when he'd lie awake sweating and trying to remember to breathe over the sound of his own furiously beating heart, Neville would wish that the next time he went home—the next holiday—Great Uncle Algie would slip up. That his tormentor would just end all his games forever.
And Snape…Snape was just like him. A professor here at Hogwarts was one of ~them~.
The knowledge left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he felt his eyes sting. And what was worse to realize was that he'd ~never~ be strong enough to face them.
He was hopeless. A lost cause. A magical disaster. A squib.
There was a faint clicking to his left, and Neville immediately jerked his head up at the sound. Two eyes glittered in the darkness before him, and Neville felt his whole body still at the sight. "Who's there?" He managed to work out past his paralyzed tongue. A deep growl answered his question, and Neville watched with wide eyes as the huge dark beast slowly slinked into view.
A part of him wanted to burst into hysterical giggles.
How fitting was this? He'd been stupid enough to first sneak out of Gryffindor tower in the middle of the night. Then, he'd managed to forget his passwords. And instead of trying to remedy the situation, he'd sat down to contemplate who would have the honors of doing him in first, Great Uncle Algie or Professor Snape…Only to have both competitors ousted by some hideous death beast that had chosen this night, of all nights, to roam the halls. The beast took another step forward, a bit more aggressively this time, and Neville could see the glint of sharp fangs gleaming in the darkness.
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" His voice sounded almost…calm. It was almost as if he finally understood one very important thing that had escaped him for the greater portion of his life.
There were worse things than death.
How had he not realized that sooner? He gave the growling beast a small distracted smile. All he had to do was look at his parents to know that there were some circumstances that were worse, much worse, than a quick demise.
The beast was inches from his own face now, he realized with a small start. The hard eyes were almost probing him, waiting for him to open his mouth and scream. The beast was waiting for Neville to give it an excuse to attack. Well, he wasn't going to scream, Neville decided. If he was going to die, he wanted it done quick.
"If you're going to kill me, could you at least do me a favor and go for my throat?" He asked the hell beast in his most polite voice. The creature seemed momentarily stumped, if the confusion in its hard eyes was any indication. "I've been to Madame Pomfrey's a lot," Neville hastened to assure his soon-to-be-killer, "and if you're looking for a nice bloody, efficient way to kill me, that would be it."
Neville watched the monstrous hound as it sat back on its rump and tilted its head to the side as if to contemplate the strange boy before it.
"Here, I'll make it easy for you," Neville snapped, feeling a bit disgruntled by the beast's reaction. He lay down on the icy cold floor, placing his head near the massive paws, and exposing his neck to the huge creature. He'd much rather go quickly at the sharp teeth of a monster that everyone would ~believe~ was a monster, than to be tormented into an insane asylum by the likes of Professor Snape and Great Uncle Algie. Truth was, Neville thought as he closed his eyes and waited for the fangs to pierce his skin, he was probably already half crazy as it was.
He almost screamed when he felt something cold and wet nudge at the side of his face. Death beast drool. The creature was going to drool all over him first. He was going to become the only ghost at Hogwarts to be covered in hell spawn slobber. Well, he supposed, it could be worse. Drool couldn't be as bad as having died in the bathroom. At least he'd have good company with Moaning Myrtle.
The cold, wet thing nudged him again, and Neville cracked an eye to get a better look. The death beast's nose was inches from his face, sniffing him inquisitively. And as his other eye flew open Neville watched in stunned disbelief as the beast's pink tongue snuck out and gave him a tentative lick on the cheek.
"Um, you ~are~ going to kill me, right?" He whispered at the creature as he tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. The hell beast—which once Neville took a better look at, bore a striking resemblance to a mangy stray dog—chuffed softly, and placed a paw on Neville's chest as if to say 'don't be stupid'. "Well, why the hell not?!" He demanded as he struggled to sit up.
The dog, however, would have none of that. And without so much as a by your leave, it flopped half its body down onto of Neville's chest and closed its eyes.
*****
TBC…
And in other news, blargy. ^-^;;; Review please! *puppy eyes*