Neville
Neville Longbottom figured he had just enough time between Potions and Transfiguration to plaster a few more posters up on the bulletin boards near the dungeons. Even if Professor Snape's usual taunts rattled him somewhat. How had the man known he'd been planning a campaign in his head while stirring his potion?
Such fantasies weren't distracting. The instructions were clear enough, stir four times clockwise with a silver knife and one counter-clockwise for ten minutes. He was doing it just fine. His potion was almost the same lilac color as Hermione Granger's. He was rather proud of it.
He'd spent a good portion of the summer working on his potions. He'd even asked his grandmother for tutoring. Potions weren't her forte, but she was happy to help him out. They'd picked ones at random from various textbooks and worked their way through them.
They'd even brewed a ton of the immersion potions that the guidebooks talked about. They were commonly available at Zonko's and other joke shops. If used properly they put the players into a sort of haze where they could see and sense the world he built around them.
He wasn't sure if his would work all that well. But they'd made a large batch of them and he figured he was good enough to make more if they ended up being a popular way to play the game.
With all the additional practice he thought he'd be able to keep his head down, do the work, and get through the exams at the end of the year. After that, he'd never have to sit in the dungeon classroom again. The thought brought forth a great deal of relief.
And then Professor Snape barked his name over the quiet classroom, and he fumbled the knife into the potion. And just like that, all the effort he'd put into potions that summer, all the time he'd spent in the kitchen with his grandmother staring at cauldrons of bubbling goo, became utterly worthless. It only took that moment for it to shift from a pale lilac into something more akin to vomit.
"Perhaps you should keep your mind on reality rather than fantasy," Snape drawled. He waved his wand lazily in Neville's direction. Neville's potion vanished. As did Harry's next to him.
"Hey!" Harry exclaimed.
"I see you've done nothing with your time as well Mister Potter," Snape sighed, doing nothing to hide his sneer. Neville felt the blood rush to his cheeks but he couldn't bring himself to look at the professor, or at Harry Potter.
"You," Harry started.
"Do you want a detention as well, Mister Potter?" Snape asked.
"Don't," Hermione Granger hissed. "You already have Umbridge."
"I thought not," Snape said after Harry's jaw snapped shut. "Clean your station up. I expect it to be spotless. And I expect two rolls of parchment from both of you about how to properly brew the potion."
Neville jumped to obey, quick to do anything to get Snape's gaze off of him. The potion's professor sure knew how to cut down on his weekend freetime. Then again, if no one showed up that evening he'd be able to work on that essay the entire time.
Really, with how the weekend was shaping up, he wasn't in that bad of shape. Both Umbridge and McGonagall hadn't assigned much in the way of homework for that first weekend.
He planned how he'd do it in his head. If no one showed for his event he'd be able to get Potions and Defense done that evening. While Umbridge had assigned a lot of homework, from looking at it, it seemed to be little more than regurgitating the textbook. And even he could do that without much thought.
That would leave Herbology for Saturday morning. That assignment would be easy. He could knock it out in a half hour. But he'd probably spend an hour on it just to impress Professor Sprout. At least one teacher would praise him come Monday. That kept him going more than he cared to admit.
That would leave Saturday evening and Sunday for anything else he spaced on All-in-all, it felt like an easy enough weekend.
He kept his head down and focused on cleaning the workspace. Hoping that he'd do nothing else to be noticed for the final ten minutes of the class. Most students were bottling up their potion and presenting it for grading. Somehow, Goyle's feces-brown concoction was decreed acceptable. He didn't look but he could feel the Slytheirn bully smirking at him as he lumbered out of the classroom.
A slytherin girl rushed by his desk and then Neville heard the all too familiar shattering of glass.
"Longbottom!" Snape barked. Neville felt his entire body stiffen as he slowly brought his gaze up from the workstation.
He saw the broken potion vial in the aisle next to him. Pale brown potion pooled around the glass shards. He saw white trainers with three pink stripes up the side hop away from the growing puddle. One of the shoes was untied, the pink laces skittering on the ground as his classmate stepped away from the mess.
"It's enough that you waste good potions ingredients with your own incompetence. Now you're sabotaging other students as well?" Snape accused.
"What?" Neville looked around, wondering why he was being blamed for something he had no part of. There was no way Snape could think he'd had anything to do with it!
"Tripping a fellow classmate?" Snape spat. Neville frowned. Snape thought he had something to do with it. He knew he was going to have to rearrange the weekend around a detention. He hoped Professor Snape wouldn't decide to do it that evening. But judging from the grin on his face he suspected there was little chance of that.
He cursed under his breath, upset at his own incompetence, his own inability to even arrange one possibly fun thing to do during the doldrums of school. He could already see the meeting happening in his mind. People would show up, but since he wasn't there they'd just figure it out themselves. They'd have no need for him and he'd spend the rest of the year sitting alone in the common room, listening to their stories of their games and wishing with everything he had that he could be a part of it.
