If I Should Think Of Love by d2ragnarok
Rating: PG-13, from the looks of it
Genres: Romance – (and a horribly lame attempt at) Humour
Warnings: Slash, mostly.
Pairings: Harry/Neville, ?/Neville
Summary: Nev receives an unexpected letter-- er, letters, pardon me.
Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling and her lovely batch of publishers. No copyright infringement intended.
Etc: My humble offering to the HP fandom. Written for fun, mostly. :) Thanks to treana for assuring me that this was okay. Oh, and the "letter"plot bunny was adopted from Gardener's Delight Slash, a Neville-centric mailing list at Yahoo. :)
one.
Neville never particularly liked Wednesdays. Reason one being that he had double Potions with the Slytheriens on Wednesdays, which was enough to put him in an overly morose mood. Second was that it was in the middle of the week, which meant another two days of brain cruelty until he had reprieve. In all Neville's time at Hogwarts, Wednesdays proved to be the worst, most foul of days indeed—the double Potions with Snape notwithstanding. But Neville thought of himself as capable of bearing the day with as much courage and determination as he could—which, admittedly, was not much, but Neville refused to worry. Especially not about how much he would screw up in Potions and how much Snape would torment him for it. No, he woke this morning feeling mostly optimistic and intended to keep it that way.
Neville consoled himself as he dressed with thinking that it could get no worse than having double Potions and irritating Snape for gods know what. Not on this Wednesday anyway.
Of course, as the morning progressed, Neville found that his earlier thoughts were a bit naive, even for him. Everything tended to blow up in his face, after all. He should have suspected the obvious:
It could always get worse.
& & &
At breakfast, Neville sat between Seamus and Harry. This wasn't anymore odd than Hermoine going over her notes while munching on a bagel, as it was Neville's customary seat at the table, and breakfast proceeded as normally as any other day. Seamus and Dean talked Quidditch, so most of the conversation was lost on Neville, while Hermoine berated Ron and Harry about a Herbology essay that was due that afternoon. Ron yawned in her face, while Harry managed to look a bit rueful—whether it was honest or on account of Hermoine, Neville didn't know although he suspected the latter. He himself had finished his essay late last night and somehow had gotten a glint of approval in the girl's eyes when she asked how he did. It seemed a good sign. The day seemed to be looking well, as Neville liked Hermoine well enough.
Somewhere between the porridge and toast, Harry turned toward him quite abruptly with a serious look in his eyes. Neville, taken aback by the aberrancy of it, fumbled with his knife as he was buttering his toast. It clattered noisily on the table, causing Neville to wince, although those nearest to him spared him no more than a casual glance, not at all surprised. He wondered whether that should have offended him.
"Neville," Harry began without delay, and then lapsed into a lengthy pause that Neville thought he would turn away. There was a strange look on Harry's face, as though he were deep in thought and was getting a headache from it.
"What is it, Harry?" Neville prompted kindly, picking up his fallen knife to smear butter on his toast.
"Er, what I meant to say was..." Harry started awkwardly and stopped again, although it lasted for only a few seconds this time. "It's Hogsmeade weekend next weekend."
Neville stared at Harry for a moment, wondering if he'd gone ill or something, before laughing a little to hide his mounting confusion.
"I know," he replied with a smile that hopefully didn't look as shy or shaky as he thought it did. "Everyone knows that. It's on Valentine's weekend, isn't it?"
"Er—yes, it is." Harry answered, getting that bizarre look on his face again. Neville was beginning to think that Harry wasn't quite wakeful yet.
"Are you going with someone?" Neville asked then mentally slapped himself. Stupid question, Harry always went to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermoine. It was Valentine's weekend though. If not them, it was either going to Cho Chang or some other girl.
A brief look of something (relief?) flashed through Harry's eyes before it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.
"No," he answered hesitantly. "I mean, I plan to go but—" Before Harry could continue and most likely confuse Neville even further, hoots echoed in the hall as numerous owls swooped in from the windows.
Harry, jumping a bit, suddenly went an interesting shade of red and smiled sheepishly at Neville. It was then that Neville realised that Ron and Hermoine were attentively listening in on the conversation with suspicious looking interest. When they noticed Neville noticing, they began talking quite loudly about some boring aspect of Potions class. At this, he felt a curious eyebrow rise as he glanced back at Harry.
"Is there something wrong, Harry?" Neville asked quietly with a serious voice, feeling as though he were missing something.
Harry gave him a smile that seemed rather forced, still a little red around the ears. "I'll explain later," and with that, he went back to his breakfast.
"O-okay," Neville replied uncertainly.
Explain? Explain what?
Neville wasn't expecting any mail that morning. His Gran wrote occasionally but it wasn't for about every few weeks. He had sent off his reply to a previous letter only a week before. So when an owl dropped a letter in front of him, Neville jerked a bit in surprise, accidentally knocking over his glass of orange juice.
"Oh, sorry!" He hastened to apologise to Seamus, seeing that some of the juice had splashed on his plate and the cuff of his school robe. He rose with his napkin and dabbed at the liquid before it could spill over the edge of the table. "Here, I'll clean it."
