Title: Not so different
Rating: PG
Warnings: angst
Pairing: none really.
Summery: Severus makes an odd realization about himself and Neville Longbottom and how they fit in the world.
Not so Different
He bumbles into my classroom, swinging his bag clumsily onto his desk after tripping over the outstretched leg of Draco Malfoy. He recovers quickly and sits down hastily, opening his notebook as the flush spreads across his cheeks, obviously embarrassed.
He turns away from the laughing of the Slytherins, and closes his ears to their taunts. Or at least tries to. That telltale rise of anger is painted vividly across his face, and though he is neither scowling nor glowering, I can tell he is livid.
They do this and more to him daily. I watch how he avoids any conversation with his peers, even his fellow Gryffindores and he's grown quieter and more reclusive with each passing year. No longer is he that annoying dim- witted, but talkative first year.
I do nothing to help, of course. How could a known Death Eater defend the bastard son of former Order members? As dense as this class is, many would raise an eyebrow at that sight, which would be especially unfortunate if an exceptionally vocal Draco Malfoy were to inform his father of such happenings. So I act as though I see nothing, or gift the Slytherins with a smile, encouraging their actions to grow. If Longbottom were just to stand up for himself, I wouldn't even have to ponder about intervening.
I cannot play an innocent bystander. I string him along, just like the rest of them. I sneer and snarl and spit hurtful words; I hand out unfair detentions and generally humiliate him in front of the other students. I say just as hurtful things as any of his tormentors and he lets me get away with it, just as he does them. And a part of me enjoys it.
I watch as he ducks his head as I belittle him ruthlessly. He keeps his eyes to the ground, such a meek thing, lacking even the faintest trace of a spine. He's biting his lip, but I can't tell whether it's to keep him from speaking out against me or just some comforting action he resorts to. Most likely the later. He would never contradict me. He hasn't the courage to.
When I progress to my next target, I keep one eye on Longbottom and I notice he does not unfurl or calm any. Still sitting straight backed and nervous, shaking hands mixing ingredients in the wrong order at the incorrect temperature, he doesn't let his guard down until the bell sounds and he exits the classroom at a near run.
As time passes his demeanor in my classroom begins to leak out of it and appear in other areas. He's sullen at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, hardly eating a single morsel. This drastic change in diet affects his appearance and his weight drops, especially off of his face.
His other professors complain that he doesn't participate any longer and routinely fails all his exams and tests. Sprout swears he's skipped class at least five times in the last three months and Minerva is threatening to remove him from her class if he fails to stop coming in late.
I know why. It's the same reason I nearly dropped out of this same school in my seventh year. How many times was I late having been cornered by Potter and Black? How many nights of studying time did they ruin for me in the library? Far too many to count properly.
I see them; Malfoy, Crabb, Goyle sometimes others, their taunting has turned ruthless, much more than cruel words and simple hexes.
They laugh as he passes in the hall, as they beat him against the stonewalls of Hogwarts, and when he limps back to the Gryffindor dormitory, too much pride to go to the hospital wing for the millionth time this year.
I've witnessed it in passing; I've seen the marks he bares, scratches and scars, bruises and bumps; I've felt compelled to stop them, to tell them to just let him be, but I say and do nothing. I let them do this to him, and I'm not foolish enough to try and change myself. This is what happens to the weak ones. That's life, in and out of school. If you're weak you'll flounder.
So I let him cower in the corner of his mind, and I let the others take brutal advantage of him. This is my way to right my own childhood. We aren't so different, Neville Longbottom and myself. We have much more in common than most would guess.
Well, that's untrue; I wasn't different from him when I was his age. I let James Potter and Sirius Black trample me, just as I let Malfoy trample him now.
I contribute to this cycle; I debase him publicly, feeding to the games and taunts Malfoy plays with him, I stand idly by as he'd beaten both mentally and physically, and I don't plan to stop.
No one helped me when James Potter continually hurled me down flight after flight of stairs, landing me in the hospital wing for a week. No one helped me when Sirius Black decided that I was no longer fit for eating in the Great Hall and charmed the plate in front of me to at all means burn the food that touched it. And no one helped me when they set a werewolf after me. So why should I help him?
But there's a part of me who wants him to just bloody stand up for himself, grow a spine and spit in Malfoy's pale face once. One time would be enough. I stood up for myself and it got me no where, but just to see a Malfoy taken down a notch by Neville Longbottom would do me some good, probably do him some good as well. Merlin knows, regardless of how I tried, Potter and Black refused to be humiliated.
He's just an unlucky child with a vacant family and few friends. He's not intelligent, or brave or even attractive, just a chubby little simpleton who's destined to be the butt of Malfoy's jokes for his remaining years at Hogwarts and well beyond. Perhaps Malfoy will perish in the coming war, and Longbottom be set free. But without a tormentor where will he go?
He'll become a lonely old man teaching herbology from the secluded greenhouses, avoiding staff meetings and Christmas parties, spending his nights grousing over idiot students who won't stand up for themselves and be ultimately miserable for the rest of his days.
Fin.