"I didn't," he stammered, willing that vision out of his head. Snape didn't care though. He'd already made his decision.
"That calls for-" he started.
"He didn't touch me," a sullen voice added. Neville turned to the girl. She was waving her wand over the broken vial, trying to fix it and bottle some of the remaining potion.
"Miss Greengrass," Professor Snape started as she finished fixing the vial. Neville knew her as well as he knew any of the Slytherin students. They shared the occasional class and he recognized the face of Daphne Greengrass from four previous years in the same castle.
She was thin and athletic with dirty blonde hair and pale eyes. He'd actually ranked her fourth prettiest of the girls in his year in their late night dormitory conversations. She hadn't ranked near as high on the list his fellow dorm members came up with. Then again, his list had been the outlier by far. And, unlike Dean, Seamus and Ron, hadn't been based on bust size.
"It's not his fault I stepped on my own shoelace," she countered. Anger filled her voice. The handful of Slytherin students left in the classroom looked at her, seeming confused by her sudden vitriol.
Even Snape glared at his student. She put the vial down on his desk. It looked worse than Neville's potion when Snape vanished it but Neville wasn't about to voice that opinion.
"Acceptable Miss Greengrass," Snape drawled. "Longbottom clean up the rest of that mess and get out of my sight."
To Neville, it wasn't that bad of an exchange. A bit more spilled potion and then out of the classroom for the week? He'd take that. Even if he knew that Snape would certainly look for flaws in his work.
To his surprise, Daphne rolled her eyes at Snape and walked back toward the spilled potion. She raised her wand over the mess and the two of them cleaned it quickly. She'd clearly had more practice with cleaning charms than he did.
"Thank you," he muttered as they finished up. She shrugged her shoulders, something close to a smile rising to her lips. But that couldn't be right, Neville thought, a pretty girl had no reason to smile at him.
"You make a mess, you clean it up," she said, as if it was the simplest bit of wisdom one could come up with. And with that she took her bag from her chair across the aisle from him and walked out of the potions classroom. Neville grabbed his own bag and followed Harry and Ron out of the classroom. Neither seemed to notice his presence as they talked about the upcoming Quidditch season. Neville unintentionally eavesdropped enough to know that Ron was going to try out for Keeper and that Angelina was hosting open practices to try to find the absolute best Gryffindor team to defend their Quidditch Cup win from two years ago.
He ignored their conversation, more or less, as he tried to push the memories from the last class from his head. He knew nothing good could come from dwelling on Snape. He'd done that his first two years and had ended up alone in the dormitory screaming or crying into his pillow more times than he cared to admit.
He figured he had some time to swing by the notice boards near the Hufflepuff Common Room to put up more flyers for his meeting tonight. He hadn't canvased that area quite as much as some of the other spots. Although he had done it far less than the dungeons, or any area where the Slytherin students hung out.
That felt unfair to him. They might not all be complete jerks, despite his four full school years of evidence to the contrary. He moved away from Harry and Ron and took a few of the remaining posters out of his pack. The Notice Board in the dungeons was nearly empty. There was one notice about tryouts for the Slytherin Quidditch team, pinned in the direct center of the board, and the general school calendar that adorned the top left corner of all of them, but that was it.
He took a deep breath, wondering why he was already regretting this decision. He took a deep breath, knowing that he was being an idiot. What was the worst the Slytherins would do? Make fun of him some more? He shook his head and plastered one of the posters to the corner of the notice board.
Neville didn't bother looking at his work. Instead he turned and jogged back out of the dungeons, finding himself more out of breath than he thought he should have been as he caught back up to them.
"You're coming tonight, right?" Neville asked as he took a moment to catch his breath. Both Ron and Harry stiffened as he spoke, as if he'd startled them. It didn't surprise him, people were often surprised when he started talking. He wondered if he had some sort of innate notice-me-not charm.
One that only Professor Snape seemed able to see through at any rate.
"Angelina has another quidditch thing tonight after dinner," Harry said. His expression was still dour after the potions class. He glared in front of him as he walked. His hands were in his pockets and he'd let his hair grow out over the summer, it fell down around his green eyes. Neville wished he could ever be as cool as that. And yet, somehow, he didn't think his friend even had a clue how he looked.
"Oh," Neville frowned. "Quidditch is important I guess." And, honestly, he wanted Gryffindor to win as much as the next, well, Gryffindor. But he had counted on the two of them to be there. If he wasn't able to convince them, well, then he had no idea how he'd convince anyone else. And Harry seemed interested in the books on the train. He'd even asked a few questions in the common room after. But now he looked like he wanted nothing to do with him.
Then again, maybe it was just Snape. The Professor had that effect on people after all. But he'd been so dismissive and Harry never seemed that dismissive. Neville was losing himself in his own head when Ron interrupted.
"Of course we're going," Ron said. He rolled his eyes as if it was absurd that they wouldn't. Harry paused and looked at him, his own eyes narrowing.
