"I am such an idiot."
The spoken words echoed clearly down the long, dark corridor. A shudder, a quick intake of breath followed. "I am such an idiot!" Words through clenched teeth, the sentence no longer a resonant absolution but a muffled accusation.
"I AM SUCH AN IDIOT!" A roar that led way to a thudding noise against the wall of an alcove.
A broken Neville sat destitute, cradling his throbbing his in his hands. "Oh, ow," he bemoaned pitifully. He lifted his head back up and against the wall, blissfully aware of the sharp pain stabbing through his mind and stared at his hand. Glistening, tepid, dead cranberry. A rusty odor prickled his nose.
He laughed self-deprecatingly. "Idiot," he chuckled madly, "Idiot."
The pulsing diaphragm dissolved with the hot tears that leaked from his eyes. "Idiot, idiot," he cried out.
"Of course you are," a voice replied, lacking all nasal noises, usually a trait of one with a stuffy nose.
Neville's head whipped to the right. He peered at the boy through the dark, but found that he could not identify him. "Lumos," he whispered, eyes widening as his wand showed him who the other person was.
A pointy-faced, pale-haired, broken-nosed Draco Malfoy stood before him.
"What do you want, Malfoy?" Neville asked miserably. "Here to make fun of me? Go ahead. I can't feel any lower than I am now. Fire away."
"Oh, stop it," Draco huffed impatiently, "I don't have all day, and even if I did I certainly wouldn't want to spend it listening to you whine about your tragically pathetic life, Longbottom."
"Then what the hell are you doing here?" he demanded heatedly. When met with a death stare from Draco, Neville presented him with a cautious smile tainted with fear. "If you don't mind me asking, that is," he backtracked.
"I'm here to give you a proposition," Draco informed him.
Neville stared curiously up at the Slytherin. He patted the ground next to him. "Have a seat then," he allowed, "and I might be interested in what you have to say."
"So nice to meet you, Blaise," Hermione beamed as she shook Blaise's hand ecstatically with both of her hands.
"It's nice to meet you too, Hermione," Blaise returned, "although it isn't exactly as if we've never seen each other before. After all, we have been having the same classes for six years."
His comment took the wind out of Hermione's smile. She continued to do so, but it was waning quickly.
"Be nice," Harry whispered to the slightly taller boy, encircling Blaise's waist with his arms.
Blaise grinned at Hermione, in apology. "It's nice to get to know you finally all the same," she reworded.
Ron stared coolly at the Slytherin. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, and Blaise felt his smile fade. "This is the bloke who was writing you all of those poems, Harry?" Ron asked.
"Er, yeah, Ron," Harry replied nervously, "That's what I told you guys."
Ron surveyed Blaise. "Are you sure?" he asked again.
"Of course I am!" Harry answered heatedly. "What are you talking about, Ron?"
"Well, I dunno," Ron said defensively, "You thought Neville was him. And now you think Blaise is him. How do you know that he isn't playing you, Harry?" He drop his voice and drew Harry away from Blaise. "I don't want you to get hurt again, mate."
"Why are you doing this now?" Harry asked. He bit his lip to try to stop tears from falling. "I thought things were okay between us."
"They are," Ron told him insistently. "Nothing's wrong between, I swear it. I just don't…oh I don't know, Harry. Just make sure that he's 'the one'."
Harry looked as if he were going to say something else, but decided against this. "We'll talk about this later," he threatened/promised.
Ron merely sighed and looked away. Harry grabbed Blaise's arm and led away.
The two Gryffindors were left in silence. That was, until Hermione smacked Ron over the head. "Ow!" he cried, rubbing his head. "What was that for, 'Mione?"
Hermione merely glared at him before turning on her heel and walking away.
Ron sighed once more and went after Harry and Blaise.
"Harry, wait," Ron called.
Harry did not wait, though Blaise did look back at him and whisper something into Harry's ear. "Just hear him out," he murmured, brushing his lips against the shell of Harry's ear. "What harm can it do?"
Harry closed his eyes and pecked Blaise on his lips. "Alright," he said loudly, both to Blaise and to Ron.
Ron nodded gratefully toward Blaise. Blaise excused himself, "I'll see you later, Harry. I'm going back to my common room to do homework or something. Have a nice chat, you two."
"What is it, Ron?" Harry asked impatiently.
Ron waited until Blaise was out of sight before he answered. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I'm really sorry for doing that."
Harry huffed. "And?"
Ron's lip pressed into a grim line. "I was totally out of line for saying what I did. I know that Blaise is 'the one ' for you. I do. I don't think he's a Neville."
"Then why did you cause such a scene?" Harry asked more gently. His anger was fading quickly, and Ron could see that.
"Oh I don't know," Ron said, hands fidgeting at his sides. "Maybe it's because…you two are just so perfect together. Already."
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Are you jealous of me?"
"Well yeah. But not just you. Both of you. For what you have. I mean, the relationship. I'm not envious of the fact that you're gay, y'know. Just…I don't know. The connection you guys share," he confessed.
"What about you and Hermione?" Harry asked, bewildered. "You and she share that…er…connection, don't you?"
"It doesn't seem like it's even remotely near the same level that you and Blaise's is," Ron fretted.
"You both definitely have a connection, Ron," Harry assuaged his fears. "It's so obvious."
"Do you really think?"
"Of course I do. You two had that connection since first year, for Merlin's sake," Harry told him.
"I guess you're right," Ron supposed.
"I am," Harry said confidently. "Now let's go back to the common room so you can show Hermione just how aware you are of that connection."
Ron smiled broadly. He lifted himself as they began to walk with poise. "Yeah, you're right," Ron replied.
Harry clapped Ron on the back good-naturedly and grinned back.
"I for one have never liked Potter," Draco drawled as he leaned against the pillar next to Neville, the closest he would allow himself to do like sitting next to the boy on the filthy floor.
"That much is obvious," Neville replied, frowning. He was beginning to wonder why he had agreed to listen to Malfoy speak, since it was so obvious that all he was going to do was gripe about his problems with Harry and then offer a dastardly deed to get rid of the Boy-Who-Lived. Or so he supposed.
"But I know you have a burning passion for him, or whatever," Draco allowed. Neville chuckled darkly and dropped his head into his drawn-up knees, covering his face.
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" came his smothered response.
"Ooh, touchy," Draco sneered. "Seems like getting with Potter has given you a pair."
Before Neville had a chance to tell him what he was going to do to Malfoy's said appendages, Draco quickly hastened to his proposition. "Which is why I'm not going to plan to do anything to your lover, though I can't see why…oh nevermind, that's beside the point," he continued. "What I think you and Potter's main problem is happens to be Zabini. Once you get rid of the problem, you and the Boy-Who-Refuses-to-Die can be together."
"And why should you care about Harry's or my, for that matter, happiness?" Neville asked.
Draco showed his teeth in a feral grin. "Let's just say that I have a score to settle."
Happy Christmas, Chanukah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and New Year. Plus anything I've forgotten. And not necessarily in that particular order.