Vince
Vince
It had started with Dean Thomas, this new outlook that Vince had. Contrary to popular belief, he was capable of learning.
Vince knew he was mostly a knob. He heard what people said about him, even if he didn’t always react to their insults, veiled and otherwise. It didn’t bother him. He was what he was.
But Thomas–a person he’d been taught was less than, even to Vince–had taken the time to help him in Potions. Every practical day he'd draw pictures of the ingredients for Vince. He’d even made a little chart to show how each one was supposed to be prepared.
The muggleborn didn’t have to. Snape wouldn't do much to Vince for not doing well. He'd made it clear in first year that as long as Vince made an effort, he'd pass him. Even Snape knew he was a duffer. Vince had said as much to Thomas the first time he’d drawn the ingredients for him. Thomas told him to sod off and that he'd done it because he felt it was the right thing to do. That was the thing that got Vince. This boy that he’d called a Mudblood and worse, had taken the time, once he knew what Vince’s problem was, and had done something decent for him.
Thomas had also taken it upon himself to let Vince know that it wasn’t on to call Muggleborns Mudbloods. How was he supposed to know that? It’s all Vince’s dad talked about when he came back from the Ministry or the pub. He’d usually do that right before he cursed Mum, or practised spells on Vince for just existing.
Over the past few months, Vince had decided he didn’t like his dad much. He’d never examined his feelings about him before. His dad had just been someone he endured or avoided when he could. Thomas had changed his mind about that too.
Dean liked his parents. Vince didn’t know anyone who did, besides Malfoy. Of course, Draco’s mum was sheer perfection, and while Malfoy's dad scared the hell out of Vince, he never knocked his son or his wife around. Draco had confirmed that to him.
Thomas had acted like his parents were people who he cared about. That he’d miss them if something happened to them. It made Vince think about the stories that Mr Goyle and his dad had told about the fun muggle-baiting they did, or how they’d tortured and killed entire mudblood families, or worse, for the Dark Lord. Vince hadn’t exactly liked the stories. He usually had bad dreams about them, but he’d accepted that when the revolution finally happened, he’d have to do similar things. He’d also accepted that his dad and mum might not make it through the revolution and he was okay with that.
Vince had been okay with a lot of people dying, it was part of the glorious future his parents and their friends always went on about. If he were honest about it, if his parents died it would be a relief.
After Thomas had been so decent to him, he realised that he didn’t actually have friends. There was certainly no one who cared if he lived or died, even his family. He was the heir of a broken down manse and a few fields of sickly sheep.
So, when Thomas had found out that Draco’s aunt was the A. Tonks, an artist that Vince admired with his entire being, and he had suggested they talk to her about lessons, Vince had been…beyond shocked.
This Muggleborn… the very person he’d been taught to hate, had asked Vince to do something with him. He'd thought about Vince and their shared talent, not about what Vince could do for him.
He had a friend. A real friend, one who thought enough of him to actually want to be around him just because they shared an interest.
That’s when Vince started noticing other things he’d been missing. The Weasley twins… they were cool, wickedly so. Longbottom, he was pretty good to pair with in Herbology. He’d helped Vince realise just how delicate plants were, and how they needed the same care that a fine silver pencil did. He’d helped him look into inks that could be made out of plants. All for free, all because Vince had been interested in it. Then there was Loony Lovegood. Vince had talked to her when he found her walking around the castle looking for her shoes. She’d made him laugh. Not many people took the time to do that for Vince. She was almost as pretty as Mrs Malfoy, and he liked her daft ideas about creatures and life.
And finally, he’d taken notice of Potter and his friends, especially one of them.
He knew Granger was out of his league. She was so far above him in looks, brains, and class that even though he wouldn't pass on the chance to snog her, he knew she’d never be up for it. Plus Nott had already staked his claim. Slytherins did have a code of honour, no matter what everyone else thought.
That fact didn’t stop him from idly drawing her in his sketchbook over and over. It didn’t stop him from learning how to animate his pictures from Mrs Tonks so that he could give Granger one of the better ones he’d done of her.
When the time came to give it to her, his self-confidence had fled. He’d shoved the parchment in her hands and run off, scared little rabbit that he was.
He hoped she'd liked it. He really did.