"Awesome," Neville said.
"But," Harry started.
"We said we'd go Harry," Ron countered as if that was the end of any possible debate. "Your flyers said seven to nine, right?"
"Oh, uhm, right," Neville said, honestly a bit surprised anyone had read the poster.
"Well Angelina only has the pitch for an hour before dinner tonight, I heard her complaining about that with Fred and George. So we'll be done by six," Ron said.
"She'll push it to at least six thirty if not seven," Harry added, sounding dour at the prospect. "See who's committed enough to play Quidditch without eating."
"Probably," Ron agreed with a chuckle. "I should make sure I eat something before we head out."
"I think I have a cauldron cake in my bag," Neville added regretting it immediately even if he hoped to be helpful in any way he could.
"Thanks, but I'll grab something when we drop off our stuff in the dorm," Ron said. Neville wondered what about his cauldron cake wasn't good enough. But a sense of relief flooded through him that he wouldn't have to sacrifice his own food.
"Okay," he said, shifting his pack on his shoulder and following the two of them back to Gryffindor tower, even if it was the opposite direction from the Hufflepuff notice board he'd intended to visit.
"Anyway we probably won't be there right at seven," Ron continued. "But I'll make sure we're there."
"Thanks. I appreciate it," Neville said.
"No problem," Ron said as they entered the common room. There was some general commotion. Dean Thomas made his way over toward Harry and immediately started commiserating about how unfair Snape had been toward Harry. His fellow Gryffindor didn't seem to notice Neville as he complained.
It didn't bother him. Neville wondered if it should. Or if he was just so accustomed to it by now that it didn't even register with him. Either way he put his head down and walked back up to the dormitory.
He threw his bag down on his bed and rifled through it. He took out the cauldron cake, and his potions texts and replaced them with his Conjurations and Catacombs guidebooks and some of the premade character sheets that came with. After a few moments thought he figured he should plan for the worst and put the potions textbook back in his bag as well. That way, even if the evening was a total loss, it would lead to one less thing for him to do over the next couple of days.
No one stopped him as he walked back from the dorm and into the common room. The usual groupings seemed to have formed. Dean and Seamus were in one corner, chatting over a photo of some model or actress, Ron and Harry were talking about Quidditch with an annoyed Hermione sitting between them trying to read a book.
He never quite understood why she'd position herself like that. If she wanted to read quietly he thought he'd be a much better companion than the other two boys. He was fine with silent company. Or, honestly, any company Hermione thought she'd need.
He walked over toward them for no real reason other than to look at Hermione as she read. Coveting someone else's friend was probably wrong of him. Then again, she was his friend too, so was it really coveting?
He stared at her as she read, a strand of her hair slipped from behind her ear and over her face. He had to resist the urge to fix it. It only stayed out of place for a moment before she tucked it back behind her ear.
He wondered how long it would take before they noticed him. At least until he realized how little he wanted to know the answer to that. Instead he spoke up.
"See you both later," he said. All three of them turned to look at him. Harry's expression was blank, Hermione looked confused, but Ron smiled.
"See you, Neville," he said. Neville nodded and turned to leave the common room. He paused to check to make sure he still had some of the flyers he'd made in his bag and overheard Hermione comment.
"What's later?" she asked.
"We're going to his Conjurations and Catacombs thing," Ron explained.
"You're really going to waste your time with a silly dice game?" Hermione asked. She may as well have stabbed Neville. The air left his lungs as if he'd been hit in the sternum. He knew she didn't like doing much more than reading or studying. But somehow he thought if Harry and Ron spoke highly of it they could convince her to come. And then he could show her that he was fun and amiable and worth spending time with.
He stood in the portrait hall as a fourth year girl maneuvered around him, giving him a glare over her shoulder as she carried her broom out of the common room, undoubtedly going to prepare for Angelina Johnson's practice session.
He didn't know how long it took for him to regain his breath. He was sure the entire common room must have noticed him standing there like an idiot. Not that they'd think anything of it. Neville being an odd bumbling moron was a common enough occurrence that it wouldn't even spark the tiniest of questions. Judging from the din of noise from behind him it wasn't even worth stopping their conversations.
Once he'd recovered enough to move he sprinted from the common room. He hoped they'd forget about him. They always did. No one ever commented on his lapses or his stupidity, or anything. Well, outside of Professor Snape. But he hadn't seen this one so there was no way he'd call him something like, say, the dunce who couldn't even leave his own common room.
Although Snape always seemed to be able to find a way to pick out his worst moments and turn them into taunts. Neville had to admit it was actually a rather impressive ability. He was rather jealous of it on the rare occasion it wasn't directed at him.
He was winded from his short sprint by the time he made it to the stairs at the end of the hall outside of the tower. He didn't understand how people could do it. Even Harry never seemed winded regardless of what he did. It only served to make him seem even cooler when Neville thought of it.