"'s okay," Seamus said, although he didn't look particularly happy about his robe. "I was done anyway. Don't worry about it. Here, gimme your napkin."
Seamus snatched Neville's napkin with remarkable dexterity, smiling to ease Neville's distress. Neville sat down unhappily, feeling a bit guilty as his roommate began cleaning up the mess he made. The letter caught his attention once again, looking rather innocent in its thinness. He stared at it as though he expected it to run away.
Neville Longbottom, read the fine, if a little delicate, handwriting that couldn't possibly belong to his Gran's sure hand. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was nothing else written on the otherwise unremarkable envelope.
Who would want to write to him? Other than his Gran, he meant.
Beside him, Seamus (and Harry, Neville noticed, although he was far more discreet) leaned over to inspect the letter as he wiped up the sticky juice. He turned to Neville. "Oi," he nudged slightly, curious. "Aren't you going to open it?"
"Y-yes, of course I will," Neville stammered, suddenly filled with a sense of foreboding that didn't sit too well with his stomach. He picked it up and ripped it open without any preamble.
It didn't blow up in his face, nor did there seem to be anything wrong with the parchment inside. It was just an ordinary letter from the looks of it.
Neville read it. And reread it once more for good measure.
Seamus read over his shoulder, not being one to respect anyone's privacy, least of all one of his roommates. He squinted at the parchment and frowned.
"What the heck?" he asked with much the same confusion as Neville felt when he first read it. "'If I should think of love, I'd think of you, your arms uplifted'?"
Who would send him a poem? What did that mean? There wasn't even a name anywhere on the parchment, Neville even checked twice.
"This something you get everyday?" Seamus was too blunt for his own good sometimes.
"Wha-what! N-no!"
The Irish boy's face scrunched up in thought. "Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a—" he gasped suddenly, eye widening with realisation.
Neville watched Seamus apprehensively. "A what?"
"A love letter!" Seamus crowed enthusiastically, laughing. "Neville got a love letter!"
Neville felt his face flame at the words. His face felt even hotter when he suddenly became the centre of everyone's attention. It couldn't have gotten any worse than having a Howler screaming in his face. Yet... it somehow was.
Quite suddenly Harry sputtered and coughed on his porridge, so badly that Ron had to vigorously pat his back and ask if he was all right.
"A love letter?" Dean asked with interest, peering past Seamus. "Really, Neville? Can I see it?" Without awaiting his consent, Dean reached past Seamus and snatched the letter from Neville's very hands.
Neville started to protest, feeling terribly embarrassed, but it died as Dean began reading it aloud at the urging of the others. It was like watching himself blindly walking into a wall.
If I should think of love
I'd think of you, your arms uplifted,
Tying your hair in plaits above,
The lyre shape of your arms and shoulders,
The soft curve of your winding head.
No melody is sweeter, nor could Orpheus
So have bewitched. I think of this,
And all my universe becomes perfection.
But were you in my arms, dear love,
The happiness would take my breath away,
No thought could match that ecstasy,
No song encompass it, no other worlds.
If I should think of love,
I'd think of you.
Neville blushed like mad at the teasing giggles, chuckles, and looks he received until he was sure that his face would remain a permanent shade of red.
"Any idea what it means?"
"Well, someone obviously likes Neville. It's an anonymous love letter, you git."
"Does anyone recognise the handwriting?"
"No, looks girly through."
"If it's girly writing, then it must be Percy's."
"Ron! It's not Percy's! He's dating that Ravenclaw girl, isn't he?"
"Who would write this anyway? It's actually really good."
"I know that poem," Hermoine suddenly piped up, thoughtful eyes turning bright with recognition. "That was written by a Muggle named William Shakespeare. He was known for those kinds of romantic sonnets."
There was a significant, uncomfortable pause. Neville began contemplating digging a hole and burying himself in it forever.
"Uh, so this Shakespeare guy sent it to him?"
Okay... he'd just throw himself off from one of the school towers.
"No," Hermoine shook her head, smiling a bit though she tried to hide it. She sent a considerate glance Neville's way. "Shakespeare died a long time ago. But his poems were really popular—and still are—in the Muggle world. He's one of the most famous poets and playwrights in the world."
Another pause as the new information was digested.
"So obviously whoever sent it to him has to be a Muggle, right?"
"Yes," Hermoine nodded, thoughtful once again. "It would seem that way."
But before the discussion of the author of Neville's "love letter" could be continued, they were informed by the school bells that it was time for classes. Neville shot out of there like a cat out of water, breakfast forgotten, as well as the letter that was rightfully his. As he ran, he thought to have heard Harry yell and Ron laugh. He didn't know what happened to the letter after that. Neville thought that evening as he was going to bed, after suffering more teasing from his housemates, that he would have planned a nice toasty death for it.
Again, his naivety and optimism pulled wool over his eyes.
Neville didn't know he'd be doing it every day until the next week.