Pokemon Challenge: NevilleBlaise, distracted, Lumos, victorious
Character Appreciation: Dumbledore's Army
Showtime, The Final Battle: 1998
Buttons: Voldemort wins!AU
Ami's Audio, Survivors: cigarette
Word Count: 392
A/N: So here we are. Drabble 100. Time to call it a day and start another story. And yes, there will always be a collection for pairing drabbles that don't quite fit anywhere else.
Thank you to all the readers, especially to the loyal guest who left so many lovely reviews. So much love!
Blaise knows the others don't trust him. By now, he's used to it. To the rest of Dumbledore's Army, he is little more than another Slytherin; in their eyes, he is dangerous.
But he doesn't care. Let them think what they want. He knows his own heart, and it isn't his problem that they can't get past their own prejudices. With the Dark Lord victorious, he has bigger things weighing on his mind.
Taking a deep drag from his cigarette, he ambles along, letting the smoke burn his lungs. He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't realize he isn't the only one walking the perimeter of the makeshift camp.
"Bad habit, Zabini."
He swears under his breath, lifting his wand, ready to hex the speaker.
"Lumos." Neville's wand glows, and he grins.
"Speaking of bad habits," Blaise says dryly, "I would suggest not sneaking around in the middle of the bloody night, Longbottom."
But the tension between them doesn't last long. Neville throws his arms around Blaise, holding him close. With a shiver, Blaise presses his lips to the Gryffindor's.
It's amazing how much has changed in the two months since that fateful battle. Harry Potter is dead, the Dark Lord has won, and Blaise Zabini is sleeping with who he once thought to be the enemy. He isn't quite sure how it happened. One moment, he'd been gripped by nightmares, screaming as he relived Theo's death. The next, Neville was at his side, and Blaise clung to him out of desperation.
He doesn't know why he still clings to him now. Perhaps Neville and his hopeless cause have become as much an addiction as his cigarettes. Perhaps he just needs someone. Whatever the reason, he doesn't see himself giving Neville up any time soon.
"You taste like tobacco," Neville notes, his nose wrinkling as he pulls away.
Blaise offers him a smile that's almost apologetic before shrugging his shoulders. "In this world, our addictions keep us sane," he mutters.
Neville takes his hand, a small smile on his lips. "Yeah. They do."
And it takes Blaise far too long to realize that Neville shouldn't know anything about addiction. He doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. But his eyes remain fixed upon Blaise, and Blaise understands.
Neville's addiction is a Slytherin dressed in green and silver but with a heart of gold.