Deep down he knew the answer readily enough. Eat less and exercise more. Then again, it wasn't like he was a pig. Sure, he ate more than he probably should have. But he wasn't nearly as big as say Crabbe or Goyle. Outside of walking to and from his classes he almost never exercised. And he wasn't sure if walking could be considered exercising. Even if there were often multiple flights of stairs included in every walk.
He was breathing mostly normal by the time he reached the Great Hall. He lingered for a bit in the entrance. A couple of groups of students were milling around the house tables as they waited for the evening meal to begin.
Neville peered in, wondering what they were conversing about and if any of it pertained to him. None if it would, he knew that. And he wasn't sure why he should even care. He stood in the doorway to the Great Hall for a few minutes until a second year Ravenclaw asked him to move.
He didn't think the boy meant to be rude. But it wasn't like he was nearly large enough to block the entire entrance. Or that there were many people streaming in. Either way it made him feel self-conscious enough to slip away from the Great Hall.
He took the long way down toward the Hufflepuff common room because a gang of seventh year Puffs were blocking the stairs while playing some sort of game that involved banishing some of Fred and George's new candies at the younger students. Neville thought he might be old enough to not be the target of their wrath, but he didn't want to take that chance.
The landing around the notice board was empty when he arrived. The Hufflepuff board contained far more notices than the Slytherin one, including such things as an Exploding Snap and Gobstones tournaments, a party for Muggle Studies students, and the standard advertisement for Quidditch tryouts. Still, he found room for his poster in the corner and went about his business before anyone actually saw him put it up.
He wondered why that was such a mortifying thought. Shouldn't he want to talk to people about it? To be able to convince them that spending one night a week in a fantasy world of his invention was a great idea. But the thought of having to actively sell himself filled him with nothing but terror. He could almost feel the cold sweat coming just thinking of it.
So instead of waiting around to see if anyone would notice his addition, he walked back to the Great Hall. He approached the stairs with the seventh years and realized that he'd gone the wrong direction.
Fleeing from the scene was the best course of action, so he did it. It wasn't that long of a walk back around the castle to the Great Hall. And hadn't he just been thinking about how he could use more exercise? Maybe he should just take the long way everywhere he went inside the castle. It couldn't hurt.
A nagging voice in the back of his head laughed at him though. It sounded, perhaps unsurprisingly, like Professor Snape. Go out of your way just to avoid someone who might laugh at you? When the chances are they don't care at all about you and wouldn't bother to acknowledge you? Or was being ignored, being absolutely nothing to any of them worse? Make all the excuses you want, Longbottom, it's pathetic either way.
Do you think Harry Potter would walk around a gang of Hufflepuffs? There was no way. He'd walk right through them if he had to. And if they'd tried to mess with him he'd just glare at him like he had when they'd all sported those abysmal Cedric Diggory badges and ridiculed him.
But Harry was used to being combative. To people not believing him. Even now there were some rumblings from, well, everywhere, that he was making everything up. It didn't help that the Daily Prophet kept publishing articles about how he was a terrible maniac.
Neville wondered if any of them had even noticed that it had been a front page article when he'd been expelled for using magic. Well, he was sure they'd noticed that. That hadn't been what had surprised him. Sure, Neville had been shocked when his grandmother showed him that article over the summer. A sinking feeling of the possibility of never seeing his friend filled him as he read the words.
His grandmother had called it poppycock. A word that made him immediately laugh. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard her use it before. But she pointed out that they shouldn't have named Harry Potter in the article, as he was a minor, and that they were providing nothing close to a satisfying detail to what happened. And context was key in all things, but especially underage magic.
His grandmother also pointed out that if he'd done something truly indefensible, they'd be providing every single detail they could about it. Instead they were avoiding the question of what he'd done like the plague. They were arguing that the 'what' didn't matter. Only that he'd broken the rule and should be punished regardless. And they'd only be arguing that, she'd said, if he didn't deserve to be punished. No, she'd told Neville, he was clearly justified in whatever he'd done. And that would come out.
And she'd been right. And pointed out to him that while Harry Potter's expulsion had made the front page for three consecutive days, his acquittal was a one-hundred word blurb on the seventh page, and only in the evening edition of the paper. It was the last straw for her and the Daily Prophet. She'd canceled her subscription the next morning.
He'd been proud to tell Harry that minor bit of defiance. Even if his friend only seemed confused by the entire thing. But he'd stuck up for him when Seamus vented his frustrations about the last year in their dorm. That had to have been worth something.
Still, he could remember his grandmother's smile as she read about Harry Potter, and he couldn't help but wonder if she wished she'd inherited that responsibility rather than him.
He found himself back in the Great Hall. He'd entered without noticing while lost in thought. It still wasn't crowded but some food was starting to appear on the tables. He walked over to the Gryffindor table, and stopped at his normal spot, about a third of the way down on the side of the table. A group of third years sat in his spot.
It bothered him. It was his spot. He always sat there, near enough to Dean and Seamus, who were not present, to be involved in their conversation if need be. And only a few seats down from Hermione, so he could try to steal glances at her.
He fought the urge to say something. He was the older student afterall. He should have some priority. But no words came from him and he decided it wasn't worth the fight. Instead he moved down the line and sat near a couple of first year girls who were discussing their Transfiguration homework.
They were both confused about McGonagall's lecture. Which, honestly, was fairly common for new students. He thought about offering some advice, about being friendly and helpful, but thought better of it. Why would the girls want him to talk to them anyway?
He took some bread from a nearby serving basket and took his potions text from his bag, along with a roll of parchment. He could, he figured, at least get started on the essay before the tables filled up for dinner.
He bumbled his way through about a third of a roll of parchment before there were too many people at the table for him to continue taking up as much space as it required to eat, read and write at the same time.
It was only a little surprising when he realized he was surrounded by second and third years. Even the younger students had no issue talking around him. He wondered if there was a way to channel his invisibility for the greater good.
He served himself some roasted chicken and a medley of vegetables. He reached for some potatoes and extra gravy but decided against it at the last minute. His grandmother never mentioned dieting as a concept but did stress the importance of eating healthy. He'd never listened to it but now he wondered if it was time for a change.
Although he wasn't sure that deciding against eating a potato constituted a meaningful, or effective change.
Regardless it was something to think about while he ate. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, really. So he let his mind continue down that path. He didn't think he ate that unhealthy. And he didn't think the elves really allowed for it. But he didn't know enough about it to judge.
Once he finished eating he packed up his things. He almost told the second years around him he'd see them later but he caught himself before he said anything too embarrassing.
He left the Great Hall and walked toward the main classrooms until he stood at the door of the one he'd reserved for the evening. Students didn't often ask for usage of the classrooms. Normally if they had group work that would be too loud for the library they'd just migrate into one. But he figured he should at least go through the proper channels so that Snape wouldn't have any excuse to throw him into detention.
Once inside he spent a few minutes rearranging the desks. He decided on a small pod, pushing all of the excess ones out of the way once he was satisfied. Then he arranged his guidebooks and blank character sheets on the table. Finally he dug out the handful of cauldron cakes he'd stashed. He transfigured a bowl and placed them in it before sitting down at the desk.
He stood after only a moment and moved to prop open the door. He figured an open door was more inviting than a closed one and that would better present the attitude he was hoping for. He walked back to the desks and sat again. His attention fully focused on the door, as if willing someone to enter the room. Each passing moment where no one did whittled away at his resolve.
It was stupid, he knew. He checked his watch. It was only six thirty. He'd put seven on the posters. Seven until nine. There was little reason to think people would be rushing straight to this classroom. Much less cutting their dinners short to do so.
He took his potions essay out and continued to scribble at the parchment. He struggled to get anything done. At first he'd look to the door to the classroom with each passing sentence. But soon it became each passing word.
He managed to get to half a roll of parchment before the clock struck seven. He looked to the doorway at the exact top of the hour. No one was there. And no one was waiting to come in.
Hours passed and his heart sank with each passing beat. He knew he'd been an idiot for even thinking that this could be a successful idea. It was nothing but stupid wishful thinking. Even Ron and Harry weren't going to show up to pander to his fantasies. He was stupid for trying. Hermione was right, they had no reason to waste their time playing a silly dice game.
"Am I the first one?" a girl asked from the doorway. Neville nearly jumped out of his seat as her voice brought him back to reality. He stared at her, finding it hard to form words as he looked at the girl he'd picked as the best looking in their year. Seamus, Dean and Ron had all told him he was wrong. But Harry had only nodded, a tacit agreement punctuated with a shrug of his shoulders, his most overt input into their objectification of their fellow students.
"Uh, yeah," he responded, feeling far less suave than even he could have expected. He glanced at his watch and saw it was seven fifteen. Had those hours in his mind been a mere fifteen minutes?
"I see," Padma Patil said. She'd changed out of her school uniform and was wearing dark skinny jeans and an emerald button-up blouse. While her twin sister, and his housemate, Parvati Patil, almost always wore her hair in a long plait, Padma opted for a much less formal ponytail.
Neville stared at her. His brain told him to say something, to be welcoming, to do anything other than sit there and stare. But he couldn't help it. He wanted to look at her and there she was. He didn't know what it was about her that put her so far down the lists of his housemates. They'd all thought her sister was the better looking twin, as if such a thing wasn't absurd enough. But they were all wrong. All Parvati had going for her was bigger breasts.
"Hopefully not the last," he said after he found his tongue. She smiled at him and walked into the room, sitting across from him at the table. Her smile was enough to take the words from him once more. He remembered Harry on the train, talking with her as if it was no big deal and he once again found himself jealous of Harry Potter.
"Well, meet Alisen Karit," she said as she plucked a character sheet out of her own bag and slid it across the table toward him. "The Volkar Necromancer."
"You really have played before?" he asked. He didn't know why he doubted her. She'd said as much on the train ride to school. His mind told him it was a stupid question, but it also hadn't bothered to offer up better suggestions.
"Yeah but I was always a fighter of some type. I think this will be an interesting change. I only did the basics I haven't rolled on any stats or anything," she said. He peered down at the character sheet and found it was filled out far more pristinely then he thought he was even capable of.
"I see that," he said. He dug into his pack for some dice so they could take care of the stats when a suggestion from the catacomb master's guide came to his mind. "Tell me about her?"
"Well she's one-fifty going on twenty," Padma said. "Naive by Volkar standards. An eternal optimist. Because I think a perky necromancer sounds hilarious. Pretty standard Volkar features, you know, pale, almost albino, long white hair."
"I know," he said with a knowing nod.
"I don't think she ever really stood out among her peers. She means well but can be a bit of a ditz," Padma said, staring down at the paper with a smile.
"She sounds fun," Neville said. The guide had said complimenting other characters was always a good start but he found he wasn't having to fake it. He placed the dice in front of her.
"Shall we?" he asked.
"Of course," she said, taking the six dice into her hands. She made a show of shaking them and then tossed them onto the table. She frowned at her results.
"Well that low one is going into strength," she said. Neville chuckled.
"That's wise," he said. "And honestly you got some good numbers there. You'll be able to tune the spellcasting up to start if that's the route you're going to go."
"Yeah I guess it's not all bad. You know how it is though, you always hope for perfect rolls," Padma said.
"That would take the fun out of it, though, wouldn't it?" Neville asked.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," she said. She took her sheet back and penciled in the numbers next to her statistics.
"Flayer or Summoner?" he asked as he peered down at the necromancer guide in the book. He skimmed over the starting skills and flipped back to the page on the Volkar race to see what synergized best with them in case she wanted any suggestions.
"Well that depends," she said. Her eyes flashed at him and her lips curled ever so slightly upward. Something in the pit of his stomach made him want to make her do it again.
"On?" he asked.
"How much of a stickler for the rules are you?" she asked. She seemed to be doing a great deal of blinking as he looked at her. Somehow it made her eyes seem impossibly large.
"I don't know," Neville admitted, honestly. The book suggested taking liberties if he felt it would improve the game. But cautioned against doing it too often as it would ruin the spirit of things. Still, it encouraged discourse and flexibility.
"Well I'd prefer to go Flayer. But I really want the pet in the summoner tree. Honestly more for cosmetics than anything," Padma explained. Neville peered down at the notes in the book. The pet in question was one of the starting abilities for one type of necromancer. Classes typically got two starting abilities per their selected track, along with a handful of other abilities. A moment of inspiration struck him.
"Well, we can do that, but then you can only start with one Flayer ability," Neville said.
"Okay," Padma agreed. She checked the boxes for the summoned pet and, to his surprise, the drain attack rather than the magic missile that punctuated the flayer tree.
"It's going to be severely weakened later on without the summon abilities to support it," Neville said, as he read through the skill trees.
"Oh I'm sure it'll be fine," Padma said. They spent a few minutes discussing her advantages and disadvantages as well as the other associated statistics. It was after eight when two more people finally joined them. Neville was so engrossed in Padma he almost didn't notice them enter.
"Hi Harry," she said, smiling at him. "Hi Ron." she added, with much less cheer.
"Padma," Harry said. Both of the boys were still dressed for Quidditch and had their brooms on them. They left them against the wall. Harry shifted into a seat at the table next to her. Ron hesitated but sat on the other side of Harry, as far away from Padma as he could manage.
"Thanks for coming," Neville said. Harry nodded and grabbed one of the cauldron cakes and devoured it in a couple of bites.
"No problem," Ron said.
"Had you given any thoughts to the characters?" Neville asked. He figured that everything would be as easy as Padma, who, he noticed, was sketching a character on the corner of her sheet.
"No," Harry said.
"An Artificer," Ron said.
"Any thoughts on race?"
"Nope."
"Lorakians tend to work well, they get some tinkering benefits that help artificers," Neville suggested. He turned to the page about the specific race of bedouin humans. Ron peered down at it then shrugged his shoulders.
"Works for me," he said.
"Well, let's build it up and go from there. Harry, do you want to peer through the book and see if anything sticks out?" he asked.
"Sure," Harry said in a way that made Neville think he had no real interest in doing that. But he slid the book over to himself and started to page through it. Padma shifted in her seat and leaned toward him.
"I'll help," she said with a bright smile that once again made Neville rather jealous of Harry Potter.
He tried to eavesdrop on their conversation but Ron asked a series of excellent questions about how to best plan his character and he found himself pulled into the conversation. Apparently his brothers Fred and George were interested in the game before their joke creations took precedence. And he'd spent some time over summers listening to them talk about it. Some of the knowledge had rubbed off on him.
He caught only the tiniest bits of Padma and Harry's conversation. She seemed to be trying to prod him in one direction or another and he didn't seem to be taking much interest in her suggestions. Neville had to admit, he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
As he was putting the final touches on Ron's character two more people stepped into the room. Padma greeted them happily and started talking about a charms assignment. A girl's voice responded. Neville tuned out their conversation until an accusation flew through the room.
"What are you doing?" Harry spat. Neville looked up from the character sheet and saw that it was two Slytherin students who'd entered the room. Daphne Greengrass has changed out of her school uniform, opting for jeans and a tight fitting Chelsea top. She still wore the pink and white trainers.
Her companion was a boy a few inches taller than her with sandy hair and pale eyes. He wore a Weird Sisters concert shirt and jeans. Red trainers matched the text on the shirt. He was fit and looked rather startled to be addressed by Harry Potter. Neville thought he was a fourth year but he could have passed for a sixth or seventh had he wanted to.
"Sorry," he said. Neville saw the Quidditch brooms behind him in the room. He'd kept a respectful distance from but was eyeing them nonetheless. "I've never seen a Firebolt up close before."
Harry's only response was to glare. The Slytherin boy blushed and looked away from the brooms.
"Just sit down Dylan," Daphne Greengrass said. She took a seat next to Ron. He tensed as she sat but didn't look at her. "You can fantasize about stroking his broom later."
Dylan blushed and took the seat next to her. She leaned toward him, looking over at the book Harry was paging through.
"I think we're good, Ron," Neville said.
"Can I see?" Padma asked, snatching the sheet away from Ron. "Oh an Artificer? Interesting."
"Uh, thanks?" Ron said as she slid the sheet back to him.
"Have either of you played before?" Neville asked. He figured being personable was the best approach, even if it ended up that the Slytherin students were only there to make fun of him. Although if that was the case he figured they'd have started by now.
Part of him figured he had to count himself lucky that Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had better things to do on their Friday evening than crash his event. Although he doubted Malfoy bothered to read the poster, and that Crabbe and Goyle were capable of doing it without help.
"No," Daphne said.
"Once for like an hour," Dylan said.
"When was that?" Daphne asked, raising her brows as she peered at him with the distinct look of someone who was not used to being in the dark about anything.
"At a birthday party sleepover," Dylan shrugged his shoulders as if the details were unimportant. "It didn't go long but it amused me."
"So that's why you insisted on this," Daphne said. Dylan shrugged again.
"Well, and I didn't want to be outnumbered," he said, his eyes shifting between the three Gryffindors in attendance.
"You're such a baby," she laughed. It drew a smile from Padma but no response from Neville, Harry or Ron.
"Well," Neville started, wondering how to move on. "Any thoughts on character?"
"A human Warden," Dylan admitted. Neville nodded. A spellcaster, a damage dealer and a tank, they were, at least, getting some semblance of a party sorted without him even having to put forth much in the way of suggestions.
He took out a fresh character sheet and started talking to Dylan. He didn't know nearly as much about the game as Padma, but he seemed to understand it every bit as well as Ron.
At some point Ron excused himself, saying he needed extra time for his Transfiguration homework. He took the brooms and left. Harry tried to leave with him but Ron told him to stay and make a character. Neville ignored Harry's pout and kept working with Dylan.
"Are you done with that?" he heard Daphne ask Harry. He spared a quick glance at them and saw she was gesturing to the book.
"Yeah sure," Harry said. He slid the book over toward her. She took it without another word as Daphne started to read through the entries. Neville saw her page to the table of contents, then flip to some random pages before repeating the whole process.
It only took another fifteen minutes or so to finish up with Dylan. The Slytherin boy thanked him and tucked the sheet into a pack.
"Who's next?" Neville asked, hoping that Harry would volunteer and start to show some enthusiasm for the game. His friend only shrugged though.
"If she's ready she can go," he said with a nod to Daphne.
"I want to be one of those," she said, spinning the book around and pointing at a specific character.
"You want to be an animal?" Dylan asked, looking aghast.
"She's adorable. You dragged me to this, deal with it," Daphne spat back.
"That's a Beastkin," Neville said. "They actually have a great deal of minor sub races and some pretty useful racial abilities."
"I like the coloring," Daphne said, gesturing to the hair.
"She has a tail," Dylan responded, dumbly. "And cat ears."
"Do you want a tail, Mister Judgeypants?" she responded with a glare and a flourish of her wand. Neville couldn't quite tell if it was playful or not. Although their banter didn't seem insulting. Still, he always struggled with that. It was a part of friendship that made very little sense to him. Weren't insults supposed to be, well, insulting? Not endearing? He thought it best not to ask.
"No. I'll pass. Thank you though," Dylan said.
"Well what about the class then?" Neville asked. Daphne stared at him.
"There's races and classes," Padma explained.
"What's that one?" Daphne pointed at the same picture again.
"Hard to tell," Padma said, leaning over to look at it. "I don't think it's anything, just a demonstration of the race."
"Oh," Daphne said. "I don't know."
"Well, what appeals to you?" Padma asked. Neville was rather glad she took the lead as he wasn't quite sure how to ease her into a decision.
"I don't know," Daphne shrugged. "Something fun."
"Hmm," Padma said. She took a blank character sheet from the pile and slid it across the table between the two of them. Dylan stood and walked over behind her. "How about we just mess around a bit and see what we come up with?"
"Sure," Daphne shrugged as Padma flipped through the pages of the guidebook. Neville watched for a moment. He wasn't sure if he should feel relieved that Padma took control so easily, but she seemed to have a start on it.
"Any thoughts of your own?" Neville asked Harry. Harry paused for a moment then shook his head. Neville tried to remember what Padma had done to get Daphne to open up but his mind went blank until Harry actually spoke.
"Some type of fighter," he said.
"Well there's many of those," Neville said. "Mercenary, Brawler, Thief are the most common ones."
"How about a mercenary thief?" Harry suggested. Neville realized that he must have known about as much about the game as Daphne. He wondered if his friend's disinterest was merely a cover for confusion.
"Well, you can be a thief who's a mercenary or a mercenary who's a thief but the class is a bit different than the backstory," Neville said. "Theifs are interesting and tend to rely a bit more on stealth and avoiding combat. Mercenaries can specialize in specific areas or styles and are more combat oriented."
"Let's do that then," Harry said. Neville nodded and grabbed a character sheet. They spent a few minutes talking over races but Harry wasn't interested in being anything other than a human. Neville tried to talk him out of it. But it didn't work. It didn't matter though, humans were fine.
A stray plot floated through his head as he had Harry start to roll the dice to determine his most valuable stats. He had to explain to him that dexterity and charisma were probably better choices than strength for his top two rolls. He only won with the dexterity argument.
They hadn't talked much about backstories. He could do that in a more private setting, he thought, as his ideas formed a more coherent shape in his head. A map of a kingdom overlaying lists of lineage as he placed his story in the middle of a kingdom devoted to the Sun.
In his mind it was a great idea. A phenomenal story to play out with dice and words. He should only have to steer them a little. He wondered if he could pull it off. He'd certainly had no idea how to formulate any of it. Maybe he could ask Padma for help.
He wondered if he'd even be physically able to ask Padma Patil a question or if he'd just faint with the fear of her rejecting him flooding through him. Rejecting what? He had no idea. But the last thing he wanted was to have her laugh at him.
Harry picked the last of his abilities from the book right about the same time that Daphne finished her character sheet. Padma slid it over toward Neville. He thanked her on instinct and complimented the character name, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. Daphne shrugged and explained she'd combined the names of her mother and aunt. Dylan looked away from the sheet when she spoke. Neville assumed he was trying to sneak a look at Harry's, as if there was any secret to hide there. Another stray plot ran into his head at the names. One that he thought could make everything more interesting.
He slid the sheet back to Daphne with a smile and felt an odd sort of thrill when she took it from him and carefully put it into her own bag. He took a moment to marvel at how much information could exist on such a small piece of paper. And how much more could come from it.
All that was left after that was to decide on what day to start. There were various hiccups and issues with every single day. Dylan couldn't make Wednesday because he'd earned a detention with Flitwick. Harry and Ron had Quidditch far too often to be healthy. Daphne didn't want to miss the Muggle Studies parties, the first of which was Tuesday. Although the dates for them varied.
They came up with a passable solution at that moment. He checked his watch, wondering if more people would come. But to his surprise it was already past nine. He'd lost track of time in the shuffle.
They left the classroom together. Dylan and Daphne sauntering off toward the Dungeons as Padma followed he and Harry toward the Great Hall. They split there, heading to their own separate towers.
Harry didn't say anything in their walk back to the Gryffindor common room. That wasn't out of place for his friend. He tended to be quiet. It was merely another trait Neville thought made him cool. To Neville, silence was a fear. He hated his own silence, he hated being cowed into not speaking. To Harry, it was a weapon. He could wield it with a look or a brow. And his words never felt wasted. People listened when he spoke. Neville wondered how he'd managed that but figured it had to be something to do with being Harry Potter.
They entered the common room together. Harry nodded at Neville as he left to join Ron and Hermione by the fire. It felt more like an acknowledgment than a dismissal. He heard Ron ask what he'd settled on, and he heard Harry answer, with a touch of excitement in his voice, as he made his way up to the dormitory. He'd fill the rest of the night with the finishing touches of the start of their new campaign.
Author's note: As always thanks for reading and reviewing. I do appreciate all of the support I receive. If you wish to support me further you can do so on PAT RE ON at TE7writes. There are I think four additional chapters of my other story, Cleansing the Sins of the Past live there as well as an additional nine of this story.